Thud! - A Novel Of Discworld Part 17

"Well, troll gangs have been wandering around the city all day. Dwarfs, too. Now a lot of the dwarfs are hanging around in the square, sir, and a fair number of trolls are congregating in the Plaza of Broken Moons."

"How many are we talking about here?" said Vimes.

"About a thousand, all told. They've been drinking, of course."

"Just in the mood for a fight, then."

"Yes, sir. Just drunk enough to be stupid but too sober to fall over," said Carrot.

"Interesting observation, Captain," said Vimes thoughtfully.

"Yes, sir. The word is that they'll start at nine. Arrangements have been made, I gather.

"Then I think before it gets dark there should be a load of coppers in the Cham, right between them, don't you?" said Vimes. "Get the word out to the Watch houses."

"I've done that, sir," said Carrot.

"And get some barricades sorted out."

"All arranged, sir."

"And call out the Specials?"

"I put the word out an hour ago, sir."

Vimes hesitated. "I've got to be there, Captain."

"We should have enough men, sir," said Carrot.

"But you won't have enough commander commander," said Vimes. "If Vetinari hauls me over the coals tomorrow because there was a major riot in the city center, I don't want to tell him I was having a quiet evening at home." He turned to his wife. "Sorry, Sybil."

Lady Sybil sighed. "I think I shall have to have a word with Havelock about the hours he makes you keep," she said. "It's not doing you any good, you know."

"It's the job, dear. Sorry."

"It's just as well I got the cook to make up a flask of soup, then."

"You did?"

"Of course. I know know you, Sam. And there're some sandwiches in a bag. 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 vegetables every day!" you, Sam. And there're some sandwiches in a bag. 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 vegetables 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.

"And, incidentally, tomato ketchup is not a vegetable," Sybil added. "Not even the dried stuff 'round the top of the bottle. Well, what are you all waiting around for?"

"There's something I didn't want to mention in front of I didn't want to mention in front of her ladys.h.i.+p," said Carrot as they hurried down to the Yard. "Er... Hitherto is dead, sir." her ladys.h.i.+p," said Carrot as they hurried down to the Yard. "Er... Hitherto is dead, sir."

"Who's. .h.i.therto?"

"Lance Constable Horace Hitherto, sir? Got walloped on the back of the head last night? When we were at that meeting? When there was that, er, 'disturbance'? Got sent to the Free Hospital?"

"Oh, G.o.ds..." said Vimes. "It seems like a week ago. He'd only been with us a couple of months!"

"They said at the hospital his brain died, sir. I'm sure they did their best."

Did we do ours? Vimes wondered. But it was a b.l.o.o.d.y melee, and the cobblestone came out of nowhere. Could have hit me, could have hit Carrot. Hit the kid, instead. What'll I tell his parents? Killed in the line of duty? But his duty shouldn't have been to stop one lot of idiot citizens murdering another lot of idiot citizens.

It's all got out of hand. There aren't enough of us. And now there's a few less.

"I'll go and see his mum and dad tomor-" he began, and sluggish memory s.h.i.+fted at last. "Does-didn't he have a brother in the Watch?"

"Yessir," said Carrot. "Lance Constable Hector Hitherto, sir. They joined together. He's down at Chittling Street."

"Then get hold of his sergeant and tell him Hector is not not allowed on the street tonight, okay? I want him introduced to the joys of filing. In a cellar, if possible. And wearing a very thick helmet." allowed on the street tonight, okay? I want him introduced to the joys of filing. In a cellar, if possible. And wearing a very thick helmet."

"I understand, sir," said Carrot.

"How's Angua?"

"I think she'll be fine after having a lie-down, sir. The mine really got to her."

"I'm really, really sorry about that-" Sally began.

"Not your fault, lance constable...Sally," said Vimes. "It was mine. I know about the vampire and werewolf thing, but I needed you both to be down there. It's just one of those decisions, okay? I suggest you take the evening off. No, that's an order. You've done very well on your first day. Off you go. Get your head down...or whatever."

They watched her out of sight before continuing down the street.

"She is very good, sir," said Carrot. "She picks things up fast."

"Yes, very fast. I can see she's going to be useful," said Vimes thoughtfully. "Doesn't that strike you as odd, Captain? Up she pops, just when we need her."

"She has been here for a couple of months, though," said Carrot. "And the League vouches for her."

"A couple of months is about the same time as Hamcrusher's been here, too," said Vimes. "And if you wanted to find things out, we're not a bad outfit to join. We're official official prodnoses." prodnoses."

"Sir, you don't think-"

"Oh, I'm sure she's a Black Ribb.o.n.e.r, but I don't think a vampire comes all the way from Uberwald to play the cello. Still, as you say, she does a good job." Vimes stared at nothing for a moment and then said thoughtfully: "Doesn't one of our Specials work for the clacks company?"

"That'd be Andy Hanc.o.c.k, sir," said Carrot.

"Oh G.o.ds. You mean Two Swords?"

"That's him, sir. Very keen lad."

"Yes, I saw the dockets. Normally Normally a training dummy lasts for months, Captain. You're not supposed to chop through three in half an hour!" a training dummy lasts for months, Captain. You're not supposed to chop through three in half an hour!"

"He'll be down at the Yard now, sir. Do you want a word with him?" said Carrot.

"No. You You have a word with him." have a word with him."

Vimes lowered his voice. So did Carrot. There was whispering. Then Carrot said: "Is that strictly legal, sir?"

"I don't see why not. Let's find out, shall we? We haven't had this little conversation, Captain."

"Understood, sir."

Ye G.o.ds, it was was so much better when there was just four of us up against that b.l.o.o.d.y great dragon, Vimes thought as they walked on. Of course, we nearly got burned alive a few times, but at least it wasn't so much better when there was just four of us up against that b.l.o.o.d.y great dragon, Vimes thought as they walked on. Of course, we nearly got burned alive a few times, but at least it wasn't complicated complicated. It was a d.a.m.n great dragon. You could see it coming. It didn't get political on you.

It had started to rain a fine, invasive rain by the time they arrived at Pseudopolis Yard. Vimes had, with extreme reluctance, to hand it to Carrot. He certainly could organize. The place was bustling. Wagonloads of yellow and black barricades were being trundled out of the Old Lemonade Factory. Watchmen were pouring in from every street.

"I really pushed the boat out on this one, sir," said Carrot. "I thought it was important."

"Well done, Captain," said Vimes as they stood like islands in the flood. "But I think there is a little matter of forward planning you may have overlooked..."

"Really, sir? I thought I've covered everything," said Carrot, looking puzzled.

Vimes slapped him on the back.

"Probably not this one," he said. And added, but only to himself: Because you, you, Captain, are not a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Captain, are not a b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

Bewildered and aimless, the troll wanders through the the troll wanders through the world... world...

Brick's head really gonged gonged. He didn't want to be doing dis, but he'd fallen into bad company. He often fell into bad company, he reflected, although sometimes he had to look all day to find it, 'cos Brick was a loser's loser. A troll without a clan or a gang, and who is considered thick even by other trolls, has to take any bad company he can find. In this case, he'd met Totally Slag an' Hardcore an' Big Marble, an' it had been easier to fall in wi' dem dan decide not to, an' dey'd met up wi' more more trolls an' now... trolls an' now...

Look at it like dis, he thought as he trudged along, singin' gang songs a bit behind the beat, because he didn't know the words...all right, being in der middle of dis mob o' trolls ain't "lyin' low," dat is a fact. But Totally Slag had said the word wuz dat der Watch wuz also also after der troll who'd been down dat mine, right? An,' if you fink about it, der best place to hide a troll, right, is a big after der troll who'd been down dat mine, right? An,' if you fink about it, der best place to hide a troll, right, is a big bunch bunch of trolls. 'Cos the Watch'd be pokin' around in der cellars where der real mean trollz hung out, dey wouldn't be lookin' of trolls. 'Cos the Watch'd be pokin' around in der cellars where der real mean trollz hung out, dey wouldn't be lookin' here. here. An' if dey did, an' were puttin' der finger on him, den all dese brother trolls would help him out. An' if dey did, an' were puttin' der finger on him, den all dese brother trolls would help him out.

He wasn't too certain about that last bit, in his heart of hearts. 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, rumored to be so dense that one of their members was a lump of concrete on a piece of string. No, it would be hard to imagine any troll caring much what happened to Brick. But right now dey were brothers, and der only game in town.

He nudged the skull-necklaced, graffiti-ornamented, lichen-covered, huge clubdragging troll marching stoically alongside him.

"Resplect, bro!" he said, clenching a scabby fist.

"Whyn't you go and ghuhg ghuhg yerself, Brick, you little piece of coprolite..." the troll muttered. yerself, Brick, you little piece of coprolite..." the troll muttered.

"Right off!" said Brick cheerfully.

The main office was packed, but Vimes fought his way but Vimes fought his way through by shoving and shouting until he reached the duty desk, which was under siege. through by shoving and shouting until he reached the duty desk, which was under siege.

"It looks worse than it is, sir!" shouted Cheery over the din. "Detritus and Constable Bluejohn are in the Cham right now, along with all three golem officers! We've started getting the line in place! Both the mobs are too busy getting themselves worked up!"

"Good work, Sergeant!"

Cheery leaned down and lowered her voice. Vimes had to hang on to the tall desk to stop himself being carried away by the throng.

"Fred Colon's signing up the Specials in the Old Lemonade Factory, sir. And Mr. de Worde of the Times Times is looking for you." is looking for you."

"Sorry, Sergeant, didn't catch that last bit!" said Vimes loudly. "The lemonade factory, right? Okay!"

He turned around and almost tripped over Mr. A. E. Pessimal, who was holding a neat clipboard.

"Ah, Your Grace, there's just a few few small matters I'd like to discuss with you," said the gleaming little man. small matters I'd like to discuss with you," said the gleaming little man.

Vimes's mouth dropped open.

"And you think this is a good time, do you?" he managed as he was jostled by an officer carrying a bundle of swords.

"Well, yes, I've turned up a number of little financial and procedural problems," said A. E. Pessimal calmly, "and I think it's vitally important that I understand exactly what-"

Vimes, grinning horribly, grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Yes! Right! Right! Absolutely!" he shouted. "My dear Mr. Pessimal, what Absolutely!" he shouted. "My dear Mr. Pessimal, what have have I been thinking of? You I been thinking of? You should should understand! Come with me, please!" understand! Come with me, please!"

He half-dragged the bewildered man out through the back door, lifted him out of the way of a trundling cart as he negotiated the crowded yard, and hustled him into the old factory yard, where the Specials were being kitted up.

Technically, they were the citizen's militia, but, as Fred Colon had remarked, it was "better to have them in here p.i.s.sing themselves than outside p.i.s.sing on you." The Special constables were men-mostly-who could be coppers in times of dire need but were generally disqualified from formal Watch members.h.i.+p by reason of shape, profession, age, or, sometimes, brain.

A lot of the professionals didn't like them, but 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.

Vimes pulled A. E. Pessimal through the press of bodies until he found Fred Colon, who was handing out one-size-doesn't-fit-anybody helmets.

"New man for you, Fred," he said loudly. "Mr. A. E. Pessimal, plain A. E. if he ever makes friends. He's the government inspector. Kit him out, full fig, and don't forget the riot s.h.i.+eld. A. E. here wants to understand understand coppering, so he's kindly volunteered to be an acting constable on the barricades with us." Over the top of A. E. Pessimal's head he gave Fred a big wink. coppering, so he's kindly volunteered to be an acting constable on the barricades with us." Over the top of A. E. Pessimal's head he gave Fred a big wink.

"Oh, er, right right," said Fred, and his 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. He leaned over the trestle table.

"Know how to use a sword, Acting Constable Pessimal?" he said, and dropped a helmet on the man's head, where it spun.

"Well, I didn't exactly-" the inspector began as a very elderly sword was shoved across the planks, followed by a heavy truncheon.

"A s.h.i.+eld, then? Any good with a s.h.i.+eld?" said Fred, pus.h.i.+ng a large such item after the sword.

"Actually, I didn't mean-"said A. E. Pessimal, trying to hold both the sword and the truncheon and dropping both, and then the sword and the truncheon and the s.h.i.+eld and dropping all three.

"Any good at running a hundred yards in ten seconds? In this?" Fred went on. A ragged chain-mail coat dropped slowly off the table like a parcel of snakes and landed on A. E. Pessimal's bright little shoes.

"Uh, I don't think-"