Terry Pratchett

Theater of Cruelty

Òåàòð æåñòîêîñòè

It was a fine summer morning (ýòî áûëî çàìå÷àòåëüíîå ëåòíåå óòðî), the kind to make a man happy to be alive (èç òåõ, êîòîðûå çàñòàâëÿþò ÷åëîâåêà ðàäîâàòüñÿ æèçíè). And probably the man would have been happier to be alive (è, âåðîÿòíî, ÷åëîâåê áûë áû åùå ñ÷àñòëèâåå, áûë áû îí æèâ). He was, in fact, dead (îí áûë, ôàêòè÷åñêè, ìåðòâ). It would be hard to be deader without special training (òðóäíî áûòü ìåðòâåå, áåç ñïåöèàëüíîé ïîäãîòîâêè).

“Well, now,” said Sergeant Colon (Ankh-Morpork City Guard, Night Watch), consulting his notebook (ñâåðÿÿñü ñ áëîêíîòîì), “so far we have cause of death as (íà ñåãîäíÿøíèé ìîìåíò ìû èìååì ñëåäóþùèå ïðè÷èíû ñìåðòè) a) being beaten with at least one blunt instrument (çàáèò äî ñìåðòè ïî êðàéíåé ìåðå îäíèì òóïûì ïðåäìåòîì) b) being strangled with a string of sausages (çàäóøåí ñâÿçêîé ñîñèñîê; string – öåïî÷êà, âåðåâêà) and c) being savaged by at least two animals with big sharp teeth (ïîêóñàí ïî êðàéíåé ìåðå äâóìÿ æèâîòíûìè ñ áîëüøèìè îñòðûìè çóáàìè). What do we do now (÷òî íàì äåëàòü òåïåðü), Nobby?”

“Arrest the suspect (àðåñòîâàòü ïîäîçðåâàåìîãî), Sarge,” said Corporal Nobbs, saluting smartly (áðàâî îòäàâ ÷åñòü; smartly – ýíåðãè÷íî, ñèëüíî, ðåçêî).

“Suspect, Nobby?”

“Him,” said Nobby, prodding the corpse with his boot (ïèíàÿ òðóï ñâîèì áîòèíêîì). “I call it highly suspicious (ÿ ñ÷èòàþ ýòî î÷åíü ïîäîçðèòåëüíûì), being dead like that (áûòü ìåðòâûì âîò òàê). He’s been drinking, too (îí òàêæå ïèë). We could do him for being dead and disorderly (ìû ìîãëè áû ïîâÿçàòü åãî çà ñìåðòü è íàðóøåíèå ïîðÿäêà).”

Colon scratched his head (ïî÷åñàë çàòûëîê). Arresting the corpse offered, of course, certain advantages (àðåñò òðóïà ïðåäëàãàë, êîíå÷íî, îïðåäåëåííûå ïðåèìóùåñòâà). But…

“I reckon (ÿ ïîëàãàþ),” he said slowly (îí ñêàçàë ìåäëåííî), “that Captain Vimes’ll want this one sorted out (÷òî êàïèòàí Âàéìñ çàõî÷åò ðàçðåøèòü ýòî äåëî) . You’d better bring it back to the Watch House (òåáå ëó÷øå îòíåñòè òåëî íàçàä â Äîì Ñòðàæè), Nobby.”

“And then can we eat the sausages (à ïîòîì ìû ìîæåì ñúåñòü ñîñèñêè), sarge?” said Corporal Nobbs.

It was a fine summer morning, the kind to make a man happy to be alive. And probably the man would have been happier to be alive. He was, in fact, dead. It would be hard to be deader without special training.

“Well, now,” said Sergeant Colon (Ankh-Morpork City Guard, Night Watch), consulting his notebook, “so far we have cause of death as a) being beaten with at least one blunt instrument b) being strangled with a string of sausages and c) being savaged by at least two animals with big sharp teeth. What do we do now, Nobby?”

“Arrest the suspect, Sarge,” said Corporal Nobbs, saluting smartly.

“Suspect, Nobby?”

“Him,” said Nobby, prodding the corpse with his boot. “I call it highly suspicious, being dead like that. He’s been drinking, too. We could do him for being dead and disorderly.”

Colonscratched his head. Arresting the corpse offered, of course, certain advantages. But…

“I reckon,” he said slowly, “that Captain Vimes’ll want this one sorted out. You’d better bring it back to the Watch House, Nobby.”

“And then can we eat the sausages, sarge?” said Corporal Nobbs.

It wasn’t easy, being the senior policeman in Ankh-Morpork (ýòî áûëî íåëåãêî, áûòü ñòàðøèì ïîëèöåéñêèì â Àíê-Ìîðïîðêå), greatest of cities of the Discworld (âåëè÷àéøåì èç ãîðîäîâ Ïëîñêîãî Ìèðà) [*].

There were probably worlds (âåðîÿòíî, ãäå-òî åñòü ìèðû), captain Vimes mused in his gloomier moments (êàïèòàí Âàéìñ ðàçìûøëÿë â ñàìûå ìðà÷íûå ìîìåíòû), where there weren’t wizards (ãäå íåò âîëøåáíèêîâ) (who made locked room mysteries commonplace (êîòîðûå äåëàëè çàãàäêè çàïåðòîé êîìíàòû îáûäåííîñòüþ)) or zombies (èëè çîìáåé) (murder cases were really strange when the victim could be the chief witness (äåëà îá óáèéñòâàõ áûëè äåéñòâèòåëüíî ñòðàííûìè, êîãäà æåðòâà ìîãëà áûòü ãëàâíûì ñâèäåòåëåì)) and where dogs could be relied on to do nothing in the night time (è ãäå ñîáàêè íè÷åãî íå äåëàþò â íî÷íîå âðåìÿ) and not go around chatting to people (è íå øàñòàþòñÿ âîêðóã, ðàçãîâàðèâàÿ ñ ëþäüìè). Captain Vimes believed in logic (âåðèë â ëîãèêó), in much the same way as a man in a desert believed in ice (â òîé æå ñòåïåíè, êàê ÷åëîâåê â ïóñòûíå âåðèò â ëåä)—i.e., it was something he really needed (òî åñòü, ýòî áûëî ÷òî-òî, â ÷åì îí ñèëüíî íóæäàëñÿ), but this just wasn’t the world for it (íî ýòî ïðîñòî íå áûë ìèð äëÿ ýòîãî =  äà  òîëüêî ìèð âîêðóã îêàçàëñÿ  íåïîäõîäÿùèì  äëÿ òàêîé øòóêîâèíû). Just once, he thought, it’d be nice to solve something (õîòÿ áû îäèí ðàçîê, ïîäóìàë îí, áûëî áû õîðîøî ðàñêðûòü ÷òî-íèáóäü).

He looked at the blue-faced body on the slab (îí ïîñìîòðåë íà ñèíåëèöåå òåëî íà ïëèòå), and felt a tiny flicker of excitement (è ïî÷óâñòâîâàë êðîøå÷íóþ èñêîðêó âîçáóæäåíèÿ). There were clues (òàì áûëè óëèêè). He’d never seen proper clues before (îí íèêîãäà íå âèäåë íàñòîÿùèõ óëèê äî ýòîãî; proper – ïðàâèëüíûé, äîëæíûé).

“Couldn’t have been a robber (âðÿä ëè ýòî áûëî îãðàáëåíèå), Captain,” said Sergeant Colon. “The reason being, his pockets were full of money (ïðè÷èíà â òîì, ÷òî åãî êàðìàíû áûëè áèòêîì íàáèòû äåíüãàì). Eleven dollars (îäèííàäöàòü äîëëàðîâ).”

“I wouldn’t call that full (ÿ áû íå ñêàçàë, ÷òî ýòî áèòêîì),” said Captain Vimes.

“It was all in pennies and ha’pennies (âñå â öåíòîâèêàõ è ïîëóöåíòîâèêàõ), sir. I’m amazed his trousers stood the strain (ÿ óäèâëåí, ÷òî åãî áðþêè âûäåðæàëè ýòîò âåñ: «âûñòîÿëè íàïðÿæåíèå»). And I have cunningly detected the fact that he was a showman (è ÿ ëîâêî îïðåäåëèë òîò ôàêò, ÷òî îí áûë øîóìýíîì), sir. He had some cards in his pocket (ó íåãî áûëè êàðòî÷êè â êàðìåíå), sir. ‘Chas Slumber, Children’s Entertainer’ (ðàçâëåêàòåëü äåòåé = äåòñêèé çàòåéíèê).”

“I suppose no one saw anything (ÿ ïîëàãàþ, ÷òî íèêòî íè÷åãî íå âèäåë)?” said Vimes.

“Well, sir,” said Sergeant Colon helpfully (óñëóæëèâî), “I told young Constable Carrot to find some witnesses (ÿ ñêàçàë êîíñòåáëþ Êàððîòó íàéòè ñâèäåòåëåé).”

“You asked Corporal Carrot to investigate a murder (ðàññëåäîâàòü óáèéñòâî)? All by himself (â îäèíî÷êó)?” said Vimes.

The sergeant scratched his head.

“And he said to me, did I know anyone very old and seriously ill (çíàþ ëè ÿ êîãî-íèáóäü, êòî î÷åíü ñòàð è ñåðüåçíî áîëåí)?”

It wasn’t easy, being the senior policeman in Ankh-Morpork, greatest of cities of the Discworld [*].

There were probably worlds, captain Vimes mused in his gloomier moments, where there weren’t wizards (who made locked room mysteries commonplace) or zombies (murder cases were really strange when the victim could be the chief witness) and where dogs could be relied on to do nothing in the night time and not go around chatting to people. Captain Vimes believed in logic, in much the same way as a man in a desert believed in ice—i.e., it was something he really needed, but this just wasn’t the world for it. Just once, he thought, it’d be nice to solve something.

He looked at the blue-faced body on the slab, and felt a tiny flicker of excitement. There were clues. He’d never seen proper clues before.

“Couldn’t have been a robber, Captain,” said Sergeant Colon. “The reason being, his pockets were full of money. Eleven dollars.”

“I wouldn’t call that full,” said Captain Vimes.

“It was all in pennies and ha’pennies, sir. I’m amazed his trousers stood the strain. And I have cunningly detected the fact that he was a showman, sir. He had some cards in his pocket, sir. ‘Chas Slumber, Children’s Entertainer’.”

“I suppose no one saw anything?” said Vimes.

“Well, sir,” said Sergeant Colon helpfully, “I told young Constable Carrot to find some witnesses.”

“You asked Corporal Carrot to investigate a murder? All by himself?” said Vimes.

The sergeant scratched his head.

“And he said to me, did I know anyone very old and seriously ill?”

And on the magical Discworld, there is always one guaranteed witness to any homicide (è íà ìàãè÷åñêîì Ïëîñêîì Ìèðå âñåãäà åñòü ãàðàíòèðîâàííî îäèí ñâèäåòåëü ëþáîãî óáèéñòâà; homicide – óáèéñòâî). It’s his job (ýòî åãî ðàáîòà).

Constable Carrot, the Watch’s youngest member (ñàìûé ìîëîäîé ÷ëåí), often struck people as simple (÷àñòî ïðîèçâîäèë íà ëþäåé âïå÷àòëåíèå ïðîñòàêà). And he was (è îí áûë = òàêèì îí è áûë). He was incredibly simple (îí áûë íåâåðîÿòíî ïðîñò), but in the same way that a sword is simple (íî â òîé æå ìåðå, êàê ïðîñò ìå÷), or an ambush is simple (èëè êàê ïðîñòà çàñàäà). He was also possibly the most linear thinker (îí áûë, âîçìîæíî, ñàìûì ïðÿìîëèíåéíûì ìûñëèòåëåì) in the history of the universe (â èñòîðèè âñåëåííîé).

He’d been waiting by the bedside of an old man (îí æäàë ó ïîñòåëè ñòàðèêà), who’d quite enjoyed the company (êîòîðûé áûë ðàä êîìïàíèè). And now it was time to take out his notebook (è ñåé÷àñ áûëî ñàìîå âðåìÿ äîñòàòü ñâîþ çàïèñíóþ êíèæêó).

“Now I know you saw something (èòàê, ÿ çíàþ, ÷òî âû âèäåëè ÷òî-òî), sir,” he said. “You were there (âû áûëè òàì).”

WELL, YES, said Death. I HAVE TO BE (ÌÍÅ ÏÐÈÕÎÄÈÒÑß ÁÛÒÜ), YOU KNOW. BUT THIS IS VERY IRREGULAR (ÍÎ ÝÒÎ Î×ÅÍÜ ÍÅÎÁÛ×ÍÎ).

“You see (ïîíèìàåòå ëè), sir,” said Corporal Carrot, “as I understand the law (êàê ÿ ïîíèìàþ çàêîí), you are an Accessory After The Fact (ñîó÷àñòíèê ïîñëå ôàêòà). Or possibly Before The Fact.”

YOUNG MAN, I AM THE FACT (ÌÎËÎÄÎÉ ×ÅËÎÂÅÊ, ß È ÅÑÒÜ ÔÀÊÒ).

“And I am an officer of the Law (à ÿ — îôèöåð Çàêîíà),” said Corporal Carrot. “There’s got to be a law (çàêîí äîëæåí áûòü), you know.”

YOU WANT ME TO (ÂÛ ÕÎÒÈÒÅ, ×ÒÎÁÛ ß)… ER… GRASS SOMEONE UP (ÇÀËÎÆÈË ÊÎÃÎ-ÍÈÁÓÄÜ; grass – èíôîðìàòîð)? DROP A DIME ON SOMEONE (ÍÀÊÀÏÀË ÍÀ ÊÎÃÎ-ÒÎ)? SING LIKE A PIGEON (ÑÏÅË, ÊÀÊ ÃÎËÓÁÜ = ÍÀÑÒÓ×ÀË, ÊÀÊ ÄßÒÅË)? NO. NO-ONE KILLED MR. SLUMBER (ÍÈÊÒÎ ÍÅ ÓÁÈÂÀË ÌÈÑÒÅÐÀ ÑËÀÌÁÅÐÀ). I CAN’T HELP YOU THERE (ÍÅ ÌÎÃÓ ÂÀÌ ÏÎÌÎ×Ü).

“Oh, I don’t know, sir,” said Carrot, “I think you have (ÿ äóìàþ, âû ïîìîãëè).”

DAMN (ÏÐÎÊËßÒÜÅ).

Death watched Carrot leave (ñìåðòü ñìîòðåë, êàê Ìîðêîó óõîäèò), ducking his head as he went down the narrow stairs of the hovel (íàêëîíèâ ãîëîâó, ñïóñêàÿñü ïî óçêîé ëåñòíèöå ëà÷óãè).

NOW THEN, WHERE WAS I (Î ×ÅÌ ÝÒÎ ß)…

“Excuse me,” said the wizened old man in the bed (ñêàçàë èññîõøèé ñòàðèê â ïîñòåëå). “I happen to be 107 (ìíå óæå 107 ëåò), you know. I haven’t got all day (ó ìåíÿ íåò âñåãî äíÿ = íå äóìàþ, ÷òî ïðîòÿíó åùå îäèí äåíü).”

AH, YES, CORRECT (ÀÕ, ÄÀ, ÂÅÐÍÎ).

Death sharpened his scythe (çàòî÷èë ñâîþ êîñó). It was the first time he’d ever helped the police with their enquiries (ýòî áûëî â ïåðâûé ðàç, êîãäà îí ïîìîã ïîëèöèè ñ åå äåëàìè; enquiry – äåëî, ïðîáëåìà, âîïðîñ). Still, everyone had a job to do (õîòÿ, ó âñåõ åñòü ðàáîòà, êîòîðóþ íóæíî äåëàòü).

And on the magical Discworld, there is always one guaranteed witness to any homicide. It’s his job.

Constable Carrot, the Watch’s youngest member, often struck people as simple. And he was. He was incredibly simple, but in the same way that a sword is simple, or an ambush is simple. He was also possibly the most linear thinker in the history of the universe.

He’d been waiting by the bedside of an old man, who’d quite enjoyed the company. And now it was time to take out his notebook.

“Now I know you saw something, sir,” he said. “You were there.”

WELL, YES, said Death. I HAVE TO BE, YOU KNOW. BUT THIS IS VERY IRREGULAR.

“You see, sir,” said Corporal Carrot, “as I understand the law, you are an Accessory After The Fact. Or possibly Before The Fact.”

YOUNG MAN, I AM THE FACT.

“And I am an officer of the Law,” said Corporal Carrot. “There’s got to be a law, you know.”

YOU WANT ME TO… ER… GRASS SOMEONE UP? DROP A DIME ON SOMEONE? SING LIKE A PIGEON? NO. NO-ONE KILLED MR. SLUMBER. I CAN’T HELP YOU THERE.

“Oh, I don’t know, sir,” said Carrot, “I think you have.”

DAMN.

Death watched Carrot leave, ducking his head as he went down the narrow stairs of the hovel.

NOW THEN, WHERE WAS I…

“Excuse me,” said the wizened old man in the bed. “I happen to be 107, you know. I haven’t got all day.”

AH, YES, CORRECT.

Death sharpened his scythe. It was the first time he’d ever helped the police with their enquiries. Still, everyone had a job to do.

Corporal Carrot strolled easily around the town (êàïðàë Ìîðêîó ïðîãóëèâàëñÿ ïî ãîðîäó). He had a Theory (ó íåãî áûëà Òåîðèÿ). He’d read a book about Theories (îí ÷èòàë êíèãó î Òåîðèÿõ). You added up all the clues, and you got a Theory (âû ñêëàäûâàëè âñå óëèêè è ïîëó÷àëè Òåîðèþ). Everything had to fit (âñå äîëæíî ñîâïàñòü).

There were sausages (òàì áûëè ñîñèñêè). Someone had to buy sausages (êòî-òî äîëæåí áûë êóïèòü ñîñèñêè). And then there were pennies (è áûëè öåíòîâèêè). Normally only one subsection of the human race paid for things in pennies (îáû÷íî òîëüêî îäíà êàòåãîðèÿ ÷åëîâå÷åñêîé ðàñû ïëàòèëà çà âåùè öåíòîâèêàìè).

He called in at a sausage maker (îí çàøåë ê ñîñèñî÷íèêó; call in – çàéòè, çàñêî÷èòü). He found a group of children, and chatted to them for a while (îí îáíàðóæèë ãðóïïó äåòåé è ïîáîëòàë ñ íèìè íåìíîãî).

Then he ambled back to the alley (çàòåì ëåãêèì øàãîì îí âåðíóëñÿ â àëëåþ), where Corporal Nobbs had chalked the outline of the corpse on the ground (ãäå êîïðàë Øíîááè íàðèñîâàë ìåëîì êîíòóð òðóïà íà çåìëå) (colouring it in (ðàçóêðàñèâ åãî), and adding a pipe and a walking stick (ïðèðèñîâàâ òðóáêó è òðîñòü) and some trees and bushes in the background (è íåñêîëüêî äåðåâüåâ è êóñòàðíèêîâ íà çàäíåì ïëàíå)—people had already dropped 7p in his helmet (ëþäè óæå êèíóëè 7 öåíòîâ â åãî øëåì)). He paid some attention to the heap of rubbish at the far end (îí îáðàòèë âíèìàíèå íà êó÷ó ìóñîðà â äàëüíåì êîíöå), and then sat down on a busted barrel (è çàòåì ñåë íà ñëîìàííóþ áî÷êó).

“All right… you can come out now (õîðîøî, âû ìîæåòå âûõîäèòü),” he said, to the world at large (ñêàçàë îí ìèðó â öåëîì = â ïóñòîòó). “I didn’t know there were any gnomes left in the world (íå çíàë, ÷òî åùå îñòàëèñü íîìû â ìèðå).”

The rubbish rustled (ìóñîð çàòðåùàë). They trooped out (îíè âñå âûøëè; troop – äâèãàòüñÿ òîëïîé)—the little man with the red hat (ìàëåíüêèé ìóæ÷èíà â êðàñíîé øëÿïå), the hunched back and the hooked nose (ñãîðáëåííîé ñïèíîé è êðèâûì íîñîì), the little woman in the mob cap carrying the even smaller baby (ìàëåíüêàÿ æåíùèíà â äîìàøíåì ÷åïöå, íåñøàÿ íà ðóêàõ åùå áîëåå ìàëåíüêîãî ðåáåíêà), the little policeman (ìàëåíüêèé ïîëèöåéñêèé), the dog with the ruff around its neck (ñîáàêà ñ ãðèâîé âîêðóã øåè), and the very small alligator (è î÷åíü ìàëåíüêèé àëëèãàòîð).

Corporal Carrot sat and listened.

“He made us do it (îí âûíóäèë íàñ ñäåëàòü ýòî),” said the little man. He had a surprisingly deep voice (ó íåãî áûë íà óäèâëåíèå ãëóáîêèé ãîëîñ). “He used to beat us (îí áèë íàñ). Even the alligator (äàæå àëëèãàòîðà). That was all he understood, hitting things with sticks (ýòî âñå, ÷òî îí ïîíèìàë — áèòü âñå ïàëêîé). And he used to take all the money the dog Toby collected and get drunk (è îí çàáèðàë âñå äåíüãè, êîòîðûå ñîáèðàë ïåñ Òîáè, è íàïèâàëñÿ). And then we ran away and he caught us in the alley (à çàòåì ìû óáåæàëè, à îí ïîéìàë íàñ â àëëåå) and started on Judy and the baby and he fell over and (è ïðèíÿëñÿ çà Äæóäè ñ ìàëûøîì, è îí ñïîòêíóëñÿ è óïàë è; fall over – ñïîòêíóòüñÿ îáî ÷òî-ë. è óïàñòü) —”

“Who hit him first (êòî óäàðèë åãî ïåðâûì)?” said Carrot.

“All of us (âñå ìû)!”

“But not very hard (íî íå î÷åíü ñèëüíî),” said Carrot. “You’re all too small (âû ñëèøêîì ìàëåíüêèå). You didn’t kill him (âû íå óáèâàëè åãî). I have a very convincing statement about that (ó ìåíÿ åñòü î÷åíü óáåäèòåëüíûå ïîêàçàíèÿ ïî ýòîìó ïîâîäó). So I went and had another look at him (ïîýòîìó ÿ ïîøåë è âçãëÿíóë íà íåãî åùå ðàç). He’d choked to death (îí çàäîõíóëñÿ). What’s this (÷òî ýòî)?”

He held up a little leather disc (îí ïîêàçàë ìàëåíüêèé êîæàíûé äèñê; hold up – âûñòàâëÿòü, ïîêàçûâàòü).

“It’s a swozzle (ýòî ïèùàëêà),” said the little policeman. “He used it for the voices (îí èñïîëüçîâàë åå, ÷òîáû äåëàòü ãîëîñà). He said ours weren’t funny enough (ãîâîðèë, íàøè íåäîñòàòî÷íî ñìåøíûå).”

“That’s the way to do it (âîò òàê ýòî äåëàåòñÿ)!” said the one called Judy.

“It was stuck in his throat (îíà çàñòðÿëà ó íåãî â ãîðëå),” said Carrot. “I suggest you run away (ÿ ïðåäëàãàþ âàì óáåæàòü îòñþäà). Just as far as you can (òàê äàëåêî, êàê òîëüêî ñìîæåòå).”

“We thought we could start a people’s co-operative (êîîïåðàòèâíîå îáùåñòâî íàðîäöåâ = áàëàãàí íà ïàÿõ),” said the leading gnome.

“You know… experimental drama, street theatre (ýêñïåðèìåíòàëüíàÿ äðàìà, óëè÷íûé òåàòð), that sort of thing (è âñå òàêîå). Not hitting each other with sticks (à íå äóáàñèòü äðóã äðóãà ïàëêàìè)…”

“You did that for children (âû äåëàëè ýòî äëÿ äåòåé)?” said Carrot.

“He said it was a new sort of entertainment (îí ñêàçàë, ÷òî ýòî íîâûé âèä ðàçâëå÷åíèÿ). He said it’d catch on (îí ñêàçàë, ÷òî ýòî ñòàíåò ìîäíûì; catch on – ñòàíîâèòüñÿ ìîäíûì).”

Carrot stood up, and flicked the swozzle into the rubbish (ùåë÷êîì çàïóñòèë ïèùàëêó â ìóñîð).

“People’ll never stand for it (ëþäè íèêîãäà íå ïîòåðïÿò ýòîãî),” he said. “That’s not the way to do it.”

Corporal Carrot strolled easily around the town. He had a Theory. He’d read a book about Theories. You added up all the clues, and you got a Theory. Everything had to fit.

There were sausages. Someone had to buy sausages. And then there were pennies. Normally only one subsection of the human race paid for things in pennies.

He called in at a sausage maker. He found a group of children, and chatted to them for a while.

Then he ambled back to the alley, where Corporal Nobbs had chalked the outline of the corpse on the ground (colouring it in, and adding a pipe and a walking stick and some trees and bushes in the background—people had already dropped 7p in his helmet). He paid some attention to the heap of rubbish at the far end, and then sat down on a busted barrel.

“All right… you can come out now,” he said, to the world at large. “I didn’t know there were any gnomes left in the world.”

The rubbish rustled. They trooped out—the little man with the red hat, the hunched back and the hooked nose, the little woman in the mob cap carrying the even smaller baby, the little policeman, the dog with the ruff around its neck, and the very small alligator.

Corporal Carrot sat and listened.

“He made us do it,” said the little man. He had a surprisingly deep voice. “He used to beat us. Even the alligator. That was all he understood, hitting things with sticks. And he used to take all the money the dog Toby collected and get drunk. And then we ran away and he caught us in the alley and started on Judy and the baby and he fell over and —”

“Who hit him first?” said Carrot.

“All of us!”

“But not very hard,” said Carrot. “You’re all too small. You didn’t kill him. I have a very convincing statement about that. So I went and had another look at him. He’d choked to death. What’s this?”

He held up a little leather disc.

“It’s a swozzle,” said the little policeman. “He used it for the voices. He said ours weren’t funny enough.”

“That’s the way to do it!” said the one called Judy.

It was stuck in his throat,” said Carrot. “I suggest you run away. Just as far as you can.”

“We thought we could start a people’s co-operative,” said the leading gnome.

“You know… experimental drama, street theatre, that sort of thing. Not hitting each other with sticks…”

“You did that for children?” said Carrot.

“He said it was a new sort of entertainment. He said it’d catch on.”

Carrot stood up, and flicked the swozzle into the rubbish.

“People’ll never stand for it,” he said. “That’s not the way to do it.”

[*] Which is flat and goes through space on the back of an enormous turtle (êîòîðûé ïëîñêèé è ïëûâåò ñêâîçü êîñìîñ íà ñïèíå îãðîìíîé ÷åðåïàõè), and why not (à ïî÷åìó áû è íåò)…

[*] Which is flat and goes through space on the back of an enormous turtle, and why not…










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