Free Feet of Clay by Terry Pratchett Page B

expect to hear, out of some dark alley, a voice saying something on the lines of “Mr. Chrysoprase is very upset ,” and find the brief remainder of his life full of incident.
    “No one seems to know where Captain Carrot and Angua are,” said Colon. “It’s their day off. And Nobby’s nowhere to be found.”
    “Well, that’s something to be thankful for…”
    “Bingeley bingeley bong beep,” said a voice from Vimes’s pocket.
    He lifted out the little organizer and raised the flap.
    “Yes?”
    “Ey…twelve noon,” said the imp. “Lunch with Lady Sybil.”
    It stared at their faces.
    “Er…that’s all right, isn’t it?” it said.

    Cheery Littlebottom wiped his brow.
    “Commander Vimes is right. It could be arsenic,” he said. “It looks like arsenic poisoning to me. Look at his color.”
    “Nasty stuff,” said Doughnut Jimmy. “Has he been eating his bedding?”
    “All the sheets seem to be here, so I suppose the answer is no.”
    “How’s he pissing?”
    “Er. The usual way, I assume.”
    Doughnut sucked at his teeth. He had amazing teeth. It was the second thing everyone noticed about him. They were the color of the inside of an unwashed teapot.
    “Walk him round a bit on the loose rein,” he said.
    The Patrician opened his eyes. “You are a doctor, aren’t you?” he said.
    Doughnut Jimmy gave him an uncertain look. He was not used to patients who could talk. “Well, yeah…I have a lot of patients,” he said.
    “Indeed? I have very little,” said the Patrician. He tried to lift himself off the bed, and slumped back.
    “I’ll mix up a draught,” said Doughnut Jimmy, backing away. “You’re to hold his nose and pour it down his throat twice a day, right? And no oats.”
    He hurried out, leaving Cheery alone with the Patrician.
    Corporal Littlebottom looked around the room. Vimes hadn’t given him much instruction. He’d said: “I’m sure it won’t be the food-tasters. For all they know they might be asked to eat the whole plateful. Still, we’ll get Detritus to talk to them. You find out the how , right? And then leave the who to me.”
    If you didn’t eat or drink a poison, what else was left? Probably you could put it on a pad and make someone breathe it, or dribble some in their ear while they slept. Or they could touch it. Maybe a small dart…Or an insect bite…
    The Patrician stirred, and looked at Cheery through watery red eyes. “Tell me, young man, are you a policeman?”
    “Er…just started, sir.”
    “You appear to be of the dwarf persuasion.”
    Cheery didn’t bother to answer. There was no use denying it. Somehow, people could tell if you were a dwarf just by looking at you.
    “Arsenic is a very popular poison,” said the Patrician. “Hundreds of uses around the home. Crushed diamonds used to be in vogue for hundreds of years, despite the fact they never worked. Giant spiders, too, for some reason. Mercury is for those with patience, aquafortis for those without. Cantharides has its followers. Much can be done with the secretions of various animals. The bodily fluids of the caterpillar of the Quantum Weather Butterfly will render a man quite, quite helpless. But we return to arsenic like an old, old friend.”
    There was a drowsiness in the Patrician’s voice. “Is that not so, young Vetinari? Yes indeed, sir. Correct. But where then shall we put it, seeing that all will look for it? In the last place they will look, sir. Wrong. Foolish. We put it where no one will look at all… ”
    The voice faded to a murmur.
    The bed linen, Cheery thought. Even clothes. Into the skin, slowly…
    Cheery hammered on the door. A guard opened it.
    “Get another bed.”
    “What?”
    “Another bed. From anywhere. And fresh bed linen.”
    He looked down. There wasn’t much of a carpet on the floor. Even so, in a bedroom, where people might walk with bare feet…
    “And take away this rug and bring another one.”
    What else?
    Detritus came in, nodded at Cheery,