Terry Pratchett - Thud!

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TERRY PRATCHETTbeetroot
THUD!
The first thing Tak did, he wrote himself.
The second thing Tak did, he wrote the Laws.
The third thing Tak did, he wrote the World.
The fourth thing Tak did, he wrote a cave.
The fifth thing Tak did, he wrote a geode, an egg of stone.
And in the twilight of the mouth of the cave, the geode hatched and the
Brothers were born.
The first Brother walked towards the light, and stood under the open sky.
Thus he became too tall. He was the first Man. He found no Laws, and he was
enlightened.
The second Brother walked towards the darkness, and stood under a roof of
stone. Thus he achieved the correct height. He was the first Dwarf. He found
the Laws Tak had written, and he was endarkened.
But some of the living spirit of Tak was trapped in the broken stone egg, and
it became the first troll, wandering the world unbidden and unwanted, without
soul or purpose, learning or understanding. Fearful of light and darkness it
shambles for ever in twilight, knowing nothing, learning nothing, creating
nothing, being nothing ...
-From 'Gd Tak `Gar' (The Things Tak Wrote) trans. Prof. W. W. W Wildblood,
Unseen University Press, AM$8. In the original, the last paragraph of the
quoted text appears to have been added by a much later hand.
Him who mountain crush him no
Him who sun him stop him no
Him who hammer him break him no
Him who fire him fear him no
Him who raise him head above him heart Him diamond
- Translation of Troll pictograms found carved on a basalt slab in the deepest
level of the Ankh-Morpork treacle mines, in pig-treacle measures estimated at
500,000 years old.
Thud...
That was the sound the heavy club made as it connected with the head. The body
jerked, and slumped back.
And it was done, unheard, unseen: the perfect end, a perfect solution, a
perfect story.
But, as the dwarfs say, where there is trouble you will always find a troll.
The troll saw.
It started out as a perfect day. It would soon enough be an imperfect one, he
knew, but just for these few minutes it was possible to pretend that it
wouldn't.
Sam Vimes shaved himself. It was his daily act of defiance, a confirmation
that he was ... well, plain Sam Vimes.
Admittedly he shaved himself in a mansion, and while he did so his butler read
out bits from the Times, but they were just ... circumstances. It was still
Sam Vimes looking back at him from the mirror. The day he saw the Duke of Ankh
in there would be a bad day. `Duke' was just a job description, that's all.
`Most of the news is about the current ... dwarfish situation, sir,'
said Willikins as Vimes negotiated the tricky area under the nose. He still
used his grandad's cut-throat razor. It was another anchor to reality.
Besides, the steel was a lot better than the steel you got today. Sybil, who
had a strange enthusiasm for modern gadgetry, kept on suggesting he get one of
those new shavers, with a little magic imp inside that had its own scissors
and did all the cutting very quickly, but Vimes had held out. If anyone was
going to be using a blade near his face, it was going to be him.
'Koom Valley, Koom Valley,' he muttered to his reflection. `Anything new?'
`Not as such, sir,' said Willikins, turning back to the front page. `There is
a report of that speech by Grag Hamcrusher. There was a disturbance
afterwards, it says. Several dwarfs and trolls were wounded. Community leaders
have appealed for calm.'
Vimes shook some lather off the blade. `Hah! I bet they have. Tell me,
Willikins, did you fight much when you were a kid? Were you in a gang or
anything?'
`I was privileged to belong to the Shamlegger Street Rude Boys, sir,' said the
butler.
`Really?' said Vimes, genuinely impressed. `They were pretty tough nuts, as I
recall.'
`Thank you, sir,' said Willikins smoothly. `I pride myself I used to give
somewhat more than I got if we needed to discuss the vexed area of turf issues
with the young men from Rope Street. Stevedore's hooks were their weapon of
choice, as I recall.'
`And yours ... ?'said Vimes, agog.
`A cap-brim sewn with sharpened pennies, sir. An ever-present help in times of
trouble.'
'Ye gods, man! You could put someone's eye out with something like that.'
`With care, sir, yes,' said Willikins, meticulously folding a towel.
And here you stand now, in your pinstripe trousers and butlering coat, shiny
as schmaltz and fat as butter, Vimes thought, while he tidied up under the
ears. And I'm a Duke. How the world turns.
`And have you ever heard someone say "Let's have a disturbance"?' he said.
`Never, sir,' said Willikins, picking up the paper again.
`Me neither. It only happens in newspapers: Vimes glanced at the bandage on
his arm. It had been quite disturbing, even so.
`Did it mention I took personal charge?' he said.
`No, sir. But it does say here that rival factions in the street outside were
kept apart by the valiant efforts of the Watch, sir.'
`They actually used the word "valiant"?' said Vimes.
`Indeed they did, sir.'
`Well, good,' Vimes conceded grumpily. `Do they record that two officers had
to be taken to the Free Hospital, one of them quite badly hurt?'
`Unaccountably not, sir,' said the butler.
`Huh. Typical. Oh, well ... carry on.'
Willikins coughed a butlery cough. `You might wish to lower the razor for the
next one, sir. I got into trouble with her ladyship about last week's little
nick.'
Vimes watched his image sigh, and lowered the razor. `All right, Willikins.
Tell me the worst.'
Behind him, the paper was professionally rustled. `The headline on page three
is: "Vampire Officer For The Watch?", said the butler, and took a careful step
backwards.
`Damn! Who told them?'
`I really couldn't say, sir. It says you are not in favour of vampires in the
Watch but will be interviewing a recruit today. It says there is a lively
controversy over the issue.'
`Turn to page eight, will you?' said Vimes. Behind him, the paper rustled
again.
`Well?' he said. `That's where they usually put their silly political cartoon,
isn't it?'
`You did put the razor down, did you, sir?' said Willikins. `Yes!'
`Perhaps it would also be just as well if you stepped away from the washbasin,
too, sir.'
`There's one of me, isn't there ..: said Vimes grimly.
`Indeed there is, sir. It portrays a small nervous vampire and, if I may say
so, a rather larger-than-life drawing of yourself leaning over your desk,
holding a wooden stake in your right hand. The caption is: "Any good on a
stake-out, eh?" sir, this being a humorous wordplay referring, on the one
hand, to the standard police procedure-'
`Yes, I think I can just about spot it,' said Vimes wearily. `Any chance you
could nip down and buy the original before Sybil does? Every time they run a
cartoon of me she gets hold of it and hangs it up in the library!'
`Mr, er, Fizz does capture a very good likeness, sir,' the butler conceded.
`And I regret to say that her ladyship has already instructed me to go down to
the Times office on her behalf.'
Vimes groaned.
`Moreover, sir, Willikins went on, `her ladyship desired me to remind you that
she and Young Sam will meet you at the studio of Sir Joshua at eleven sharp,
sir. The painting is at an important stage, I gather.'
`But I-'
`She was very specific, sir. She said if a commander of police cannot take
time off, who can?'
On this day in 1802, the painter Methodia Rascal woke up in the night because
the sounds of war fare were coming from a drawer in his bedside table.
Again.
One little light illuminated the cellar, which is to say that it lent
different textures to the darkness and divided shadow from darker shadow.
The figures barely showed up at all. It was quite impossible, with normal
eyes, to tell who was talking.
`This is not to be talked about, do you understand?'
`Not talked about? He's dead!'
`This is dwarf business! It's not to come to the ears of the City Watch! They
have no place here! Do any of us want them down here?'
`They do have dwarf officers-'
`Hah. D'rkza. Too much time in the sun. They're just short humans now. Do they
think dwarf? And Vimes will dig and dig and wave the silly rags and tatters
they call laws. Why should we allow such a violation? Besides, this is hardly
a mystery. Only a troll could have done it, agreed? I said: Are we agreed?'
`That is what happened,' said a figure. The voice was thin and old and, in
truth, uncertain.
`Indeed, it was a troll,' said another voice, almost the twin of that one, but
with a little more assurance.
The subsequent pause was underlined by the ever-present sound of the pumps.
`It could only have been a troll,' said the first voice. `And is it not said
that behind every crime you will find the troll?'
There was a small crowd outside the Watch House in Pseudopolis Yard when
Commander Sam Vimes arrived at work. It had been a fine sunny morning up until
then. Now it was still sunny, but nothing like as fine.
The crowd had placards. `Bloodsuckers out!!, Vimes read, and `No Fangs!' Faces
turned towards him with a sullen, half-frightened defiance.
He uttered a bad word under his breath, but only just.
Otto Chriek, the Times iconographer, was standing near by, holding a sunshade
and looking dejected. He caught Vimes's eye and trudged over.
`What's in this for you, Otto?' said Vimes. `Come to get a picture of a jolly
good riot, have you?'
`It's news, commander,' said Otto, looking down at his very shiny shoes.
`Who tipped you off?'
`I just do zer pictures, commander,' said Otto, looking up with a hurt
expression. 'Anyvay, I couldn't tell you even if I knew, because of zer
Freedom of zer Press.'
`Freedom to pour oil on a flame, d'you mean?' Vimes demanded.
`That's freedom for you,' said Otto. `No vun said it vas nice.'
`But ... well, you're a vampire, too!' said Vimes, waving a hand towards the
protesters. `Do you like what's been stirred up?'
`It's still news, commander,' said Otto meekly.
Vimes glared at the crowd again. It was mostly human. There was one troll,
although admittedly the troll had probably joined in on general principles,
simply because something was happening. A vampire would need a masonry drill
and a lot of patience before it could put a troll to any trouble. Still, there
was one good thing, if
you could call it that: this little sideshow took people's minds off Koom
Valley.
`It's strange that they don't seem to mind you, Otto,' he said, calming down a
little.
`yell, I'm not official,' said Otto. `I do not haf zer sword and zer badge. I
do not threaten. I am just a vorking stiff. And I make zem laff.'
Vimes stared at the man. He'd never thought about that before. But yes ...
Little fussy Otto, in his red-lined black opera cloak with pockets for all his
gear, his shiny black shoes, his carefully cut widow's peak and, not least,
his ridiculous accent that grew thicker or thinner depending on who he was
talking to, did not look like a threat. He looked funny, a joke, a music-hall
vampire. It had never previously occurred to Vimes that, just possibly, the
joke was on other people. Make them laugh, and they're not afraid.
He nodded to Otto and went inside, where Sergeant Cheery Littlebottom was
standing - on a box - at the too high duty officer's desk, her chevrons all
shiny and new on her sleeve. Vimes made a mental note to do something about
the box. Some of the dwarf officers were getting sensitive about having to use
it.
`I think we could do with a couple of lads standing outside, Cheery,' he said.
`Nothing provocative, just a little reminder to people that we keep the
peace.'
`I don't think we'll need that, Mister Vimes,' said the dwarf.
`I'm not interested in seeing a picture in the Times showing the Watch's first
vampire recruit being mobbed by protesters, corpsergeant,' said Vimes
severely.
`I thought you wouldn't be, sir,' said Cheery. `So I asked Sergeant Angua to
fetch her. They came in the back way half an hour ago. She's showing her the
building. I think they're down in the locker
room.'
`You asked Angua to do it?' said Vimes, his heart sinking. 'Yessir?' said
Cheery, suddenly looking worried. `Er ... is there a problem?'
Vimes stared at her. She's a good orderly officer, he thought. I wish I had
two more like her. And she deserved the promotion, heavens know, but, he
reminded himself, she's from Uberwald, isn't she? She should have remembered
about the ... thing between them and werewolves. Maybe it's my fault. I tell
'em that all coppers are just coppers.
`What? Oh, no,' he said. `Probably not.'
A vampire and a werewolf in one room, he thought, as he headed on up the
stairs to his office. Well, they'll just have to deal with it. And that'll be
only the first of our problems.
`And I took Mr Pessimal up to the interview room,' Cheery called after him.
Vimes stopped mid-stair.
'Pessimal?' he said.
`The government inspector, sir?' said Cheery. `The one you told me about?'
Oh yes, thought Vimes. The second of our problems.
It was politics. Vimes could never get a handle on politics, which was full of
traps for honest men. This one had been sprung last week, in Lord Vetinari's
office, at the normal daily meeting ...
`Ah, Vimes,' said his lordship as Vimes entered. `So kind of you to
come. Isn't it a beautiful day?'
Up until now, Vimes thought, when he spotted the two other
people in the room.
`You wanted me, sir?' he said, turning to Vetinari again. `There's a Silicon
Anti-Defamation League march in Water Street and I've got traffic backed up
all the way to Least Gate-'
`I'm sure it can wait, commander.
'Yes, sir. That's the trouble, sir. That's what it's doing.'
Vetinari waved a languid hand. `But full carts congesting the street, Vimes,
is a sign of progress,' he declared.
`Only in the figurative sense, sir,' said Vimes.
`Well, at any rate I'm sure your men can deal with it,' said Vetinari, nodding
to an empty chair. `You have so many of them now. Such an expense. Do sit
down, commander. Do you know Mr John Smith?'
The other man at the table took the pipe out of his mouth and gave Vimes a
smile of manic friendliness.
`I don't believe wwwe have had the pleasure,' he said, extending a hand. It
should not be possible to roll your double-yous, but John Smith managed it.
Shake hands with a vampire? Not bloody likely, Vimes thought, not even one
wearing a badly handknitted pullover. He saluted instead.
`Pleased to meet you, sir,' he said crisply, standing to attention. It really
was an awful garment, that pullover. It had a queasy zigzag pattern, in many
strange, unhappy colours. It looked like something knitted as a present by a
colour-blind aunt, the sort of thing you wouldn't dare throw away in case the
rubbish collectors laughed at you and kicked your bins over.
`Vimes, Mr Smith is-' Vetinari began.
`President of the Ankh-Morpork Mission of the Uberwald League of Temperance,'
said Vimes. `And I believe the lady next to him to be Mrs Doreen Winkings,
treasurer of same. This is about having a vampire in the Watch, isn't it, sir?
Again:
`Yes, Vimes, it is,' said Vetinari. `And, yes, it is again. Shall we all be
seated? Vimes?'
There was no escape, Vimes knew, as he sagged resentfully into a chair. And
this time he was going to lose. Vetinari had cornered him.
Vimes knew all the arguments for having different species in the Watch. They
were good arguments. Some of the arguments against them were bad arguments.
There were trolls in the Watch, plenty of dwarfs, one werewolf, three golems,
an Igor and, not least, Corporal Nobbs, [1] so why not a vampire? And the
League of Temperance was a fact. Vampires wearing the League's Black Ribbon
('Not one Drop!') were a fact, too. Admittedly, vampires who had sworn off
blood could be a bit weird, but they were intelligent and clever and as such a
potential asset to society. And the Watch was the most visible arm of
government in the city. Why not set an example?
Because, said Vimes's battered but still functional soul, you hate bloody
vampires. No messing about, no dissembling, no weasel words about `the public
won't stand for it' or `it's not the right time. You hate bloody vampires and
it's your bloody Watch.
The other three were staring at him.
`Mr Vimes,' said Mrs Winkings, `ve cannot help but notice that you still haf
not employed any of our members in the Vatch . .
Say `Watch, why don't you? Vimes thought. I know you can. Let the twenty-third
letter of the alphabet enter your life. Ask Mr Smith for some, he's got more
than enough. Anyway, I have a new argument. It's copper bottomed.
`Mrs Winkings,' he said aloud, `no vampire has applied to join the Watch.
They're just not mentally suited to a copper's way of life. And it's Commander
Vimes, thank you.'
Mrs Winkings's little eyes gleamed with righteous malice.
`Oh, are you sayink vampires are ... stupid?' she said.
`No, Mrs Winkings, I'm saying that they're intelligent. And
there's your problem, right there. Why would a clever person want
[1] This was a bit of a slur on Nobby, Vimes had to admit. Nobby was human,
just like many other officers. It was just that he was the only one who had to
carry a certificate to prove it.
to risk getting their nadg- their head kicked in on a daily basis for
thirty-eight dollars a month plus allowances? Vampires have got class, an
education, a von in front of their name. There's a hundred better things for
them to be doing than walking the streets as a cop. What do you want me to do,
force them to join the force?'
'Wwwouldn't they be offered officer rank?' said John Smith. There was sweat on
his face and his permanent smile was manic. Rumour had it he was finding the
Pledge very hard going.
`No. Everyone starts on the street,' said Vimes. That wasn't entirely true,
but the question had offended him. `And on the Night Watch, too. Good
training. The best there is. A week of rainy nights with the mists coming up
and the water trickling down your neck and odd noises in the shadows ... well,
that's when we find out if we've got a real copper-'
He knew it as soon as he said it. He'd walked right into it. They must have
found a candidate!
`Veil, zat is good news!' said Mrs Winkings, leaning back.
Vimes wanted to shake her and shout: You're not a vampire, Doreen! You're
married to one, yes, but he didn't become one until a time when it is beyond
human imagining that he could possibly have wanted to bite you! All the real
Black Ribboners try to act normal and unobtrusive! No flowing cloaks, no
sucking and definitely no ripping the underwired nightdresses off young
ladies! Everyone knows John Not-A-Vampire-At-All Smith used to be Count Vargo
St Gruet von Vilinus! But now he smokes a pipe and wears those horrible
sweaters and he collects bananas and makes models of human organs out of
matchsticks because he thinks hobbies make you more human! But you, Doreen?
You were born in Cockbill Street! Your mum was a washerwoman! No one would
ever rip your nightdress off, not without a crane! But you're so .. . into
this, right? It's a damn hobby. You try to look more like vampires than
vampires do! Incidentally, those fake pointy teeth rattle when you talk!
Vimes?,
'Hmm?' Vimes was aware that people had been speaking.
`Mr Smith has some good news,' said Vetinari.
`Indeed yes,' said John Smith, beaming manically `Wwwe have a
recruit for you, commander. A vampire wwho wwants to be in the Wwwatch!'
`Ant, of course, zer night vill not prezsent a problem,' said Doreen
triumphantly. 'Ve are zer night!'
`Are you trying to tell me that I must-' Vimes began.
Vetinari cut in quickly. `Oh, no, commander. We all fully respect your
autonomy as head of the Watch. Clearly, you must hire whomsoever you think
fit. All I ask is that the candidate is interviewed, in a spirit of fairness.
Yeah, right, thought Vimes. And politics with Uberwald will become just that
bit easier, won't it, if you can say you even have a Black Ribboner in the
Watch. And if I turn this man down, I'll have to explain why. And `I just
don't like vampires, okay?' probably won't do.
`Of course,' he said. `Send him along.'
`He is in fact she,' said Lord Vetinari. He glanced down at his paperwork.
'Salacia Deloresista Amanita Trigestatra Zeldana Malifee..: He paused, turned
over several pages, and said, `I think we can skip some of these, but they end
"von Humpeding". She is fifty-one, but' he added quickly, before Vimes could
seize on this revelation, `that is no age at all for a vampire. Oh, and she'd
prefer to be known simply as Sally.'
The locker room wasn't big enough. Nothing like big enough. Sergeant Angua
tried not to inhale.
A large hall, that was fine. The open air, even better. What she needed was
room to breathe. More specifically, she needed room not to breathe vampire.
Damn Cheery! But she couldn't have refused, that would have looked bad. All
she could do was grin and bear it and fight down a pressing desire to rip out
the girl's throat with her teeth.
She must know she's doing it, she thought. They must know that they exude this
air of effortless ease, confident in any company, at home everywhere, making
everyone else feel second class and awkward. Oh, my. Call me Sally, indeed!
`Sorry about this, she said aloud, trying to force the hairs on the back of
her neck not to rise. `It's a bit close in here.' She coughed. `Anyway, this
is it. Don't worry, it always smells like this in here. And don't bother to
lock your locker, all the keys are the same and anyway most of the doors
spring open if you hit the frame in the right way. Don't keep valuables in it,
this place is too full of coppers. And don't get too upset when someone puts
holy water or a wooden stake in there.'
`Is that likely to happen?' said Sally.
`Not likely' said Angua. `Certain. F'r instance, I used to find dog collars
and bone-shaped biscuits in mine.'
`Didn't you complain?'
`What? No! You don't complain!' snapped Angua, wishing she could stop inhaling
right now. Already she was sure her hair was a mess.
`But I thought the Watch was-'
`Look, it's nothing to do with what you ... what we are, okay?' said Angua.
`If you were a dwarf it'd be a pair of platform soles or a stepladder or
something, although that doesn't happen so much these days. Mostly they try it
on everyone. It's a copper thing. And then they'll watch what you do, you see?
No one cares if you're a troll or a gnome or a zombie or a vampire,' much, she
added to herself, `but don't let them believe you're a whiner or a snitch. And
actually the biscuits were pretty good, to tell you the truth- Ah, have you
met Igor yet?'
`Many times,' said Sally. Angua forced a smile. In Uberwald, you met Igors all
the time. Especially if you were a vampire. `The one here, though?' she said.
`I don't think so.'
Ah. Good. Angua normally avoided Igor's laboratory, because the smells that
emanated therefrom were either painfully chemical or horribly, suggestively
organic, but now she'd snuff them up with relief. She headed for the door with
slightly more speed than politeness required, and knocked.
It creaked open. Any door opened by an Igor would creak. It was a knack.
`Hi, Igor,' said Sally cheerfully. `Gimme six!'
Angua left them chatting. Igors were naturally servile, vampires were
naturally not. It was an ideal match. At least she could go and get some air
now.
The door opened.
`Mr Pessimal, sir,' said Cheery, ushering a man not much taller than she was
into Vimes's office. `And here's the office copy of the
Times. .
Mr Pessimal was neat. In fact, he went beyond neat. He was a folding kind of
person. His suit was cheap but very clean, his little boots sparkled. His hair
gleamed, too, even more than the boots. It had a centre parting and had been
plastered down so severely that it looked as though it had been painted on his
head.
All the city's departments got inspected from time to time,
Vetinari had said. There was no reason why the Watch should be passed over,
was there? It was, after all, a major drain on the city coffers.
Vimes had pointed out that a drain was where things went to waste.
Nevertheless, Vetinari had said. Just nevertheless. You couldn't argue with
`nevertheless.
And the outcome was Mr Pessimal, walking towards Vimes.
He twinkled as he walked. Vimes couldn't think of another way to describe it.
Every move was ... well, neat. Shovel purse and spectacles on a ribbon, I'll
bet, he thought.
Mr Pessimal folded himself on to the chair in front of Vimes's desk and opened
the clasps of his briefcase with two little snaps of doom. With some ceremony
he donned a pair of spectacles. They were on a black ribbon.
`My letter of accreditation from Lord Vetinari, your grace,' he said, handing
over a sheet of paper.
`Thank you, Mr ... A. E. Pessimal,' said Vimes, glancing at it and putting it
on one side. `And how can we help you? It's Commander Vimes when I'm at work,
by the way.'
`I will need an office, your grace. And an oversight of all your paperwork. As
you know, I am tasked to give his lordship a complete overview and
cost/benefit analysis of the Watch, with any suggestions for improvement in
every aspect of its activities. Your co-operation is appreciated but not
essential.'
`Suggestions for improvement, eh?' said Vimes cheerfully, while behind A. E.
Pessimal's chair Sergeant Littlebottom shut her eyes in dread. `Jolly good.
I've always been known for my co-operative attitude. I did mention about the
Duke thing, did I?'
`Yes, your grace,' said A. E. Pessimal primly. `Nevertheless, you are the Duke
of Ankh and it would be inappropriate to address you in any other way. I would
feel disrespectful.'
`I see. And how should I address you, Mr Pessimal?' said Vimes.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a floorboard on the other side of the room
lift almost imperceptibly.
`A. E. Pessimal will be quite acceptable, your grace,' said the inspector.
`The A standing for - ?'Vimes said, taking his eyes off the board for a
moment.
`Just A, your grace,' said A. E. Pessimal patiently. `A. E. Pessimal.' `You
mean you weren't named, you were initialled?' `Just so, your grace,' said the
little man.
`What do your friends call you?'
A. E. Pessimal looked as though there was one major assumption in that
sentence that he did not understand, so Vimes took a small amount of pity on
him. `Well, Sergeant Littlebottom here will look after you,' he said with fake
joviality. `Find Mr A. E. Pessimal an office somewhere, sergeant, and let him
see any paperwork he requires: As much as possible, Vimes thought. Bury him in
the stuff, if it keeps him away from me.
`Thank you, your grace,' said A. E. Pessimal. `I shall need to interview some
officers, too.'
`Why?' said Vimes.
`To ensure that my report is comprehensive, your grace,' said Mr A. E.
Pessimal calmly.
`I can tell you anything you need to know,' said Vimes.
`Yes, your grace, but that is not how an inquiry works. I must act
completely independently. Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? your grace.' `I know
that one,' said Vimes. `Who watches the watchmen? Me, Mr Pessimal.'
'Ah, but who watches you, your grace?' said the inspector, with a brief smile.
`I do that, too. All the time,' said Vimes. `Believe me.'
`Quite so, your grace. Nevertheless, I must represent the public
interest here. I shall try not to be obtrusive.'
`Very good of you, Mr Pessimal,' said Vimes, giving up. He hadn't
realized he'd been upsetting Vetinari so much lately. This felt like one of
his games. `All right. Enjoy your hopefully brief stay with us. Do excuse me,
this is a busy morning, what with the damn Koom Valley thing and everything.
Come in, Fred!'
That was a trick he'd learned from Vetinari. It was hard for a visitor to hang
on when their replacement was in the room. Besides, Fred sweated a lot in this
hot weather; he was a champion sweater. And in all these years he'd never
worked out that when you stood outside the office door, the long floorboard
seesawed slightly on the joist and rose just where Vimes could notice it.
The piece of floorboard settled again, and the door opened.
`Don't know how you do it, Mister Vimes!' said Sergeant Colon cheerfully. `I
was just about to knock!'
After you'd had a decent earful, thought Vimes. He was pleased to see A. E.
Pessimal's nose wrinkle, though.
`What's up, Fred?' he said. `Oh, don't worry, Mr Pessimal was just leaving.
Carry on, Sergeant Littlebottom. Good morning, Mr Pessimal.'
Fred Colon removed his helmet as soon as the inspector had been ushered away
by Cheery, and wiped his forehead.
`It's heating up out there again,' he said. `We're in for thunderstorms, I
reckon.'
`Yes, Fred. And you wanted what, exactly?' said Vimes, contriving to indicate
that while Fred was always welcome, just now was not the best of times.
'Er ... something big's going down on the street, sir,' said Fred earnestly,
in the manner of one who had memorized the phrase.
Vimes sighed. `Fred, do you mean something's happening?'
`Yes, sir. It's the dwarfs, sir. I mean the lads here. It's got worse. They
keep going into huddles. Everywhere you look, sir, there's huddlin' goin' on.
Only they stops as soon as anyone else comes close. Even the sergeants. They
stops and gives you a look, sir. And that's makin' the trolls edgy, as you
might expect.
`We're not going to have Koom Valley replayed in this nick, Fred,' said Vimes.
`I know the city's full of it right now, what with the anniversary coming up,
but I'll drop like a ton of rectangular building things on any copper who
tries a bit of historical re-creation in the locker room. He'll be out on his
arse before he knows it. Make sure everyone understands that.'
'Yessir. But I ain't talking about all that stuff, sir. We all know about
that,' said Fred Colon. `This is something different, fresh today. It feels
bad, sir, makes my neck tingle. The dwarfs know something. Something they
ain't sayin'.'
Vimes hesitated. Fred Colon was not the greatest gift to policing. He was
slow, stolid and not very imaginative. But he'd plodded his way around the
streets for so long that he'd left a groove and somewhere inside that stupid
fat head was something very smart, which sniffed the wind and heard the buzz
and read the writing on the wall, admittedly doing the last bit with its lips
moving.
`Probably it's just that damn Hamcrusher who has got them stirred up again,
Fred,' he said.
`I hear them mentioning his name in their lingo, yes, sir, but there's more to
it, I'll swear. I mean, they looked really uneasy, sir. It's something
important, sir, I can feel it in my water.'
Vimes considered the admissibility of Fred Colon's water as Exhibit A. It
wasn't something you'd want to wave around in a court of law, but the gut
feeling of an ancient street monster like Fred counted for a lot, one copper
to another.
He said, `Where's Carrot?
'Off, Sir. He pulled the swing shift and the morning shift down at Treacle
Mine Road. Everyone's doin' double shifts, sir,' Fred Colon added
reproachfully.
`Sorry, Fred, you know how it is. Look, I'll get him on it when he comes in.
He's a dwarf, he'll hear the buzz.'
`I think he might be just a wee bit too tall to hear this buzz, sir,' said
Colon, in an odd voice.
Vimes put his head on one side.
`What makes you say that, Fred?'
Fred Colon shook his head. `Just a feeling, sir,' he said. He added, in a
voice tinged with reminiscence and despair: `It was better when there was just
you and me and Nobby and the lad Carrot, eh? We all knew who was who in the
old days. We knew what one another was thinking . .
`Yes, we were thinking "I wish the odds were on our side, just for once",
Fred,' said Vimes. `Look, I know this is getting us all down, right? But I
need you senior officers to tough it out, okay? How do you like your new
office?'
Colon brightened up. `Very nice, sir. Shame about the door, o course.
Finding a niche for Fred Colon had been a problem. To look at him, you'd see a
man who might well, if he fell over a cliff, have to stop and ask directions
on the way down. You had to know Fred Colon. The newer coppers didn't. They
just saw a cowardly, stupid fat man, which, to tell the truth, was pretty much
what was there. But it wasn't all that was there.
Fred had looked retirement in the face, and didn't want any. Vimes had got
around the problem by giving him the post of Custody Officer, to the amusement
of all, [1] and an office in the Watch Training School across the alley, which
was much better known as, and probably would for ever be known as, the old
lemonade factory. Vimes had thrown in the job of Watch Liaison Officer,
because it sounded good and no one knew what it meant. He'd also given him
Corporal Nobbs, who was another awkward dinosaur in today's Watch.
It was working, too. Nobby and Colon had a street-level knowledge of the city
that rivalled Vimes's own. They ambled about,
[1] As in `Ol' Fred thought he said custard officer and volunteered!' Since
this is an example of office humour, it doesn't actually have to be funny.
apparently aimless and completely unthreatening, and they watched and they
listened to the urban equivalent of the jungle drums. And sometimes the drums
came to them. Once, Fred's sweaty little office had been the place where
bare-armed ladies had mixed up great batches of Sarsaparilla and Raspberry
Lava and Ginger Pop. Now the kettle was always on and it was open house for
all his old mates, ex-watchmen and old cons - sometimes the same individual -
and Vimes happily signed the bill for the doughnuts consumed when they dropped
by to get out from under their wives' feet. It was worth it. Old coppers kept
their eyes open, and gossiped like washerwomen.
In theory, the only problem in Fred's life now was his door.
`The Historians' Guild say we've got to preserve as much of the old fabric as
possible, Fred,' said Vimes.
`I know that, sir, but ... well, "The Twaddle Room" sir? I mean, really!'
`Nice brass plate, though, Fred,' said Vimes. `It's what they called the basic
soft-drink syrup, I'm told. Important historical fact. You could stick a piece
of paper over the top of it.'
`We do that, sir, but the lads pull it off and snigger.'
Vimes sighed. `Sort it out, Fred. If an old sergeant can't sort out that kind
of thing, the world has become a very strange place. Is that all?'
`Well, yes, sir, really. But-'
'C'mon, Fred. It's going to be a busy day.'
`Have you heard of Mr Shine, sir?'
`Do you clean stubborn surfaces with it?' said Vimes.
'Er ... what, sir?' said Fred. No one did perplexed better than
Fred Colon. Vimes felt ashamed of himself.
`Sorry, Fred. No, I haven't heard of Mr Shine. Why?'
`Oh ... nothing, really. "Mr Shine, him Diamond!" Seen it on
walls a few times lately. Troll graffiti; you know, carved in deep.
Seems to be causing a buzz among the trolls. Important, maybe?'
Vimes nodded. You ignored the writing on the walls at your peril. Sometimes it
was the city's way of telling you, if not what was on its bubbling mind, then
at least what was in its creaking heart.
`Well, keep listening, Fred. I'm relying on you not to let a buzz become a
摘要：

TERRYPRATCHETTbeetrootTHUD!ThefirstthingTakdid,hewrotehimself.ThesecondthingTakdid,hewrotetheLaws.ThethirdthingTakdid,hewrotetheWorld.ThefourththingTakdid,hewroteacave.ThefifththingTakdid,hewroteageode,aneggofstone.Andinthetwilightofthemouthofthecave,thegeodehatchedandtheBrotherswereborn.ThefirstBro...

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