Koom Valley? That was where the trolls ambushed the dwarves, or the dwarves ambushed the trolls. It was far away. It was a long time ago.
But if he doesn't solve the murder of just one dwarf, Commander Sam Vimes of Ankh-Morpork City Watch is going to see the battle fought again, right outside his office.
With his beloved Watch crumbling around him and war-drums sounding, he must unravel every clue, outwit every assassin and brave any darkness to find the solution. And darkness is following him.
Oh... and at six o'clock every day, without fail, with no excuses, he must go home to read Where's My Cow?, with all the right farmyard noises, to his little boy.
There are some things you have to do.
Otto: "Anyvay, I couldn't tell you even if I knew, because of zer Freedom of zer Press."
Vimes: "Freedom to pour oil on a flame, d'you mean?"
Otto: "That's freedom for you. No vun said it was nice."
* * *
...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.
* * *
Vimes could never get a handle on politics, which was full of traps for honest men.
* * *
Vimes: "There's a Silicon Anti-Defamation League march in Water Street and I've got traffic backed up all the way to Least Gate--"
Vetinari: "I'm sure it can wait, commander."
Vimes: "Yes, sir. That's the trouble, sir. That's what it's doing."
* * *
It should not be possible to roll your double-yous, but John Smith managed it.
* * *
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.
* * *
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.
* * *
Any door opened by an Igor would creak. It was a knack.
* * *
"Hi, Igor," said Sally cheerfully. "Gimmie six!"
* * *
Pessimal: "Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? your grace."
Vimes: "I know that one. Who watches the watchmen? Me, Mr. Pessimal."
Pessimal: "Ah, but who watches you, your grace?"
Vimes: "I do that, too. All the time."
* * *
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.
* * *
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 [Footnote: 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.]
* * *
Vimes had thrown in the job of Watch Liaison Officer, because it sounded good and no one knew what it meant.
* * *
No one did perplexed better than Fred Colon.
* * *
Young dwarfs listened to [Hamcrusher], because he talked about history and destiny and all the other words that always got trotted out to put a gloss on slaughter. It was heady stuff, except that brains weren't involved.
* * *
Vimes itched to arrest him. Technically, he was doing nothing wrong, but that was no barrier to a copper who knew his business.
* * *
Cheery: "It's only stamps, sir. I mean, there's no law against stamps..."
Vimes: "There ought to be one against being a bloody fool!"
Cheery: "If there was, sir, we'd be on overtime every day!"
* * *
The reasoning was faultless: in lots of areas, right now, dwarfs or trolls were wandering around in groups or, alternatively, staying still in groups in case any of those wandering bastards tried any trouble in this neighbourhood. There had been little flare-ups for weeks. In these areas, Nobby and Fred considered, there wasn't much peace, so it was a waste of effort to keep what little was left of it, right?
* * *
Colon: "You never told me she was a pole-dancer, Nobby!"
Nobby: "Don't say it like that, sarge. This is modern times. And she's got class, Tawneee has. She even brings her own pole."
* * *
Nobby: "Oh, Hammerhead's a nice girl if you catch her on a good day, sarge."
Colon: "You mean those days when she doesn't tell you to bugger off and chase you down the street throwing crabs at you?"
* * *
"Err, well, I ask you," Fred floundered, "is a girl who displays her body for money the right kind of wife for a copper? Ask yourself that!"
For the second time in five minutes, what passed for Nobby's face wrinkled up in deep thought.
* * *
You could barely understand the man, he was that posh.
* * *
Sir Reynold: "I am given to understand that the modern h Watch can learn a lot just by looking at the place where a thing was, is that not so?"
Nobby: "Like, that it's gone?"
* * *
Nobby: "What's a galler rear?"
Colon: "A gallery, Nobby. That's very high-class talkin', that is."
Nobby: "I can hardly understand him!"
Colon: "Shows it's high class, Nobby. It wouldn't be much good if people like you could understand, right?"
* * *
Sir Reynold: "After he viewed Don't Talk to Me About Mondays! Lord Vetinari graciousleah had Ms. Pouter nailed to the stake by her ear. However, she did manage to pull free during the afternoon."
Nobby: "I bet she was mad!"
Sir Reynold: "Not after she hwon several awards for it. I believe she's planning to nail herself to several other things. It could be a very exciting exhibition."
* * *
Never say that people wouldn't do something, no matter how strange it was.
* * *
Fred Colon hesitated here. He knew in his heart that spinning upside down around a pole wearing a costume you could floss with definitely was not Art, and being painted lying on a bed wearing nothing but a smile and a small bunch of grapes was good solid Art, but putting your finger on why this was the case was a bit tricky.
* * *
"Nude women are only Art if there's an urn in it," said Fred Colon. This sounded a bit weak even to him, so he added, "or a plinth. Both is best, o'course. It's a secret sign, see, that they put in to say that it's Art and okay to look at:"
* * *
Sir Reynold: "[The painting] drove Rascal quite mad, poor fellow. It took him sixteen years to complete!"
Nobby: "That's nothing. Fred here hasn't finished painting his kitchen yet, and he started twenty years ago!"
* * *
Nobby: "He said the government hushed it up."
Colon: "Yeah, but your mate Dave says the government always hushes things up, Nobby."
Nobby: "Well, they do."
Colon: "Except he always gets to hear about 'em, and he never gets hushed up."
Nobby: "I know you like to point the finger of scoff, sarge, but there's a lot goes on that we don't know about."
Colon: "Like what, exactly? Name me one thing that's going on that you don't know about. There -- you can't, can you?"
* * *
Vimes leaned back. "Don't try to put me at my ease, Miss von Humpeding,"he said. "It makes me nervous when people do that."
* * *
That was the problem, of course. Vampires were fine right up until the point where, suddenly, they weren't.
* * *
Vimes: "A vampire wanting to be a copper? I can't quite make that fit, 'Sally'."
Sally: "I thought it would be an interesting job in the fresh air which would offer opportunities to help people, Commander Vimes."
Vimes: "Hmm. If you can say that without smiling you might make a copper after all."
* * *
Colon: "War, Nobby. Huh! What is it good for?"
Nobby: "Dunno, sarge. Freeing slaves, maybe?"
Colon: "Absol-- Well, okay."
Nobby: "Defending yourself from a totalitarian aggressor?"
Colon: "All right, I'll grant you that, but--"
Nobby: "Saving civilization against a horde of--"
Colon: "It doesn't do any good in the long run is what I'm saying, Nobby, if you'd listen for five seconds together."
Nobby: "Yeah, but in the long run what does, sarge?"
* * *
"And we are the City Watch," Vimes went on. "It says so on the door."
"Actually it mostly says 'Copers are Barstuds' on the door at the moment, but I've got someone scrubbing it off," said Carrot.
* * *
Coppers stayed alive by trickery. That's how it worked. ...You relied on people giving in, knowing the rules. But in truth a hundred well-armed people could wipe out the Watch, if they knew what they were doing. Once some madman finds out that a copper taken unawares dies just like anyone else, the spell is broken.
* * *
"How about a game of Splong!™, specially devised for the Mark Five?" pleaded the imp. "I have the bats right here. No? Perhaps you would prefer the ever-popular Guess My Weight in Pigs? Or I could whistle one of your favourite tunes? My iHUM™ function enables me to remember up to one thousand five hundred of your all-time--"
* * *
You tended to notice the dwarf outposts: a patchwork of windows testified to a two-storey house having been turned into a three-storey house while remaining exactly the same height; an excess of small ponies pulling small carts; and, of course, all the really short people wearing beards and helmets was a definite clue.
* * *
[Dwarfs] got their news from other dwarfs, to ensure that it was new and fresh and full of personality...
* * *
Standing around watching people was, of course,Ankh-Morpork's leading industry. The place was a net exporter of penetrating stares.
* * *
They started to give Vimes the look of all guards everywhere, which in summary is this: the default position is that you're dead; only my patience stands in the way.
* * *
Vimes: "Where is the manual?"
Imp: "You threw it away. You always do. That's why you never use the right commands, and that is why I did not 'go away and stick my head up a duck's bottom' yesterday."
* * *
Chess in particular had always annoyed [Vimes]. It was the dumb way the pawns went off and slaughtered their fellow pawns while the kings lounged about doing nothing that always got to him; if only the pawns united, maybe talked the rooks round, the whole board could've been a republic in a dozen moves.
* * *
Vimes: "You can't expect everyone to conform to your rules!"
Ardent: "Why not? You do."
* * *
Vimes maintained three trays: In, Out and Shake It All About; the last one was where he put everything he was too busy, angry, tired or bewildered to do anything about.
* * *
Good old Cheery. She knew what a Vimes BLT was all about. It was about having to lift up quite a lot of crispy bacon before you found the miserable skulking vegetables.
* * *
Coppers of various species were standing around trying to look nonchalant. Coppers are never any good at this.
* * *
She turned. A young man of godlike proportions was standing in the doorway. [Footnote: The better class of gods, anyway. Not the ones with the tentacles, obviously.]
* * *
Vimes had got around to a Clean Desk policy. It was a Clean Floor strategy that eluded him at the moment.
* * *
Lost property book! They'd never had one of those in the old days. If someone turned up complaining that they'd lost some small item, you just held Nobby Nobbs upside down and sorted through what dropped out.
* * *
Vimes had instigated record-keeping at the gates not because he had a huge interest in the results, but because it kept the lads on their toes... It stopped watchmen falling asleep at their posts, and it gave them an excuse to be nosy.
* * *
The main office included not only the duty officer's desk but also half a dozen smaller ones, where watchmen sat when they had to do the really tricky parts of police work, like punctuating a sentence correctly.
* * *
They were baaad trolls. At least, they'd like everyone to think so. But they'd got it wrong... The old-time bad trolls didn't bother with all that stuff. They just beat you over the head with your own arm until you got the message.
* * *
"'The Long Arm of The Law'," Vimes read aloud. "Is that supposed to be funny?"
"Probably it is to people who write headlines," said Cheery.
* * *
Detritus: "You ain't serious, are you? You're not going runnin' after a coprolite like Chrysoprase, sir?"
Vimes: "What's the worst he can do to me?"
Detritus: "Rip off your head, grind you to mince and make soup from your bones, sir."
* * *
[Detritus] unslung the Piecemaker, the crossbow he had personally built from a converted siege weapon, the multiple bolts of which tended to shatter in the air from the sheer stresses of acceleration. They could remove a door not simply from its frame but also from the world of objects bigger than a matchstick.
* * *
All Detritus needed to do was fire that thing in this direction and quite a lot of the organized crime in the city would suddenly be very disorganized, as would be Vimes if he didn't hit the floor in time.
* * *
There'd been a lot of talk about community leaders lately, as in "community leaders appealed for calm", a phrase the Times used so often that the printers probably left it set in type. Vimes wondered who they were, and how they were appointed and, sometimes, if "appealing for calm" meant winking and saying "Do not use those shiny new battle-axes in that cupboard over there... No, not that one, the other one."
* * *
The door at the far end opened with a bang and Detritus ran in, crossbow at the ready. Vimes, aware that one of the troll's few faults was an inability to understand all the implications of the term "safety catch", fought down a dreadful urge to dive for the ground.
* * *
Vimes: "How did you get here so quick?"
Carrot: "Short cut through the Apothecary Gardens, sir!"
Vimes: "What? That little walk by the river? That's never wide enough for a coach like this!"
Carrot: "It was a bit off a squeeze, sir, yes. It got easier when the coach lamps scraped off."
* * *
There were minor collisions all the time, which were inevitably followed by both vehicles blocking the junction whilst the drivers got down to discussing road-safety issues with reference to the first weapon they could get their hands on.
* * *
Six o'clock, prompt. Every day. Read to Young Sam. No excuses. He'd promised himself that. No excuses. No excuses at all. Once you had a good excuse, you opened the door to bad excuses.
* * *
He was tongue-tied in the presence of a fourteen-month-old baby. All the things he thought of saying, like "Who's Daddy's little boy, then?" sounded horribly false, as though he'd got them from a book.
* * *
[The book] was called Where's My Cow?
The unidentified complainant had lost their cow. That was the story, really.
* * *
But was this a book for a city kid? When would he ever hear these noises? In the city the only sound those animals would make was "sizzle."
* * *
Sybil: "You didn't get in this morning until after three."
Vimes: "Everyone's double-shifting, dear. I've got to set a good example."
Sybil: "I'm sure you intend to, Sam, but you look like a horrible warning."
* * *
"When did you last eat?"
"I had a lettuce, tomato and bacon sandwich, dear," he said, endeavouring by tone of voice to suggest that the bacon had been a mere condiment rather than a slab barely covered by the bread.
"I expect you jolly well did," said Sybil, rather more accurately conveying the fact that she didn't believe a word of it.
* * *
And that was Carrot at work. He could sound so innocent, so friendly, so... stupid, in a puppy-dog kind of way, and then he became this big block of steel and you walked right into it.
* * *
...the trouble with clues, as Mister Vimes always said, was that they were so easy to make. You could walk around with a pocket full of the bloody things.
* * *
Angua: "And what was that you said to him in dwarfish -- 'You know I am a dwarf in the brotherhood of all dwarfs'?"
Sally: "Erm, 'With emphatic certainty you know me. I observe the rites of the dwarf. What/who am I? I am the Brothers united'."
Carrot: "Well done, lance-constable! That was an excellent translation!"
Angua: "Yes, did you bite someone clever?"
* * *
But werewolves? Well, they were just sad monsters, weren't they? Never mind that life was a daily struggle with the inner wolf, never mind that you had to force yourself to walk past every lamp-post, never mind that in every petty argument you had to fight back the urge to settle it all with one bite.
* * *
[Sybil] was darning his socks... It was comforting, in a strange sort of way. It was only a shame that she wasn't in fact any good at mending holes, so Sam ended up with sock heels that were a huge welt of criss-crossing wool.
* * *
Vimes: "Dwarfs have weapons that fire flame."
Carrot: "The deep-downers use them to explode pockets of mine-gas. I never expected to see them here!"
Vimes: "It's a weapon if some bastard points it at me! How much gas did they expect to find in Ankh-Morpork?"
Carrot: "Sir? Even the river catches fire in a hot summer!"
* * *
Don't think of it all as one big bucket of snakes. Think of it as one snake at a time.
* * *
Gooseberry: "Don't talk to me about rats and cats!"
Vimes: "They chased you? But you're a magical creature, aren't you?"
Gooseberry: "They don't know that!"
* * *
"Um, no one reads the reports, Insert Name Here. They appear to be what we in the trade call write-only documents."
* * *
Vimes: "Wasn't anyone supposed to be reading them?"
Sybil: "I rather think you were, dear."
Vimes: "But I'm in charge!"
Sybil: "Yes, dear. That's the point, really."
* * *
Vimes: "Just in the mood for a fight, then."
Carrot: "Yes, sir. Just drunk enough to be stupid but too sober to fall over."
* * *
"Captain Carrot, you are to make sure he eats the apple and the banana. Dr. Lawn says he must eat at least five pieces of fruit or vegetable every day!"
Vimes stared woodenly at Carrot and Sally, trying to project the warning that the first officer to crack a smile or even mention this to anyone, ever, ever, ever, would have a very hard time of it indeed.
* * *
Ye gods, it was so much better when there were just four of us up against that bloody big dragon, Vimes thought as they walked on. Of course, we nearly got burned alive a few times, but at least it wasn't complicated. It was a damn great dragon. You could see it coming. It didn't get political on you.
* * *
He often fell into bad ccompany, he reflected, although sometimes he had to look all day to find it...
* * *
His possibly negative IQ, complete absence of street cred and, above all, his permanent inclination to snort, suck, swallow or bite anything that promised to make his brain sparkle, meant that he had been turned down even by the Tenth Egg Street Can't-fink-of-a-name Gang, rumoured to be so dense that one of their members was a lump of concrete on a piece of string.
* * *
The special constables were men -- mostly -- who could be a copper in times of dire need but were generally disqualified from formal Watch membership by reason of shape, profession, age or, sometimes, brain.
* * *
...Vimes had lately taken the view that when push came to shove it was better to have your fellow citizens shoving alongside you and, that being the case, you might as well teach them how to hold a sword right, lest the arm they clumsily removed was yours.
* * *
...[Fred's] face, in the flickering light of the flares, acquired the innocent smile of one about to make someone's life a little pot of bubbling dread.
* * *
Colon: "Know how to use a sword, Acting-Constable Pessimal?"
Pessimal: "Well, I don't exactly--"
Colon: "A shield, then? Any good with a shield?"
Pessimal: "Actually, I didn't mean--"
Colon: "Any good at running a hundred yards in ten seconds? In this?"
Pessimal: "Uh, I don't think--"
Colon: "Standing still and going to the toilet really, really quickly? Oh well, you'll learn soon enough."
* * *
Willikins: "The important thing is to get in front of [trolls] and dodge the first blow. They always leave themselves open and sir may then step smartly forward and select sir's target of choice."
Pessimal: "Er, what if... if I'm not in front of one when it tries to hit me? What if it is in fact behind me?"
Willikins: "Ah, well, I'm afraid that in that case sir has to go back and start all over again, sir."
Pessimal: "And, er, how do I do that?"
Willikins: "Being born is traditionally the first step, sir."
* * *
"The trolls are up in the plaza and the dwarfs are down in the square, and both of 'em are drinking up enough courage to have a good scrap. That's why we'll be lining up in the Cham, right between 'em, the thin brown streak, haha."
* * *
"Our weapon of first resort will be our truncheons, and our weapon of last resort is our feet. That is to say, we'll run like hell."
* * *
No, these simple [barricades] were the physical symbol of an idea. It was a line in the sand... Step over this line and you've gone beyond the law. Step over this line, with your massive axes and huge morningstars and heavy, heavy spiky clubs, and we few, we happy few, who stand here with our wooden truncheons, we'll... we'll...
...well, you just better not step over the line, okay?
* * *
He told himself he shouldn't be dooing this to the inspector, who was just a clerk in the wrong place and probably wasn't a bad man. The trouble was, the trolls up in the plaza probably weren't bad trolls, and the dwarfs down in the square probably werent't bad dwarfs, either. People who probably weren't bad could kill you.
* * *
Oh yes, he remembered the Glorious Revolution. It hadn't really been a revolution and had been glorious only if you thought an early grave was glorious.
* * *
Vimes: "By the way, how did it go in Turn Again Lane?"
Detritus: "Oh, wonnerful, sir. Six alchemists an' fifty pound o' fresh Slide. In an' out, quick an' sweet, all banged up in the Tanty."
Vimes: "Didn't know what'd hit 'em, eh?"
Detritus: "Oh no, sir. I made sure they knew I hit 'em."
* * *
As [Angua] padded through the alleys, and leapt walls into midnight yards, she kept clenched in her jaws the little leather bag that was a friend to any thinking werewolf, such a creature being defined as one who remembers that your clothes don't magically follow you.
* * *
This wasn't an area like Treacle Street; people with money lived here, and they often spent that money on big dogs and "Disproportionate Response" signs in their driveways.
* * *
[Angua] hated being attacked by large ferocious dogs. It always left a mess and the mouthwash afterwards was never strong enough.
* * *
Only Bloody Stupid Johnson could have invented the 13-inch foot and a triangle with three right angles in it. Only Bloody Stupid Johnson could have twisted common matter through dimensions it was not supposed to enter.
And only Bloody Stupid Johnson could have done all this by accident.
* * *
...[the well] was only about sixty feet deep, built in the days when it was widely believed that any water that supported so many little whiskery swimming things must be healthy.
* * *
Angua: "I thought vampires could rematerialize their clothes. Otto Chriek can!"
Sally: "Females can't. We don't know why. It's probably part of the whole underwired nightdress business."
* * *
"When you're in one hundred and fifty bat bodies it's quite hard to remember to keep two of them carrying a pair of pants."
* * *
Sally: "We're both wearing nothing, we're standing in what, you may have noticed, is increasingly turning into mud, and we're squaring up to fight. Okay. But there's something missing, yes?"
Angua: "And that is...?"
Sally: "A paying audience? We could make a fortune."
* * *
Sally: "The sign was written by someone dying."
Angua: "Well?"
Sally: "Then it's probably a curse."
Angua: "So? We didn't kill him."
Sally: "Do you think it cares?"
* * *
They had used good old-fashioned policing, and since good old-fashioned policemen are invariably outnumbered, he'd employed the good old-fashioned police methods of cunning, deceit and any damn weapon you could lay your hands on.
* * *
One or two, a little clearer in the head than the others, had put up a ponderous and laughable fight but had fallen to that most old-fashioned of police methods, the welll-placed boot.
* * *
Captain Carrot, armour gleaming, was hurrying towards him, his face as usual radiating an expression of 100 percent pure Keen.
* * *
As if awakened by the reference to Sybil, the creditors of his body queued up to wave their overdue IOUs; feet: dead tired and in need of a bath; stomach: gurguling; ribs: on fire; back: aching...
* * *
Angua: "There's people up there, I can smell them--"
Sally: "I can count fifty-seven hearts beating."
Angua: "You know, that's one particular talent I'd keep to myself, if I was you... I mean, I personally am quite capable of cracking a man's skull in my jaws, but I don't go around telling everyone."
* * *
The smells of old cabbage, acne ointment and non-malignant skin disease became transmuted, in Corporal Nobbs, into a strange odour that lay across the nose like a saw blade on a harp.
* * *
Angua: "We are naked, lance-constable!"
Sally: "Only technically. This mud really sticks."
Angua: "I mean underneath the mud!"
Sally: "Yes, but if we had clothes on we'd be naked underneath them, too!"
* * *
Nobby: "You don't have to keep your eyes shut, sarge. It's all legit. It's an artistic celebration of the female body, Tawnee says. Anyway, she's got clothes on."
Colon: "Two tassels and a folded hanky is not clothes, Nobby."
* * *
...when all was said and done ballet had to be Art even though it was short on plinths and urns, on account of being expensive to look at, and moreover ballerinas didn't whiz 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.
* * *
"I don't believe there's a dancer called Broccoli!"
"Well, she used to be called Candi, sarge, but then she heard that broccoli is better for you--"
* * *
"...you've got a werewolf and a vampire down here, understand? I'm having a really bad hair day and she's got toothache!"
* * *
Coffee was only a way of stealing time that should by rights belong to your slightly older self.
* * *
Vetinari: "What would you do if I asked you an outright question, Vimes?"
Vimes: "I'd tell you a downright lie, sir."
Vetinari: "Then I will not do so."
Vimes: "Thank you, sir. Nor will I."
* * *
"I myself have a strong cultural bias against getting my brains bashed in and my knees cut off."
* * *
[Vimes] gave Vetinari the look which said: if you take this any further I will have to lie.
Vetinari returned one which said: I know.
* * *
"A wise ruler thinks twice before directing violence against someone because he does not approve of what they say."
Once again, Vimes did not comment. He himself directed violence daily and with a certain amount of enthusiasm against people because he didn't approve of them saying things like "Give me all your money" or "What are you going to do about it, copper?"
* * *
"Sam Vimes once arrested me for treason," said Vetinari calmly. "And Sam Vimes once arrested a dragon. Sam Vimes stopped a war between nations by arresting two high commands. He's an arresting fellow, Sam Vimes."
* * *
"Find me a murderer, Vimes. Hound them down and bring them into the daylight. Troll or dwarf or human, it doesn't matter. Then at least we shall have the truth, and can make use of it. It is rumour and uncertainty that is our enemy now."
* * *
Trouble was, the Watch had all dese tricks dese days, dey could tell what a guy had for dinner just by looking at his plate.
* * *
Tawnee had explained, rather carefully, that men sometimes liked to see a pretty girl in armour. To Angua, who'd found that men she was apprehending never looked very pleased to see her, this was food for thought.
* * *
To be the center of attention in a roomful of watchmen was [Brick's] worst nightmare. No, hold on, what about dat time when he had dat bad Slab wot hadbin cut wi' ammonium nitrate? Whooo! Goodbye lobes! Den dis was his second worst nightmar-- No, come to fink of it, dere was dis time when he had dat stuff wot Hardcore jacked off'f One-Eyed Goddam, whee, yes! Who knows where dat had bin! All dem dancin' teef! So dis was his-- Hey, wait, remember dat time you got lunched on Scrape an' your arms flew away? Okay, dat was bad, so maybe dis was his...
* * *
There was an old military saying that Fred Colon used to describe total bewilderment and confusion. An individual in that state, according to Fred, "couldn't tell if it was arsehole or breakfast time."
This had always puzzled Vimes. He wondered what research had been done. Even now, with his mouth tasting of warmed-over yesterday and everything curiously sharp in his vision, he thought he'd be able to tell the difference.
* * *
Vimes: "Has Sergeant Detritus explained to you why he calls it a one-step programme, Brick?"
Brick: "Er... 'cos he won't let me put a foot wrong, sir?"
* * *
Brick wasn't telling lies. Brick had enough trouble dealing with things that weren't made-up.
* * *
"Don't get many gods in here, as a rule," said Vimes. "Someone's pinched the Secret of Fire, have you seen my golden apple?"
* * *
Miss Pickles: "Do you believe in the healing powers of crystals, young man?"
Vimes: "What? What healing power?"
Miss Pickles: "Good. We like our customers to take their geology seriously."
* * *
"You really know very little about us, Mister Vimes. You see us down on the plains, shambling around talkin' like dis. You don't know about the history chant, or the Long Dance, or stone music. You see the hunched troll, dragging his club. That's what the dwarfs did for us, long ago. They turned us, in your minds, into sad, brainless monsters."
* * *
"To study the enemy you must get under his skin. When you're under his skin you start to see the world through his eyes."
* * *
Vimes: "Why should you care about a slushed-out gutter troll?"
Mr. Shine: "Why should you care about some dead dwarfs?"
Vimes: "Because someone has to!"
Mr. Shine: "Exactly!"
* * *
Vimes: "What is the taka-taka?"
Detritus: "It der famous war club of der trolls."
Vimes: "You mean you subscribe and get a different war every month?"
* * *
Regrettably, they had, when choosing toys for Young Sam, completely neglected the whole area of hard things with sharp edges.
* * *
...dragon-breeding was not a hobby for cissies or people who minded having to repaint the whole side of the house occassionally.
* * *
Sybil was getting to her feet, a little clumsily because of all the special clothing every dragon breeder wore. [Footnote: That is to say, every dragon breeder not currently occupying a small artistic urn.]
* * *
Sybil's female forebears had valiantly backed up their husbands as distant embassies were beseiged, had given birth on a camel or in the shade of a stricken elephant, had handed around the little gold chocolates while trolls were trying to break into the compound, or had merely stayed at home and nursed such bits of husbands and sons as made it back from endless little wars. The result was a species of woman who, when duty called, turned into solid steel.
* * *
When people are trying to kill you, it means you're doing something right.
* * *
Sybil: "Ramkins have never run away from anything."
Vimes: "Vimeses have run like hell all the time. That means you fight where you want to fight."
* * *
Vimes had to insist that Sybil travel on the inside. Usually she got her own way and he was happy to give it to her, but the unspoken agreement was that when he really insisted, she listened. It's a married couple thing.
* * *
There was a crowd of dwarfs milling around outside the Yard. They did not look belligerent -- that is to say, any more belligerent that a species the members of which, by custom and practice, wear a big heavy helmet, mail and iron boots and carry an axe all the time will automatically look
* * *
It was a brave female dwarf who advertised the fact, in a society where the wearing of even a decent, floor-length, leather-and-chain-mail dress instead of leggings positioned you, on the moral map, on the far side of Tawnee and her hard-working co-workers at the Pink PussyCat Club. But introduce a gurgling kid into the room and you could spot them instantly, for all their fearsome clang and beards you could lose a rat in.
* * *
Vimes: "How come I've never heard of them before?"
Carrot: "You're a very busy man, sir. You can't know everything."
Vimes: "Are you saying I'm a man of narrow horizons, captain?"
Carrot: "Oh no, sir. You're interested in every aspect of police work and criminology."
* * *
Sally: "Is it the whole B.A.T.H. thing?"
Angua: "You just had to say that, didn't you?"
Sally: "Well, what do you do normally?"
Angua: "Cold water, and pretend it's rain."
* * *
Angua: "Why should I listen to advice from a vampire?"
Sally: "Because you're a werewolf. Only a vampire would dare to give it, right?"
* * *
He felt like a man crossing a river on stepping stones. He was nearly halfway across, but the next stone was just a bit too far and could only be reached with serious groinal stress.
* * *
Vimes cautiously lifted a corner of the bread with his stricken pencil. There seemed to be too much lettuce, which was to say, there was some lettuce.
* * *
You could have stopped them, that's how you could have helped. Don't give me those sombre faces. Maybe you didn't say "yes" but you sure as hell didn't say "no!" loud enough.
* * *
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.
* * *
"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." He didn't say: Kill them? No. Not if they surrender, not if they don't come at me armed.
* * *
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 likeable.
* * *
Alcohol didn't seem to go to her head 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".
* * *
"What," said Angua, reading the menu, "is a Screaming Orgasm?"
"Ah," said Sally. "Looks like we got to you just in time, girl!"
* * *
"Look, shall we have another drink? What's the next cocktail on the menu?"
Cheery peered at it. "Pink, Big and Wobbly," she announced.
"Classy! We'll have four!"
* * *
He was, on the whole, a pretty good jailer: he always had a pot of tea on the go, he was as a general rule amiably disposed to most people, he was too slow to be easily fooled and he kept the cell keys in a tin box in the bottom drawer of his desk, a long way out of reach of any stick, hand, dog, cunningly thrown belt or trained Klatchian monkey spider. [Footnote: Making Fred Colon possibly unique in the annals of jail history.]
* * *
"I read him his rights but don't ask me if he understood 'em. He didn't want his tea and biscuit, at any rate. That's Rights 5 and 5b," he added, looking Bashfullsson up and down. "He gets Right 5c only if we've got Teatime Assortment."
* * *
Vimes: "You know, your religion really messes people up."
Bashfullsson: "Not in comparison to what they do to one another."
* * *
Fun. What is it good for?
It's not pleasure, joy, delight, enjoyment or glee. It's a hollow, cruel, vicious little bastard, a word for something sought with an hilarious couple of wobbly antennae on your head and the words "I want It!" on your shirt, and it tends to leave you waking up with your face stuck to the street.
* * *
Havin your Teef smashed in by a Big Stinky Fist
Head Nailed To The Door
Kick inna Fork
Like big lump of steel hammer fru your ears
Neck Bolt
-- Cocktails at Biers
* * *
You had to keep changing the shape of sentences to get them to fit into the currently available space in Tawneee's brain.
* * *
"I mean, why do you think men pay to watch you on stage?" she asked.
"Because I'm very good," said Tawneee promptly. "When I was ten I got the dancer of the year award in Miss Deviante's ballet and tap class."
"Tap-dancing?" said Sally, grinning. "Hey, why don't you try that on stage?"
Angua closed her mind to the image of Tawneee tap-dancing. The club would probably burn to the ground.
* * *
Cheery: "I've never been on a Girls' Night Out before. Was that last bit supposed to happen?"
Sally: "What bit was that?"
Cheery: "The bit where the bar was set on fire."
Angua: "Not usually."
* * *
"Shoes, men, coffins... never accept the first one you see."
* * *
Sally: "Oh... I think I'm going to be sick..."
Angua: "Serves you right for drinking... vine."
Sally: "Oh, ha ha. I'm perfectly fine with sarcastic pause 'vine', thank you! What I shouldn't have drunk was sticky drinks with names made up by people with less sense of humour than, uh, excuse me... oh, noooo..."
* * *
"Since I was having to tour the temples of vice, sergeant, I thought I could do Om's holy work at the same time," said Visit, whose indefatigable evangelical zeal triumphed over all adversity. Sometimes whole bars full of people would lie down on the floor with the lights out when they heard he was coming down the street.
* * *
That was a phrase of Sybil's that got to him, She'd announce at lunch: "We must have the pork tonight, it needs eating up." Vimes never had an actual problem with this, because he'd been raised to eat what was put in front of him, and do it quickly, too, before someone else snatched it away. He was just puzzled at the suggestion that he was there to do the food a favour.
* * *
Sybil: "Sam Vimes, I've dreamed of visiting Koom Valley all my life, so don't dare think for one moment you're gallivanting off to see it and leaving me at home!"
Vimes: "I don't gallivant! I've never gallivanted. I don't know how to vant! I don't even have a galli!"
* * *
Vimes: "But there's going to be a war there soon!"
Sybil: "Then I shall tell them we're not involved."
Vimes: "That won't work!"
Sybil: "Then it won't work in Ankh-Morpork either."
* * *
Vimes: "But... spies? I thought we were chums with the Low King!"
Vetinari: "Of course we are. And the more we know about each other, the friendlier we shall remain. We'd hardly bother to spy on our enemies. What would be the point?"
* * *
"We're not going to do anything, commander!" said Ridcully jovially, slapping him on the back. "I thought that was agreed! And I think also that you should leave now, although, of course, you have in fact not been here. And neither have I. I say, this spying business is pretty clever, eh?"
* * *
"And that's why I don't like magic, captain. 'Cos it's magic. You can't ask questions, it's magic. It doesn't explain anything, it's magic. You don't know where it comes from, it's magic! That's what I don't like about magic, it does everything by magic!"
* * *
"Did Sybil pack the food?" [Vimes] said.
"I think so, sir."
"Was there... fruit?" said Vimes, probing the horror.
"I believe so, sir. Quite a lot. And vegetables."
"Some bacon, surely?" Vimes was nearly begging.
* * *
Sybil: "Do you remember when we last went on holiday, Sam?"
Vimes: "That wasn't really a holiday, dear."
Sybil: "Well, it was very interesting, all the same."
Vimes: "Yes, dear. Werewolves tried to eat me."
* * *
He heard a brief scream as the rear coach tore past and swerved into a field full of cauliflowers where, eventually, it squelched to a flatulent halt.
* * *
Detritus was comforting Brick, who'd not picked a good day to go cold turkey; it was turning out to be frozen roc.
* * *
...Sybil knew more or less everybody, or at least everybody who was female, of a certain age, and who had been to the Quirm College for Young Ladies at the same time as Sybil. There appeared to be hundreds of them. They all seemed to have names like Bunny or Bubbles, they kept in touch meticulously, they'd all married influential or powerful men, they all hugged one another when they met and went on about the good old days in Form 3b or whatever, and if they acted together, they could probably run the world or, it occurred to Vimes, might already be doing so.
They were Ladies Who Organize.
* * *
Behind the coach, turnips and rocks leapt into the air and bounced away in the opposite direction. Vimes hoped they wouldn't get into trouble about that.
[Footnote: But as it happened, it was all blamed on people from another world, so that was all right.]
* * *
Nobby: "I don't think people are s'posed to go this fast. I fink my brain's still back home."
Colon: "Well, if we're going to have to wait for it to catch up, Nobby, I'll buy a house here, shall I?"
* * *
Bunty: "I've, er, never seen a troll wearing clothing before..."
Detritus: "I can take dem off if you like."
* * *
There were lots of birds. Insects bred like mad in the wide, shallow pools and dams that littered the floor of the valley in late spring. Most of them would be dry by the late summer, but for now Koom Valley was a smorgasbord of things that went "bzz!".
* * *
His ribs were carrying the melody of pain, but knees, elbows and head were all adding trills and arpeggios.
* * *
Vimes: "Is this it? This time I die?"
Death: COULD BE.
Vimes: "Could be? What sort of answer is that?"
Death: A VERY ACCURATE ONE. YOU SEE, YOU ARE HAVING A NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE, WHICH INESCAPABLY MEANS THAT I MUST UNDERGO A NEAR VIMES EXPERIENCE.
* * *
There was hesitancy in the air. This was only one man, after all, and the thought in many minds was: what is someone else going to do about this? It had not yet progressed to: what am I going to do about this?
* * *
"What kind of human creates his own policeman?"
"One who fears the dark."
"And so he should," said the entity, with satisfaction.
"Indeed. But I think you misunderstand. I am not here to keep darkness out. I'm here to keep it in."
* * *
Angua drooled. The hair along her spine stood out like a saw blade. Her lips curled back like a wave. Her growl was from the back of a haunted cave. All together these told the brain of anything monkey-shaped that movement meant death. And that stillness, while it also meant death, didn't mean immediate, this-actual-second death, and was therefore the smart monkey option.
* * *
Vimes: "Is there anything to eat?"
Angua: "Our rations got lost in the excitement, sir. But the dwarfs will share theirs. They aren't unfriendly, sir. Just cautious."
Vimes: "Share? They have dwarf bread?"
Angua: "I'm afraid so, sir."
Vimes: "I thought it was illegal to give that to prisoners."
* * *
"Sergeant, could you get the commander some water? It's as pure in these pools as anywhere in the world. Well, it is if you pick one without a body floating in it."
* * *
...his mind worked fast, flying in emergency supplies of common sense, as human minds do, to construct a huge anchor in sanity and prove that what had happened hadn't really happened and, if it had happened, hadn't happened much.
* * *
Nobby's face was an open book, albeit the kind that got banned in some countries.
* * *
Vimes: "Look around you, the place looks like a godsdamn game board! Was this their testament? Then we listen to it here! In this place! At this time!"
Rhys: "And supposing what it has to say is dreadful?"
Vimes: "Then we listen!"
* * *
Vimes: "Come on, Nobby, you say something to make this thing start speaking."
Nobby: "Er, say something or it'll be the worse for you?"
* * *
"It was in the olden days, right? So it'd be old words, like... er... openeth!"
* * *
"Here in this cave at the end of the world peace is made between dwarf and troll and we will march beyond the hand of Death together. For the enemy is not Troll, nor is it Dwarf, but it is the baleful, the malign, the cowardly, the vessels of hatred, those who do a bad thing and call it good."
* * *
"I need no axe to be a dwarf," said Bashfullsson. "Nor do I need to hate trolls. What kind of creature defines itself by hatred?"
* * *
...what was going on was committees. It was negotiation. Actually, as far as he could tell, it hadn't even got as far as negotiation yet. It hadn't got past talks about meetings about delegations. On the other hand, no one had died, except maybe of boredom.
* * *
A minute was about enough for this historic moment, Vimes decided. Young Sam was at the grabbing age, and he'd never hear the end of it if his son ate an historic monument.
* * *
Sybil: "Don't look so glum! You'll be upholding the honour of Ankh-Morpork, remember!"
Vimes: "Really, dear? What shall I do with the other hand?"
* * *
They sat and stared with those fixed grins people wear when they're wondering why a fraction of a second takes half an hour, while Otto tried to get the universe sorted out to his satisfaction.
* * *
Vetinari:: "The mine falls to us by default?"
Carrot: "Apparently, sir. I believe the term is 'eminent domain'."
Vetinari: "Ah, yes. That means naked theft by the government."
* * *
Rhys: "One does not make demands of kings. One makes requests, which are graciously granted. Does he not understand?"
Bashfullsson: "I don't think he gives a tra'ka, sir, if I may be coarse."