un vēl viens :)


he woke up again to hear the sound of heavy cart wheels rumbling over stones. half asleep as vimes was, suspicion woke him the rest of the way. stones? it was all bloody gravel around the hall. he opened a window and stared out into the moonlight. it was an echo bouncing off the hills. a few brain cells doing the night shift wondered what kind of agriculture had to be done at night. did they grow mushrooms? did turnips have to be brought in from the cold? was that what they called crop rotation? these thoughts melted into his somnolent brain like little grains of sugar in a cup of tea, slithering and dripping from cell to synapse to neuro-transmitter until they arrived in the receptor marked 'suspicion', which if you saw a medical diagram of a policeman's brain would probably be quite a visible lump, slightly larger than the lump marked 'ability to understand long words'. He thought, ah, yes, contraband! and, feeling cheerful, and hopeful for the future, he gently closed the window and went back to bed.