A/N Please review disclaimers in chapter one. Sorry for the delay; real life again. Y'all know.
TELLING LIES FOR FUN AND PROFIT
They walked off to Cable Street. Harry was still thinking about what he had seen so far in Discworld, and then posed a new question to Littlebottom.
"So, Sergeant Littlebottom, what exactly is a mangonel, anyway?" Harry asked.
The dwarf looked up at him suspiciously. She had been present when Vimes said he wasn't going to tell Angua or Carrot where Potter was from, and she had learned a few things about interrogation herself in her years on the force. She was going to use that experience now.
"Ah. A mangonel," she said.
"Yes, I think Captain Carrot said it was a siege weapon of some kind," Harry continued.
"Very true," Cherie replied. "I suppose you don't see them so often out there on the Counterweight Continent."
"At least, not where I'm from," Harry responded diplomatically.
Cherie eyes him closely for a moment, then resumed her focus on the street in front of them. "Well, he hasn't said so much, but I'm assuming it must be a small one," Littlebottom began. "A full size mangonel would normally require four trolls to carry and operate, or roughly 25 humans. You didn't see that many attackers last night?"
"No," Harry said. "Only about five."
"Right, well, mangonel is an old Latitian word. In full size, a mangonel is a single-arm, tension-torsion catapult. It can throw a boulder more than 1,000 feet. From what I've heard, it sounds as if this was a small version with a bucket arrangement that let it fire smaller stones and burning pitch. It would certainly explain how they could knock down those other temples," she said.
Harry thought about it for a minute.
"How big did you say they were?" he asked.
"At full size, about the size of a house," she said. "Two stories tall, easily. They take a long time to set up and break down. Which is why I'm interested at seeing this one, and in particular the wood it was made of."
"That's right, I remember you saying that at Pseudopolis," Harry said. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean by that."
"You sit in a wooden chair at lunch?" she answered him with a question.
"Yes," Harry said.
"At a wooden table?" she asked.
"Yes," he said again.
"In a wood-frame house? And eat out of a wooden bowl with a wooden spoon?" she persisted.
"Yes, yes, and yes," said Harry, mildly aggravated. "So what?"
The dwarf stopped him in the middle of the hot summer street. "So look around you, Sonny Jim," she said. "Where the hell are all of the trees?"
Harry blinked and looked about him. It was true, he realized. In all the time he had been walking around, he hadn't seen a single tree. Now he cast his view further down the cross street they stood near. No trees there. None down by the Ankh.
"Okay, where are the trees?" he asked.
"None, in Ankh-Morpork," Cherie explained. "Yet we need them. Wood is vital for many things - construction, daily goods and siege weapons. So we import virtually all of our wood.
"The Patricians' Forest is just outside the main city walls to the North of us. It's a forest that primarily consists of red pine. Timber that is forested there is delivered to a part of the upstream Ankh and floated in through the city's water gate down to the Morpork region of the city, where the big timber yards then cut it into lumber and toss runoff back into the Ankh. The Patrician is very careful about how much wood is cut, when, and by whom. You have to have a license to cut it. So if we find one of the Patricians' brand marks on the wood, we know who cut it and when."
"Brilliant," said Harry. "But what if it isn't red pine?"
"Oh, that would be even more interesting," Littlebottom said. "It could be any of a number of woods that I can identify. I doubt that it was made of teak, liana, rosewood or mahogany, of course - those exotic hardwoods all come from the Agatean Empire or Four Ecks and they're damn' expensive - but it could be oak, for instance. Which would also give us an idea of where it was made."
At this point Cherie could no longer contain herself. "So being from the Counterweight Continent, I guess all the ones you'd have seen would be made out of red oak," she said.
"Er, yes," Harry said. "Lots of red oak on the Counterweight Continent. Big one near my house in Lon-."
"Mmm." Littlebottom pursed her lips. They walked near a clacks pole and saw a street sign that read 'Cabel Street'. "I assume this is it?" Harry asked.
Littlebottom said nothing but took a side street marked "Notan Alley."
"Don't know about the force in Lon-," she said, "but Cable Street is what we call around here our non-uni force."
Harry blinked and tried to understand. "Your non universe?"
"No, non-uni force. You know. Plainclothes," she said.
"Oh, right," Harry said. "Undercover."
Littlebottom gasped and turned to him. "No way! You really have Watchpeople in bed with their targets?"
"Sorry, figure of speech," Harry said. "I meant we don't wear a distinguishing uniform but blend in with the common people so that we can detect crime. That describes most of our force."
"I see," Littlebottom said, stroking her beard. "But what if there's a big riot? I mean, it's easier to control the population if they see a dozen uniforms running at them."
"Not much of a problem back home," Harry said. "Clandestine activities are our big headache."
"Okay," Littlebottom said. She looked up at the side of a tall building - a warehouse, Harry thought - and looked at a gargoyle that was on the side eave. After a second, a dim doorway opened across the street. "Let's go," she said, leading him inside.
She walked in and nodded to a few dwarfs who were writing reports. Harry didn't catch the full exchange she had, as it was in dwarvish, but eventually she finished and they walked toward a workshop in the back.
They entered a room in which a large table was set for tea. A group of painted wooden manikins sat in various positions as a butler in morning dress proffered a tray around. Finally he set it at the head of the table and the tray went flying through the air, decapitating the manikin at the end.
"Right, I want that ready for the Patrician's tea party on Thursday," came a voice, unperturbed at the violence. "Hello, Sergeant Littlebottom."
"Hello, Qu," she said.
Harry had been gaping at the scene of the workshop of death, and turned to see Littlebottom in discussion with an elderly man with a shaved head, dressed in saffron robes. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" he said, turning to the elderly man.
"I said hello, Lance-Constable Potter. My name is Qu," Qu said.
"How did you know my name was Potter?" Harry asked.
"It's on your badge," Qu said.
"Harry, Qu is a member of the History Monks," Littlebottom explained. "Although they normally live within their sanctuary, the members of the History Monks are obliged to live in the world for part of their lives. One of the leaders of their order, Marco Soto, lives here in Ankh-Morpork and has kindly arranged for Qu to come to work with Cable Street for the next few years as his service. He's shown us any number of very … unorthodox devices which have come in quite useful in watch service."
Harry looked back at the teaset. "I reckon so," he said.
"You're not from Ankh-Morpork," Qu said. "From the Counterweight Continent, perhaps?"
"Yes, from Lon-, actually," Harry replied.
"Really?" Qu said in surprise. "I believe that's less than a full day's walk from our monastery in the Ramtops. I was under the impression that no-one lives in Lon- anymore," he began.
"Very few," Harry interrupted.
"Because it is so overcrowded," finished Qu.
"Er," Harry began, unsure of what to say.
"What do you have to show us today, Qu?" interjected Littlebottom.
"I have reconstructed the mangonel," Qu said. "Shall we?"
They walked into a back room where the siege weapon, mostly back into working order, rested amongst other interesting implements of war. Harry was drawn to the peculiarity of some of the items on the workbench and began to examine them, as Littlebottom cast her expert eye over the wooden frame.
"Captain Carrot's attack on the machine was very effective," Qu said. "The damage was considerable. Luckily, there was a large amount of rope lying beside it, so it made it easy to drag the pieces and then re-build it. I'm glad I didn't need the wood that I had to rebuild it, since if I didn't have it, I would have needed it."
Harry just looked flummoxed by this. Littlebottom began looking at the joins as Harry picked up a small, folding paper fan. He flipped it out and ducked, as a series of thin, needle-like knives darted out of the fan, nearly decapitating him. Harry dropped the fan and hit the floor, and Qu was beside him in a flash, catching the fan before it hit the ground. The venerable monk merely smiled at him. "I can see you'll be quite a fan of my work, Potter," he said.
Littlebottom called Harry. "Potter, stop fooling around and have a look at this."
Harry walked over. "See the in-seam split? You can see right through to the wood there. The bucket's the same material. That's white oak, that is."
"I see," said Harry. "Where would a stand of white oak trees be found?"
"Probably Lancre," Littlebottom said. "No less than five days' good ride from here, if your horses are strong and the roads are good. If the roads are muddy and you can't get forage for your horses, could be two weeks."
Harry backed up and looked at the war weapon carefully. Although the warehouse wasn't that brightly lit, it was much better than the dark night. "If someone brought this from Lancre, surely it would have caused a sight. Wouldn't someone have noticed them on the city streets with it?"
"I doubt it," Qu said. "Even though you can observe a lot, just by watching." He walked around and pressed a lever. The mangonel collapsed, into an easily identifiable structure. "It's a horse cart!" Harry said.
"Mule, more like," Littlebottom said, looking at the axle. "But yes, this would explain how they got it past the Watch at the city gate. If they had a cover over it, like they usually do, it wouldn't even be a remarkable occurrence. Must be 300 carts coming in and going out each day - they just got lost in the middle."
Harry jumped into the 'bed' of the cart, which would be the folding arms of the mangonel. "Lots of carts every day, Sarge?" he asked.
"That's right, Potter," she said. "All carrying vegetables, meats, other goods for trade or sale."
"And there's a Watch at the gate, you said," Harry continued.
"Right again," Littlebottom said.
"And do people have to pay some kind of toll to get in?" he asked.
"Ah, the Patrician's Tariff!" the monk spoke up. "A crime, it is, that Lord Vetinari can levy a heavy fine even on us who have given up on the world. I have to pay a heavy toll every time my monastery sends me materials to work with here, and they end up just going back to the Watch. Really, the way it's going, a nickel isn't worth a dime, anymore."
"Um, right. So everyone pays tax," Harry said. "So what did this cart carry, besides the mangonel? Rocks, maybe?"
"Good question, Harry," Littlebottom said. "I have a feeling it wasn't rock. Let's examine the shot."
The shot was on the table which contained the fan and some other items. Harry tried to pick up a piece of rock, misjudged the weight, and dropped it. Again, Qu with his amazing dexterity snatched the rock before it struck the floor.
"You're quite a catcher," Harry said.
"I managed," Qu said, imperturbably.
"So you see," Littlebottom said. "This is mainly building rubble. That piece of concrete even has some paint on the outside. No, they probably got the rubble locally."
"So we still don't know what they brought in from Lancre," Harry said.
"No, and that's an important point," Littlebottom said. "The absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. They probably brought in something, and we haven't seen it yet. We need to tell that to Commander Vimes.
"Anything else, Qu?"
"I think that's it for now, but thanks for making this visit necessary," Qu said.
Littlebottom nodded and walked to the door. Harry followed her and Qu grabbed his sleeve.
"I know you are not from here," Qu said, smiling benignly. "You are at a place where the roads intersect."
Harry thought. His life in London as an Auror was certainly in flux. In some ways he still missed his old friends who had died on the way, and hadn't really mourned them properly. This undoubtedly influenced his relationship with Hermione. Even though he was sure he loved her, he was terrified to commit to her ultimately. When his emotions were laid bare, Harry felt naked.
"I'm certainly at a crossroads," Harry said. The monk smiled and walked slowly with him. "It is important for you to know where it is that you are going. Otherwise, you will end up somewhere else," Qu said.
"Ah - ah - " why do monks always speak in riddles? Harry thought. "I guess that's true," he said.
They approached the door, where Littlebottom was waiting for them. Qu smiled. "You have come to a fork in the road," the old man in saffron said. "My advice to you is, take it."
The old man faded back into the dimly lit warehouse.
"Old Qu likes you," Littlebottom says. "Passing on his baubles of wisdom like that."
"I guess," Harry said, staring back at the dimness.
They walked out into the hot, sticky Ankh-Morpork afternoon.
"Look, Potter, it's none of my business, but I'll level with you," Littlebottom said. "You're coming up a bit short on your answers. The old man and I know you're not from Lon-, wherever the gods-forsaken hell that is. Firstly, red oak is not native to that part of the Ramtops, and you would never have had one growing by your house growing up, since red oak is only found in Four Ecks. Secondly, the Counterweight Continent's wars are full of the use of mangonels, and you didn't know what one was, whereas if you had really grown up there, you would already have known. Thirdly, you don't know whether Lon- is a big city or a small hamlet. Finally, Angua knows you're not from around those parts, too, and her opinion trumps all the others."
Harry said nothing. He just continued to stare straight ahead.
Finally the dwarf sighed. "I don't care. It doesn't matter. Surely you've seen enough of us by now to know we're a mixed bag of all sods. Trolls and dwarfs on the same force. Ghouls, gargoyles and golems. Even werewolves and a vampire and an Igor. And can't forget the humans, too. We're all pretty messed up, you know. We've all got our battles we're fighting. But there's one thing that keeps us together."
Harry let at least a minute pass. "What's that, then?" He asked finally.
"When we're out here, we watch out for each other's backsides," Littlebottom said. "I don't give a damn where you're from or what you did to get here. But when we're on patrol, I expect to go home the next day, and not be a chalk outline. Are we communicating here?"
"Sergeant Littlebottom, the first attempt on my life came when I was 15 months old. Since then I've basically been fighting to stay alive more or less constantly," Harry said, completely truthfully. "I may not be from around these parts, but I understand the parts I have to play. So I've got your back out here. I expect you to have mine, too."
"Right, that's good," Littlebottom said. "I don't want to make a chalk outline around you, either. Now we've settled that, let's report to Vimes."
They walked back to the Pseudopolis in companionable silence. Learning from the desk that Vimes was in, they went into the hall and knocked on the door. From experience, Littlebottom didn't wait for a reply but entered.
"Ah, Littlebottom, Potter, just who I want to see," Vimes said, lighting a cigar. "What do you have to add?"
"Sir, the mangonel was made of white oak, almost certainly from Lancre," Littlebottom said. It was designed to fold up into a mule cart, which is probably how it was brought into the gate," she said. "We don't know if it was loaded with anything, though I'm sure that our lovely little boys brought some of their toys with them. The shot was local building rubble. I recognized part of it as that slab house that was knocked down last week."
"So there's a Lancre connection, and they probably brought something in we haven't seen yet," Vimes mused. "Anything else?"
"Yes, actually," the dwarf continued. "Potter wormed out of Igor that something suspicious is happening at the fat depository, near the entrance where they're dumping out the spoilage. I'd like permission to make our routine annual inspection soon. Also, Igor said that Igor may know a lot more about what's going on. I'd request Sergeant Angua's assistance in tackling that interrogation, sir."
Vimes sat back and puffed smoke for a while. "You'll only get there late at night, and it won't be tonight," the commander said finally. "Requisition Angua for that tomorrow night. As for the fat deposits, that's a good idea. You can probably get Detritus to assist you, and three of you can tackle that -"
He was interrupted by a pound on the door and a breathless Sgt. Colon entered. He had grime on his uniform, and smelled of smoke.
"Sir, they've hit another temple. Hyperopia. Started a big fire, still burning. Casualties, too, this time," Colon managed.
Vimes drew a sword out of the back and began to equip. "How many?"
"Not sure, sir, at least a dozen was worshippin' the Sacred Lace at the time, and it was burnin'" Colon said. "And Nobby said that they Grave Gourmands was throwin' a lot of pamphlets about, too, to people and such around the temple."
Vimes turned. "Pamphlets?"
"Yessir, I haven't looked at 'em, neither has Nobby, but we figure they must be like some of Washpot's, er, Constable Visit's, sir. So maybe these Grave Gourmands is just a buncha new Omnians," he said. "You know they have a schism like every decade."
Vimes had finished dressing and handed Harry an axe. "We're starting to work on the fire, then let's get Visit and Dorfl to look at the pamphlets and see if it's some Omnian thing. We'll worry about the rest later. Get a general clacks out and get all available Watchman to the area."
Colon nodded and left in a hurry.
He got up. "Right you lot, there's work to do, let's get at it," and he led the group out the door.
The Watch generally gathered to begin fire relief operations, and as a result no-one had a chance to follow up on their work from earlier.
Which meant that no-one got a chance to look at the pamphlets stuck on Vimes' desk by Nobby (less one or two which wouldn't be missed and could be used as valuable latrine paper), before the Patricians' butler placed a stack of paper containing the latest tax rolls on top of it, later that evening.
Which was a pity, because if someone had been able to read it, it might have provided them with a very valuable clue.
Unfortunately, as the pamphlet got buried in the endless pile of paperwork that was on Vimes' desk, it meant that no one read the story of 'Lord Voldemort and the Astounding Visionary, by Rocky Silverarm.'