'He's breathing well for a corpse,' he said. 'I think he'll be okay. Someone got past his guard, that's all. I've got a doctor to see him. Don't worry.'
Someone got past his guard, he thought. Yes. And I'm his guard.
'I hope the man's a leader in the field, that's all I can say,' said Carrot severely.
'He's even better than that - he's the doctor to the leaders of the field,' said Vimes. I'm his guard and I didn't see it coming.
'It'd be terrible for the city if anything happened to him!' said Carrot.
Vimes saw nothing but innocent concern behind Carrot's forthright stare. 'It would, wouldn't it?' he said. 'Anyway, it's under control. You said there's been another murder?'
'At the Dwarf Bread Museum. Someone killed Mr Hopkinson with his own bread!'
'Made him eat it?'
'Hit him with it, sir,' said Carrot reproachfully. 'Battle Bread, sir.'
'Is he the old man with the white beard?'
'Yes, sir. You remember, I introduced you to him when I took you to see the Boomerang Biscuit exhibition.'
Angua thought she saw a faint wince of recollection speed guiltily across Vimes's face. 'Who's going around killing old men?' he said to the world at large.
'Don't know, sir. Constable Angua went plain clothes' - Carrot waggled his eyebrows conspiratorially - 'and couldn't find a sniff of anyone. And nothing was taken. This is what it was done with.'
The Battle Bread was much larger than an ordinary loaf. Vimes turned it over gingerly. 'Dwarfs throw it like a discus, right?'
'Yes, sir. At the Seven Mountains games last year Snori Shieldbiter took the tops off a line of six hard-boiled eggs at fifty yards, sir. And that was with just a standard hunting loaf. But this is, well, it's a cultural artefact. We haven't got the baking technology for bread like this any more. It's unique.'
'Valuable?'
'Very, sir.'
'Worth stealing?'
'You'd never be able to get rid of it! Every honest dwarf would recognize it!'
'Hmm. Did you hear about that priest being murdered on Misbegot Bridge?'
Carrot looked shocked. 'Not old Father Tubelcek? Really?'
Vimes stopped himself from asking: 'You know him, then?' Because Carrot knew everyone. If Carrot were to be dropped into some dense tropical jungle it'd be 'Hello, Mr Runs Swiftly Through The Trees! Good morning, Mr Talks To The Forest, what a splendid blowpipe! And what a novel place for a feather!'
'Did he have more than one enemy?' said Vimes.
'Sorry, sir? Why more than one?'
'I should say the fact that he had one is obvious, wouldn't you?'
'He is ... he was a nice old chap,' said Carrot. 'Hardly stirred out. Spends... spent all his time with his books. Very religious. I mean, all kinds of religion. Studied them. Bit odd, but no harm in him. Why should anyone want to kill him? Or Mr Hopkinson? A pair of harmless old men?'
Vimes handed him the Battle Bread. 'We shall find out. Constable Angua, I want you to have a look at this one. Take... yes, take Corporal Littlebottom,' he said. 'He's been doing some work on it. Angua's from Uberwald too, Littlebottom. Maybe you've got friends in common, that sort of thing.'
Carrot nodded cheerfully. Angua's expression went wooden.
'Ah, h'druk g'har dWatch, Sh'rt'azs!' said Carrot. 'H'h Angua tConstable... Angua g'har, b'hk bargr'a Sh'rt'azs Kad'k... '[10]
Angua appeared to concentrate. 'Grr'dukk d'buz-h'drak...' she managed.