Thud! - A Novel Of Discworld Part 21

"Never tell him that!"

n.o.bby n.o.bbs, a shadow in the warm red gloom, nudged a shadow in the warm red gloom, nudged Sergeant Colon. Sergeant Colon.

"You don't have to keep your eyes shut, Sarge," he said. "It's all legit. It's an artistic celebration of the female body, Tawneee says. Anyway, she's got clothes on."

"Two ta.s.sels and a folded hanky is not clothes, n.o.bby," said Fred, sinking down in his seat. The Pink p.u.s.s.yCat Club! Now, fair's fair, he'd been in the army and Watch, and you couldn't spend all that time in uniform without seeing a thing or two-or three, now he came to recollect-and it was true, as n.o.bby had pointed out, that the ballerinas down at the opera house didn't leave a lot to the imagination, at least not to n.o.bby's, but when all was said and done, ballet had to be Art, even though it was a bit short on plinths and urns, on account of being expensive to look at, and moreover, ballerinas didn't whizz around upside down. And the worst of it was, he'd already spotted two people he knew in the audience. Fortunately they hadn't seen him, which was to say that whenever he'd sneaked a glance their way, they were looking in completely the opposite direction.

"Now this bit is really hard," whispered n.o.bby conversationally.

"Er...is it?" Fred Colon closed his eyes again.

"Oh, yes. It's the Triple Corkscrew-"

"Look, don't the management object to you coming in here?" Fred managed, s.h.i.+fting even further down in his seat.

"Oh, no. They like having a watchman in," said n.o.bby, still watching the stage. "They say it makes people behave. Anyway, I only come in so's I can walk Betty home."

"Betty being-?"

"Tawneee's actually only her pole name," n.o.bby said. "She says no one would be interested in an exotic dancer with a name like Betty. She says it sounds like she'd be better with a bowl of cake mixture."

Colon shut his eyes, trying to banish a mental conjunction of the bronzed lithe figure on stage and a bowl of cake mixture.

"I think I could do with a breath of fresh air," he groaned.

"Oh, not yet, Sarge. Broccolee's on next. She can touch the back of her head with her foot, you know-"

"I don't believe that!" said Fred Colon.

"She can, Sarge, I've seen-"

"I don't believe there's a dancer called Broccoli!"

"Well, she did used to be called Candi, Sarge, but then she heard that broccoli is better for you-"

"Corporal n.o.bbs!"

The sound appeared to be coming from under the table.

n.o.bby stared at Fred Colon, and then looked down.

"Yes?" he ventured, with caution.

"This is Sergeant Angua," said the floor.

"Oh?" said n.o.bby.

"What is this place?" the voice continued.

"The Pink p.u.s.s.yCat Club, Sergeant," said n.o.bby obediently.

"Oh, G.o.ds." There was some conversation down below, and then the voice said: "Are there women women up there?" up there?"

"Yes, Sergeant. Er...what are you doing down there, Sarge?"

"Giving you orders, n.o.bby," said the voice from below. "Are there women up there?" there women up there?"

"Yes, Sarge. Lots."

"Good. Please ask one to come down into the beer cellar. We'll need a couple of buckets of warm water and some towels, got that?"

n.o.bby was aware that the musicians had stopped playing and Tawneee had paused in middrop-and-split. Everyone was listening to the talking floor.

"Yes, Sergeant," said n.o.bby. "I've got it."

"And some clean clothes. And..." There was subterranean whispering "...make that several buckets of water. And a scrubbing brush. And a comb. And another comb. And more towels. Oh, and two pairs of shoes, size six and...four and a half? Really? Okay. And is Fred Colon with you, or is that a stupid question?"

Fred cleared his throat.

"I'm here, Sergeant," he reported. "But I only came along to-"

"Good. I want to borrow a set of your stripes. I've got a bad feeling about the next few hours and I don't want anyone anyone to forget I'm a sergeant. Got that, the pair of you?" to forget I'm a sergeant. Got that, the pair of you?"

"It's full moon," Fred whispered to n.o.bby, as one man to another, and then he said aloud: "Yes, Sergeant. This may take a while-" Fred whispered to n.o.bby, as one man to another, and then he said aloud: "Yes, Sergeant. This may take a while-"

"No! It won't. Because you've got a werewolf and a vampire down here, understand? I'm having a really bad hair day and she's got a toothache! We come up in ten minutes looking human or we come up anyway! What?" There was more whispering. "Why a beetroot? Why in G.o.ds' names is a girly show likely to contain a beetroot? What? Okay. Will an apple do? n.o.bby, Lance Constable von Humpeding needs an apple, urgently. Or something else that she can bite. Now, jump to it!"

Coffee was only a way of stealing time that should by rights a way of stealing time that should by rights belong to your slightly older self. Vimes drank two cups, and had a wash and at least an attempt at a shave, which made him feel quite human if he ignored the sensation that parts of his head were stuffed with warm cotton wool. At last, deciding that he felt as good as he was going to, and could probably handle quite long questions, he was ushered into the Oblong Office of the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork. belong to your slightly older self. Vimes drank two cups, and had a wash and at least an attempt at a shave, which made him feel quite human if he ignored the sensation that parts of his head were stuffed with warm cotton wool. At last, deciding that he felt as good as he was going to, and could probably handle quite long questions, he was ushered into the Oblong Office of the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork.

"Ah, Commander," said Lord Vetinari, looking up after a considered interval and pus.h.i.+ng aside some paperwork. "Thank you for coming. It seems that congratulations are in order. So I am told."

"And why's that, sir?" said Vimes, putting on his special, blank, talking-to-Vetinari face.

"Come now, Vimes. Yesterday it looked as if we would be having a species war right in the middle of the city, and suddenly we are not. Those gangs were quite fearsome, I gather."

"Most of 'em were asleep or squabbling among themselves by the time we arrived, sir. We just had to tidy them away," Vimes volunteered.

"Yes indeed," said Vetinari. "It was quite astonis.h.i.+ng, really. Do sit down, by the way. It really is not necessary for you to stand in front of me like a corporal on a charge."

"Don't know what you mean, sir," said Vimes, collapsing gratefully into a chair.

"You don't? I was referring, Vimes, to the speed with which both parties managed to incapacitate themselves with strong liquor at the same time...?"

"I wouldn't know anything about that, sir." That was an automatic reaction; it made life simpler.

"No? It appears, Vimes, that while steeling themselves for the fracas to come, both the trolls and the dwarfs came into possession of what I a.s.sume they thought was beer...?"

"They had been on the pi-been drinking all day, sir," Vimes pointed out.

"Indeed, Vimes, and possibly that is why the dwarf contingent were less than cautious in drinking copiously from beer that has been considerably...fortified? Areas of Sator Square, I gather, still smell faintly of apples apples, Vimes. One could come to believe, therefore, that what they were drinking was, in fact, a mixture of strong beer and sc.u.mble, which is, as you know, distilled from apples-"

"Uh, mostly apples, sir," said Vimes helpfully.

"Quite. The c.o.c.ktail is known as Fluff, I believe. As to the trolls, one might speculate that it would be very hard to find anything to make their beer even more dangerous than it palpably is, but I wonder if you have heard, Vimes, that an admixture of various metallic salts produces a drink known as luglarr luglarr, or 'Big Hammer'?"

"Can't say I do, sir."

"Vimes, some of the flagstones in the plaza have actually been etched by the stuff!"

"Sorry about that, sir."

Vetinari drummed his fingers on the table.

"What would you do if I asked you an outright question, Vimes?"

"I'd tell you a downright lie, sir."

"Then I will not do so," said Vetinari, smiling faintly.

"Thank you, sir. Nor will I."

"Where are your prisoners?"

"We spread them around the Watch house yards," said Vimes. "As they wake up, we hose 'em clean, take their names, give 'em a receipt for their weapon and a hot drink, and push 'em out into the street."

"Their weapons are culturally very important to them, Vimes," said Vetinari.

"Yeah, sir, I know. I myself have a strong cultural bias against getting my brains bashed in and my knees cut off," said Vimes, stifling a yawn and wincing as his ribs objected.

"Indeed. Were there any casualties in the battle?"

"None that won't heal." Vimes grimaced. "I have to report that Mr. A. E. Pessimal sustained a broken arm and multiple bruises, though."

Vetinari actually looked taken aback.

"The inspector? What was he doing?"

"Er...attacking a troll, sir."

"I'm sorry? Mr. A. E. Pessimal Mr. A. E. Pessimal attacked a attacked a troll troll?"

"Yessir."

"A. E. Pessimal?" Vetinari repeated.

"That's the man, sir."

"A whole whole troll?" troll?"

"Yessir. With his teeth, sir."

"Mr. A. E. Pessimal Pessimal? You are sure? Small man? Very clean shoes?" "Yessir."

Vetinari grabbed a helpful question from the gathering throng. "Why?" "Why?"

Vimes coughed. "Well, sir..."

...The troll mob was a tableau. Trolls stood or sat or lay was a tableau. Trolls stood or sat or lay where they had been when the Big Hammer had struck. There where they had been when the Big Hammer had struck. There were were a few slow imbibers who put up a bit of a fight, and one who had stuck with a bottle of looted sherry put up a spirited last-drop stand until golem Constable Dorfl picked him up bodily and bounced him on his head. a few slow imbibers who put up a bit of a fight, and one who had stuck with a bottle of looted sherry put up a spirited last-drop stand until golem Constable Dorfl picked him up bodily and bounced him on his head.

Vimes walked through it all, as the squad dragged or rolled slumbering trolls into neat lines to await the wagons. And then- The day was not improving for Brick. He'd drunk a beer. Well, maybe more'n one. Where was der harm in dat?

And now, dere, right in front of him, wearing one o' dem helmets an' everyting, was, yeah, could be a dwarf, insofar as the fizzing, sizzling pathways of his brain were capable of deciding anything at all. What der h.e.l.l, they decided, it wasn't a troll and dat was what it was all about, right? An' here was his club, right here in his han'- Instinct caused Vimes to turn as a troll opened red eyes, blinked, and began to swing a club. Too slowly, too slowly in the suddenly frozen time, he tried to dive away, and he felt the club smash into his side and lift him, lift him up and tip him onto the ground. He could hear shouting as the troll lumbered forward, club raised again to make Vimes at one with the bedrock.

Brick became aware that he was being attacked. He stopped what he was doing and, with sparks going fwizzle! fwizzle! in his brain, looked down his in his brain, looked down his right knee. Some little gnome or somethin' was attacking him wi' a blunt sword and kickin' an' screamin' like a mad t'ing. He put it down to the drink, like der feelin' that his ears were givin' off flames, an' brushed der fing away with a flip of his hand. right knee. Some little gnome or somethin' was attacking him wi' a blunt sword and kickin' an' screamin' like a mad t'ing. He put it down to the drink, like der feelin' that his ears were givin' off flames, an' brushed der fing away with a flip of his hand.

Vimes, helpless, saw A. E. Pessimal tumble across the plaza, and watched the troll turn back to the clubbing at hand. But Detritus, arriving behind it now, pulled it around with one shovelsized hand and here here came the Detritus fist, like the wrath of G.o.ds. came the Detritus fist, like the wrath of G.o.ds.

For Brick, everything went dar-

"You wish me to believe," said Lord Vetinari, "that Mr. said Lord Vetinari, "that Mr. A. E. Pessimal A. E. Pessimal single-handedly single-handedly attacked a troll?" attacked a troll?"

"Both hands, sir," said Vimes. "And feet, too. And tried to bite it, we think."

"Isn't that certain death?" said Vetinari.

"That didn't seem to worry him, sir."

Vimes had last seen A. E. Pessimal being bandaged by Igor and smiling in a semiconscious way. Watchmen were dropping in all the time to say things like "Hi, big man!" and slap him on the back. The world had turned for A. E. Pessimal.

"Might I inquire, Vimes, why one of my most conscientious and most decidedly civilian civilian clerks was in a position to do this?" clerks was in a position to do this?"

Vimes s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably. "He was inspecting. Learning all about us, sir."