And then there were the people trying a little too hard to present themselves as harmless members of the public. They always stood out and Moist wondered if they knew how obvious they were to the trained eye of the suspicious scoundrel. They were worried and trying desperately not to look worried and nonchalance, real nonchalance, is very difficult to fake. If you didn’t have the knack it cried out … amateur.
One dwarf in particular had caught Moist’s eye as he passed, so he came back a short while later and took the seat opposite. As Moist sat rocking with the rhythm of the train, he sensed some discordance. Not fear, exactly, but the pulse of fear squashed down so heavily that it was almost singing, and in the privacy of Moist’s skull the tickertape of suspicion ticked away.
Moist had been clever so far, not staring and, indeed, trying to look like a person who was not trying not to stare, a professional nonchalant, but the dwarf who was under his eyes was sweating. Sooner or later something was going to break.
‘Oh, I know who you are!’ Moist said suddenly, keeping his voice low. ‘You’re one of those train spotters, aren’t you? I never forget an anorak.’
‘Oh, yes, I’m a very keen train spotter, sir,’ said the dwarf, keeping his voice level while his beard dripped sweat and his eyes screamed help.
‘Excellent. So you’d know the top speed of a Flyer, then, would you? No?’
Hardly anyone on the train had looked up as he subtly questioned the dwarf, as subtly as a sledgehammer; it had become an extraordinary[67] rule of railway etiquette that other passengers’ conduct and conversation remained their private business, however obtrusive it might be. The dwarf had visibly jumped in his seat when Moist first engaged him, but he was still grave-faced and, yes, still sweating, so Moist carried on like a friend who wants to borrow money.
‘As I said, I never forget an anorak. Taking the long haul to Zemphis, are we?’
The dwarf nodded and said simply, ‘Yes.’
‘Did you see which engine we’ve got?’ said Moist. ‘I tell you what … I’m hearing some trunnion rattle. Can you feel it? Maybe she’s a new one just out of the yard?’
‘Er … yes … I suppose so …’ spluttered the wretched dwarf.
As he considered his next move, Moist looked around. Ah, there was another dwarf, further away, surreptitiously watching him watch the ersatz train spotter. Thinking furiously, he turned his attention back to the sweating dwarf in front of him.
‘Hang on, I’ve seen you before, haven’t I, at the gates of the compound, with your little notebook? We all have our little notebooks, buddy, and mine’s in my luggage over there and yours is the cleanest anorak I’ve ever seen. Real train spotters get covered in muck and smuts … it’s their badge of honour to have a greasy anorak. But you, mister, know nothing about trains or train spotting, do you?’
As he said this, he saw the other dwarf leave his seat and start to walk nonchalantly to the next carriage.
‘You! Wait here!’ Moist barked at the dwarf in front of him as he ran after and jumped on the perambulating dwarf. There were screams of consternation from the other passengers, finally jolted from their careful lack of interest, as Moist rolled off, scrambled to his feet and kicked the dwarf heavily with his plate-layer’s boots, the ones with the metal toecaps; an invitation to lie on the ground in agony, even if you were wearing chainmail.
Moist reached up and pulled the communication cord,[68] hardly visible overhead, and as the train slid to a screeching halt, he shouted to the passengers, ‘Nobody gets off this train unless they can fly. We’ll soon have company, ladies and gentlemen. This will be something to tell your grandchildren about.’
Reinforcements were already coming from both directions: dark clerks from one and City Watch from the other … this particular portion of the City Watch being Commander Vimes, who took one look and said to everyone present, ‘Nothing to worry about, ladies and gentlemen. This gentleman hadn’t bought a ticket for his journey, and that kind of behaviour makes our railway staff very upset …’
A little later, in the guard’s van, the nervous young dwarf and his saturnine minder were, amazingly, talking to old Stoneface, who was sitting at the guard’s desk and listening intently.
‘Now, gentlemen, something is going on here.’
He held up a large, four-sided knife. The weapon really meant business, not just business, but business with ignominy. The young dwarf was being held between two coppers as the commander spoke to him, smiling like a shark.
‘This, sir, is what assassins call a roundel, and I must tell you that even the professional killers don’t use them. I believe they think it’s cruel and has no finesse. Frankly, I think I’ll agree about that. And I’m wondering, sir, why you’re carrying it on this train?’
Vimes turned to the other dwarf, presently chained to Sergeant Detritus.
‘And you, sir. What was your part in all this? We’re on a moving vehicle, travelling through wilderness where anything could happen. And, you know, anything might happen very soon if I don’t get some answers.’
He turned to an officer and said, ‘Fred. You and Nobby shackle the young one and drag him somewhere where he can be alone with his thoughts and then I’ll continue my little chat with this old feller, who I suspect would very much like to talk to me in a clear, thoughtful, and expansive way, leaving nothing out. You, sir,’ and this was to Moist, ‘I suggest you go back to your seat. I’ll talk to you later.’
Dismissed, and with nothing better to do, Moist resumed his patrol of the carriages. There were long, long miles to Zemphis ahead of them and in some stretches the landscape was so monotonous that another term would have to be devised. To pass the time, he wandered along to the fabled First Class sleeping compartments. Effie had clearly had a hand in these. Whole families in Ankh-Morpork, including aunts and uncles, grannies and granddads and all the kids and possibly their donkey could have slept well in just one of the delightful part bedroom, part drawing rooms.
And when Moist came back to the guard’s van after pacing the corridors and gave the not very secret knock, he found the door opened by Nobby Nobbs, a watchman who though technically human (with a certificate to prove it) was so much like a goblin that he had acquired a goblin girlfriend. Adora Belle had met her many times and she had told Moist that Shine of the Rainbow was throwing herself away on Nobby.
‘Wotcher, Mister Lipwig. You should have been ’ere when Mister Vimes was interrogating that old suspect. He rolled up his sleeve and the dwarf went mental, and I mean proper mental. He saw that mark, you know, the one on the commander’s wrist, and went, well, totally mental, promising absolutely everything. Never seen anyone so scared in all my life and Vimesy hadn’t even touched him. He broke, sir, that’s the only way I can put it. He broke. I mean, he’s had a go at me on occasions, you know, about such things as what I found on the street and was hurrying to give back to their owner and suchlike. Nothing important. But that dwarf … it was like he melted, sir. Melted! You wouldn’t know Done It Duncan, not being in the Watch, sir, well, the poor bugger owns up to anything just to get a drink and a place to sleep in the cells and maybe a chat and a ham sandwich. But this lawn ornament, he’s got it worse.’
Moist looked around. ‘Where are they now?’
‘In there. And Mister Vimes took the young ’un off somewhere else with Fred.’ Nobby pointed towards the far end of the guard’s van. ‘Mister Lipwig, you know that great idea you had?’
68
Some months before, Mr Reg Shoe, travelling in an otherwise empty compartment, had got his fingers trapped when the carriage window shot up unexpectedly fast, and by the time the train reached the terminus he had lost the top joint of one digit. Mr Shoe, being a zombie, though indignant was merely inconvenienced by this accident, but at Effie’s insistence Simnel had devised the communication cord: a small rope that ran the length of the train, with a bell attached to either end. If there was a problem, a passenger could pull this rope and the driver or guard, alerted by the bell, would slam on the brakes.