Thud! - A Novel Of Discworld Part 29

Vimes stood up so fast that his chair fell over.

"Is Young Sam all right?" he said.

"Yes, Sam. They're city dwarfs. You know them all, I think. They say they want to talk to you about-"

But Vimes was already clattering down the stairs, drawing his sword as he did so.

The dwarfs were cl.u.s.tered nervously by the duty sergeant's desk. They had that opulence of metalwork, sleekness of beard, and thickness of girth that marked them out as dwarfs who were doing very well for themselves, or who had been right up until now.

Vimes appeared in front of them like a whirlwind of wrath.

You sc.u.m, you rat-sucking little worm-eaters! You heads-down little scurriers in the dark! What did you bring to my city? What were you thinking? Did you want the deep-downers here? Did you dare deplore what Hamcrusher said, all that bile and ancient lies? Or did you say, "Well, I don't agree with him, of course, but he's got a point"? Did you say, "Oh, he goes too far, but it's about time somebody said it"? And now have you come here to wring your hands and say how dreadful, it was nothing to do with you? Who were the dwarfs in the mobs, then? Aren't you community leaders? Were you leading them? And why are you here now, you ugly, sniveling grubbers? Is it possible, is it possible, that now, after that b.a.s.t.a.r.d's bodyguards tried to kill my family, you're here to complain? Have I broken some code, trodden on some ancient toe? To h.e.l.l with it. To h.e.l.l with you.

He could feel the words straining, fighting to get out, and the effort of restraining them filled his stomach with acid and made his temples throb. Just one whine, he thought. Just one pompous moan. Go on.

"Well?" he demanded, rubbing his aching hand.

The dwarfs have perceptibly moved backwards. Vimes wondered if they'd read his thoughts; they'd echoed in his brain loudly enough.

A dwarf cleared his throat. "Commander Vimes-" he began.

"You're Pors Strongingthearm, aren't you?" Vimes demanded. "One half of Burleigh & Stronginthearm? You make crossbows."

"Yes, Commander, and-"

"Remove your weapons! All of them! All of you!" Vimes snapped.

The room fell silent. Out of the corner of his eye, Vimes saw a couple of dwarf officers, who had at least been pretending to be engaged in paperwork, rising from their seats.

He was being dangerously stupid, part of him knew, but right now he wanted to hurt a dwarf and he wasn't allowed to do it with steel. Most of the battle stuff they wore was simply for clang in any case, but a dwarf would sooner drop his drawers than put aside his axe. And these were serious city dwarfs, with seats in the guilds and everything. Ye G.o.ds, he was was going too far. going too far.

He managed to grunt: "All right, keep your battle-axes. Leave everything else at the desk. You'll get a receipt."

For a moment, quite a long moment, he thought, no, he hoped hoped they would refuse. But one of them, somewhere in the group, said: "I think we must do this for the commander. These are difficult times. We must learn to fit them." they would refuse. But one of them, somewhere in the group, said: "I think we must do this for the commander. These are difficult times. We must learn to fit them."

Vimes went up to his office, hearing the clinks and clangs behind him, and landed so violently in his chair that this time a wheel snapped off. The receipt was a nasty touch. He was quite pleased with it.

On his desk, on a little stand that Sybil had made for it, was his official baton of office. It was, in fact, the same size as the ordinary coppers' truncheons, but turned out of rosewood and silver instead of lignum vitae or oak. It still had plenty of weight, though. Certainly enough to leave the words Protecter of thee Kinge's Piece Protecter of thee Kinge's Piece printed back to front on a dwarf skull. printed back to front on a dwarf skull.

The dwarfs were ushered in, looking slightly less heavy.

Just one word, Vimes thought as the acid swirled. One d.a.m.n word. Go on. Just breathe breathe wrong. wrong.

"Very well, what can I do for you?" he said.

"Uh, I'm sure you know all of us," Pors began, trying to smile.

"Probably. The dwarf next to you is Grabpot Thundergust, who has just launched the new Ladies' Secrets range of perfumes and cosmetics. My wife uses your stuff all the time."

Thundergust, in traditional chain mail, a three-horned helmet, and with an enormous axe strapped across his back, gave Vimes an embarra.s.sed nod. Vimes's gaze moved on.

"And you are Setha Ironcrust, proprietor of the chain of bakeries of the same name, and you are surely Gimlet Gimlet, owner of two famous dwarf delicatessens and the newly opened Yo Rat! in Attic Bee Street." Vimes looked around the office, dwarf after dwarf, until he got back to the front row and a dwarf of fairly modest dress by dwarf standards, who had been watching him intently. Vimes had a good memory for faces, and had seen this one recently, but couldn't place it. Perhaps it had been behind a well-flung halfbrick...

"You, I don't don't think I know," he said. think I know," he said.

"Oh, we haven't exactly been introduced, Commander," said the dwarf cheerfully. "But I'm very interested in the theory of games."

...or Mr. s.h.i.+ne's Thud Academy? Vimes thought. The dwarf's voice sounded like the one that had, he'd admit it, been of diplomatic help downstairs. He wore a simple, plain, round helmet, a plain leather s.h.i.+rt with some basic mail on it, and his beard was clipped to something tidier than the general dwarfish gorse-bush effect. Compared to the other dwarfs, this one looked...streamlined. Vimes couldn't even see an axe.

"Indeed?" he said. "Well, in fact, I don't play 'em, so what's your name?"

"Bashfull Bashfullsson, Commander. Grag Grag Bashfullsson." Bashfullsson."

Quietly, Vimes picked up his truncheon and rolled it in his fingers.

"Not underground, then?" he said.

"Some of us move on, sir. Some of us think that darkness isn't a depth, it's a state of mind."

"That's nice of you," said Vimes. Oh, friendly and forward-looking, are we now? Where were you yesterday? But now I've got all the aces! Those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds murdered four city dwarfs! They broke into my home, tried to kill my wife! And now they've had it away on their toes! Wherever they've gone, they're going dow-coming up! Oh, friendly and forward-looking, are we now? Where were you yesterday? But now I've got all the aces! Those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds murdered four city dwarfs! They broke into my home, tried to kill my wife! And now they've had it away on their toes! Wherever they've gone, they're going dow-coming up!

He put the truncheon back on its stand. "As I said, what can I do for you...gentlemen?"

He got the sense that they were all turning, physically or mentally, to Bashfullsson. I see, he thought, it seems that what we have here is a dozen monkeys and one organ grinder, eh?

"How can we help you you, Commander?" said the grag.

Vimes stared. You could have stopped them, that's how you could have helped. Don't give me those somber faces. Maybe you didn't say "yes" but you sure as h.e.l.l didn't say "no!" loud enough. I owe you not one d.a.m.ned thing. Don't come to me for your b.l.o.o.d.y absolution. You could have stopped them, that's how you could have helped. Don't give me those somber faces. Maybe you didn't say "yes" but you sure as h.e.l.l didn't say "no!" loud enough. I owe you not one d.a.m.ned thing. Don't come to me for your b.l.o.o.d.y absolution.

"Right now? By going out into the street, walking up to the biggest troll you can see, and shaking him warmly by the hand, maybe?" said Vimes. "Or just going out into the street. Quite frankly, I'm busy, gentlemen, and the middle of a horse race is not the time to be mending fences."

"They'll be heading for the mountains," said Bashfullsson. "They'll steer clear of Uberwald and Lancre. They won't be sure of meeting friends there. That means going into the mountains via Llamedos. Lots of caves there."

Vimes shrugged.

"We can see you're annoyed, Mister Vimes," said Stronginthearm. "But we-"

"I've got two dead a.s.sa.s.sins in the morgue," said Vimes. "One of 'em died of poison. What do you know about that? And I'm Commander Commander Vimes, thank you." Vimes, thank you."

"It's said they take a slow poison before they go on an important mission," said Bashfullsson.

"No turning back, eh?" said Vimes. "Well, that's interesting. But it's the living that concern me right now." He stood up. "I have to go and see a dwarf in the cells who does not want to talk to me."

"Ah, yes. That would be Helmclever," said Bashfullsson. "He was born here, Commander, but went off to study the mountains more than three months ago, against his parents' wishes. I'm sure he never intended anything like this. He was trying to find himself."

"Well, he can start looking in my cells," said Vimes crisply.

"May I be there when you question him?" said the grag.

"Why?"

"Well, for one thing, it may prevent rumors that he was mistreated."

"Or start them?" said Vimes. Who watches the watchmen? he asked himself. Me!

Bashfullsson gave him a cool look. "It could...calm the situation, sir."

"I don't habitually beat up prisoners, if that's what you're suggesting," said Vimes.

"And I am sure you would not wish to do so tonight."

Vimes opened his mouth to shout the grag out of the building, and stopped.

Because the cheeky little sod had got it right slap-bang on the money. Vimes had been on the edge since leaving the house. He'd felt a tingling across his skin, and a tightness in his gut, and a sharp, nasty little headache. Someone was going to pay for all this...this...this thisness thisness, and it didn't need to be a screwed-up bit player like Helmclever.

And he was not certain, not certain at all, what he'd do if the prisoner gave him any lip or tried to be smart. Beating people up in little rooms...he knew where that led. And if you did it for a good reason, you'd do it for a bad one. You couldn't say "we're the good guys" and do bad-guy things. Sometimes the watching watchman inside every good copper's head could use an extra pair of eyes.

Justice had to be seen seen to be done, so he'd see it done up good and proper. to be done, so he'd see it done up good and proper.

"Gentlemen," he said, keeping his eye on the grag but talking to the room at large, "I know all of you, you all know me. You're all respected dwarfs with a stake in this city. I want you to vouch for Mr. Bashfullsson, because I've never met him before in my life. Come on, Gimlet, I've known you for years, what do you say?"

"They killed my son," said Ironcrust.

A knife dropped into Vimes's head. It slipped down his wind-pipe, sliced his heart, cut through his stomach, and disappeared. Where the rage had been, there was a chill.

"I'm sorry, Commander," said Bashfullsson quietly. "It's true. I don't think Gunder Ironcrust was interested in the politics, you understand. He just took a job at the mine because he wanted to feel like a real dwarf and work with a shovel for a few days."

"They left him to the mud," said Ironcrust, in a voice that was eerily without emotion. "Any help you need, we will give. Any help. But when you find them, kill them all."

Vimes could think of nothing more to say than "I will catch them." "I will catch them." He He didn't didn't say: Kill them? No. Not if they surrender, not if they don't come at me armed. I know where that leads. say: Kill them? No. Not if they surrender, not if they don't come at me armed. I know where that leads.

"Then we will leave and let you get about your business," said Stronginthearm. "Grag Bashfullsson is known to us, indeed. A little modern, perhaps. A little young. Not the kind of grag we grew up with, but...yes, we'd vouch for him. Good night, Commander."

Vimes stared at his desk as they filed out. When he looked up, the grag was still there, with a patient little smile.

"You don't look like a grag. You look like just another dwarf," said Vimes. "Why haven't I heard of you?"

"Because you are a policeman, perhaps?" said Bashfullsson meekly.

"Okay, I take the point. But you're not a deep-downer?"

Bashfullsson shrugged. "I can think deep thoughts. I was born here, Commander, just like Helmclever. I don't believe I need a mountain over my head in order to be a dwarf."

Vimes nodded. A local lad, not some mountain graybeard. Got a quick brain, too. No wonder the leaders like him. "All right, Mr. Bashfullsson, you can tag along," he said. "But it's on two conditions, okay? Condition one: you've got five minutes to lay your hands on a Thud set. I think you can do that?"

"I think I can, too," said the dwarf, smiling faintly. "And the other condition?"

"How long will it take you to teach me to play?" said Vimes.

"You? You've never played it at all?"

"No. A certain troll showed me the game a little while ago, but I've never played games since I grew up. I used to be good at tiddley-rats* when I was a nipper, though." when I was a nipper, though."

"Well, a few hours should be-" Bashfullsson began.

"We don't have time," said Vimes. "You've got ten minutes."

The drinking had started in The Bucket, in Gleam Street. in The Bucket, in Gleam Street. This was the coppers' pub. Mr. Cheese, the owner, understood about coppers. They liked to drink somewhere where they wouldn't see anything that reminded them they were a copper. Fun was not encouraged. This was the coppers' pub. Mr. Cheese, the owner, understood about coppers. They liked to drink somewhere where they wouldn't see anything that reminded them they were a copper. Fun was not encouraged.

It was Tawneee who suggested that they moved to Thank G.o.ds It's Open.

Angua wasn't really in the mood, but she hadn't the heart to say no. The plain fact was that while Tawneee had a body that every other woman should hate her for, she compounded the insult by actually being very likable. This was because she had the self-esteem of a caterpillar and, as you found out after any kind of conversation with her, about the same amount of brain. Perhaps it all balanced out, perhaps some kindly G.o.d had said to her: "Sorry, kid, you are going to be thicker than a yard of lard, but the good news is, that's not going to matter."

And she had a stomach made of iron, too. Angua found herself wondering how many hopeful men had died trying to drink her under the table. Alcohol didn't seem to go to her brain at all. Maybe it couldn't find it. But she was pleasant, easygoing company, if you avoided allusion, irony, sarcasm, repartee, satire, and words longer than "chicken."

Angua was tetchy because she was dying for a beer, but the young man behind the bar thought that "a pint of Winkles" was the name of a c.o.c.ktail. Given the drinks on offer, perhaps this was not surprising.

"What?" said Angua, reading the menu, "is a Screaming o.r.g.a.s.m?"

"Ah," said Sally, "Looks like we got to you just in time, girl!"

"No," sighed Angua as the others laughed; that was such such a vampire response. "I mean what's it a vampire response. "I mean what's it made made of?'' of?''

"Almonte, Wahlulu, Bearhuggers Whiskey Cream, and vodka," said Tawneee, who knew the recipe for every c.o.c.ktail ever made.

"And how does it work?" said Cheery, craning to see over the top of the bar.

Sally ordered four, and turned back to Tawneee.

"So...you and n.o.bby n.o.bbs, eh?" she said. "How about that?" Three sets of ears flared.

The other thing you got used to in the presence of Tawneee was silence. Everywhere she went, went quiet. Oh, and the stares. The silent stares. And sometimes, in the shadows, a sigh. There were G.o.ddesses G.o.ddesses who'd kill to look like Tawneee. who'd kill to look like Tawneee.

"He's nice," said Tawneee. "He makes me laugh and he keeps his hands to himself."

Three faces locked in expressions of concentrated thought. In Angua's case, one was: This is n.o.bby we're talking about. There are so so many questions that we are many questions that we are not not going to ask. going to ask.

"Has he shown you the tricks he can do with his spots?" she said.

"Yes. I thought I'd widdle myself! He's so funny!"

Angua stared into her drink. Cheery coughed. Sally studied the menu.

"And he's very dependable," said Tawneee. And, as if dimly aware that this was still not sufficient, she added sadly: "If you must know, he's the first boy who's ever ever asked me out." asked me out."