In the absence of anything else to do, Vimes headed back out to the magnificent flight of steps, where he lit a cigar. Sybil was adamant about no smoking in the house. A voice behind him said, ‘You don’t need to do that, sir. The Hall has a rather good smoking room, including a clockwork air extractor, which is very posh, sir, believe me, you don’t often see them.’ Vimes let Willikins lead the way.
It was a pretty good smoking room, thought Vimes, although his first-hand experience of them was admittedly limited. The room included a large snooker table and, down below, a cellar with more alcohol than any reformed alcoholic should ever see.
‘We did tell them I don’t drink, didn’t we, Willikins?’
‘Oh yes, sir. Silver said that generally the Hall finds it appropriate – I think his words were – to keep the cellar full in case of arrivals.’
‘Well, it seems to me to be a shame to pass up the opportunity, Willikins, so be my guest and pour yourself a drink.’
Willikins perceptibly recoiled. ‘Oh no, sir, I couldn’t possibly do that, sir.’
‘Why not, man?’
‘It’s just not done, sir. I would be the laughing stock of the League of Gentlemen’s Gentlemen if I was so impertinent as to have a drink with my employer. It would be getting ideas above my station, sir.’
This offended Vimes to his shakily egalitarian core.4 He said, ‘I know your station, Willikins, and it’s about the same station as mine when the chips are down and the wounds have healed.’
‘Look, sir,’ said Willikins, almost pleading. ‘Just occasionally we have to follow some rules. So on this occasion I won’t drink with you, it not being Hogswatch or the birth of an heir, which are accounted for under the rules, but instead I’ll follow the acceptable alternative, which is to wait until you’ve gone to bed and drink half the bottle.’