Wyrd Sisters

‘I’ve known your father for a long time,’ said Hwel. ‘Through thick and thin, and there was a damn sight more thin than thick. Since before you were bor—’ He hesitated. ‘Times were hard in those days,’ he mumbled. ‘So what I’m saying is … well, some things you earn.’

‘Yes. I’m sorry.’

‘You see, just—’ Hwel paused at the mouth of a dark alley. ‘Did you hear something?’ he said.

They squinted into the alley, once again revealing themselves as newcomers to the city. Morporkians don’t look down dark alleys when they hear strange noises. If they see four struggling figures their first instinct is not to rush to anyone’s assistance, or at least not to rush to the assistance of the one who appears to be losing and on the wrong end of someone else’s boot. Nor do they shout ‘Oi!’ Above all, they don’t look surprised when the assailants, instead of guiltily running off, flourish a small piece of cardboard in front of them.

‘What’s this?’ said Tomjon.

‘It’s a clown!’ said Hwel. ‘They’ve mugged a clown!’

‘“Theft Licence”?’ said Tomjon, holding the card up to the light.

‘That’s right,’ said the leader of the three. ‘Only don’t expect us to do you too, ‘cos we’re on our way home.’

‘S’right,’ said one of his assistants. ‘It’s the thingy, the quota.’

‘But you were kicking him!’

‘Worl, not a lot. Not what you’d call actual kicking.’

‘More foot nudging, sort of thing,’ said the third thief.

‘Fair’s fair. He bloody well went and fetched Ron here a right thump, didn’t he?’

‘Yeah. Some people have no idea.’

‘Why, you heartless—’ Hwel began, but Tomjon laid a cautioning hand on his head.

The boy turned the card over. The obverse read:

J. H. ‘Flannelfoot’ Boggis and Nephews

Bespoke Thieves

‘The Old Firm’

(Estblshd AM 1789)

All type Theft carryed out Professionly and

with Disgression

Houses cleared. 24-hr service.

No job too small.

LET US QUOTE YOU FOR OUR

FAMILY RATE

‘It seems to be in order,’ he said reluctantly.

Hwel paused in the act of helping the dazed victim to his feet.

‘In order?’ he shouted. ‘To rob someone?’

‘We’ll give him a chitty, of course,’ said Boggis. ‘Lucky we found him first, really. Some of these newcomers in the business, they’ve got no idea.’[18]

‘Cowboys,’ agreed a nephew.

‘How much did you steal?’ said Tomjon.

Boggis opened the clown’s purse, which was stuck in his belt. Then he went pale.

‘Oh, bleeding hell,’ he said. The Nephews clustered around.

‘We’re for it, sort of thing.’

‘Second time this year, uncle.’

Boggis glared at the victim.

‘Well, how was I to know? I wasn’t to know, was I? I mean, look at him, how much would you expect him to have on him? Couple of coppers, right? I mean, we’d never have done for him, only it was on our way home. You try and do someone a favour, this is what happens.’

‘How much has he got, then?’ said Tomjon.

‘There must be a hundred silver dollars in here,’ moaned Boggis, waving a purse. ‘I mean, that’s not my league. That’s not my class. I can’t handle that sort of money. You’ve got to be in the Guild of Lawyers or something to steal that much. It’s way over my quota, is that.’

‘Give it back then,’ said Tomjon.

‘But I done him a receipt!’

‘They’ve all got, you know, numbers on,’ explained the younger of the nephews. ‘The Guild checks up, sort of …’

Hwel grabbed Tomjon’s hand.

‘Will you excuse us a moment?’ he said to the frantic thief, and dragged Tomjon to the other side of the alley.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘Who’s gone mad? Them? Me? You?’

Tomjon explained.

‘It’s legal?’

‘Up to a certain point. Fascinating, isn’t it? Man in a pub told me about it, sort of thing.’

‘But he’s stolen too much?’

‘So it appears. I gather the Guild is very strict about it.’

There was a groan from the victim hanging between them. He tinkled gently.

‘Look after him,’ said Tomjon. ‘I’ll sort this out.’

He went back to the thieves, who were looking very worried.

‘My client feels,’ he said, ‘that the situation could be resolved if you give the money back.’

‘Ye-es,’ said Boggis, approaching the idea as if it was a brand new theory of cosmic creation. ‘But it’s the receipt, see, we have to fill it up, time and place, signed and everything …’

‘My client feels that possibly you could rob him of, let us say, five copper pieces,’ said Tomjon, smoothly.

‘—I bloody don’t! —’ shouted the Fool, who was coming round.

‘That represents two copper pieces as the going rate, plus expenses of three copper pieces for time, call-out fees—’

‘Wear and tear on cosh,’ said Boggis.

‘Exactly.’