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Mais dans ces contrées bucoliques, les placards ne regorgent pas moins de cadavres que dans la foutraque capitale. Vimaire n’a pas ouvert ses valises qu’un corps lui tombe dessus. Et avec lui, son cortège de crimes, magouilles et petits arrangements. Le commissaire serait donc bien avisé de regarder ailleurs et de passer son chemin vers les vertes prairies.
D’ailleurs, peut-on seulement parler de délit quand les victimes sont des gobelins ? C’était sans compter une certaine idée de l’intégrité que défend Vimaire. Alors quoiqu’en dise le droit, justice devra-t-elle être rendue !
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At long last, Lady Sybil has lured her husband, Sam Vimes, on a well-deserved holiday away from the crime and grime of Ankh-Morpork. But for the commander of the City Watch, a vacation in the country is anything but relaxing. The balls, the teas, the muck--not to mention all that fresh air and birdsong--are more than a bit taxing on a cynical city-born and -bred copper. Yet a policeman will find a crime anywhere if he decides to look hard enough, and it's not long before a body is discovered, and Sam--out of his jurisdiction, out of his element, and out of bacon sandwiches (thanks to his well-meaning wife)--must rely on his instincts, guile, and street smarts to see justice done. As he sets off on the chase, though, he must remember to watch where he step. . . . This is the countryside, after all, and the streets most definitely are not paved with gold.