Thud! - A Novel Of Discworld Part 24

Vimes looked down at two neat halves.

"It's full of crystals," he said. Then he looked closer. There was a piece of paper in one broken, glittering hemisphere.

He picked it up and read: Pointer & Pickles, Crystals, Minerals & Tumbling Supplies, No. 3 Tenth Egg Street, Ankh-Morpork.

Vimes put this down carefully, and picked up the two pieces of the stone. He pushed them together, and they fitted with the merest hairline crack. There was no sign that any glue had ever been used.

He looked up at Detritus.

"Did you know that was going to happen?" he said.

"No," said the troll. "But I fink Mr. s.h.i.+ne did."

"He's given me his address, Sergeant."

"Yeah. So maybe he want you to visit," Detritus conceded. "Dat is a honor, all right. You don't find Mr. s.h.i.+ne, Mr. s.h.i.+ne find you."

"How did he find you you, Mr. Brick?" said Vimes.

Brick gave Detritus a panicky look. The sergeant shrugged.

"He pick me up one day. Gimme food," Brick mumbled. "He show me where to come for more. He tole me t'keep off'f the stuff, too. But..."

"Yes...?" Vimes prompted.

Brick waved a pair of scarred, k.n.o.bbly arms in a gesture that said, far more coherently than he he could, that there was the whole universe on one side and Brick on the other, and what could anyone do against odds like that? could, that there was the whole universe on one side and Brick on the other, and what could anyone do against odds like that?

And so, he'd been handed over to Detritus, Vimes thought. That evened the odds somewhat.

He stood up, and nodded to Detritus.

"Should I take anything, Sergeant?"

The troll thought about this. "No," he said, "but maybe dere's some finkin' you could leave behind."

I should be in charge should be in charge of the mine raid, thought Vimes. We of the mine raid, thought Vimes. We might be starting a war, after all, so I'm sure people would like to think that someone high up was there when it happened. So, why do I think it's more important that I see the mysterious Mr. s.h.i.+ne? might be starting a war, after all, so I'm sure people would like to think that someone high up was there when it happened. So, why do I think it's more important that I see the mysterious Mr. s.h.i.+ne?

Captain Carrot had been busy. The city dwarfs liked him. So The city dwarfs liked him. So he'd done what Vimes could not have done, or at least have done well, which was take a muddy dwarf necklace to a dwarf home down in New Cobblers and explain to two dwarf parents how it had been found. Things had happened quite fast after that, and one other reason for the speed was that the mine was shut. Guards and workers and dwarfs seeking guidance on the path of dwarfdom had turned up, to be met with locked doors. Money was owing, and dwarfs got very he'd done what Vimes could not have done, or at least have done well, which was take a muddy dwarf necklace to a dwarf home down in New Cobblers and explain to two dwarf parents how it had been found. Things had happened quite fast after that, and one other reason for the speed was that the mine was shut. Guards and workers and dwarfs seeking guidance on the path of dwarfdom had turned up, to be met with locked doors. Money was owing, and dwarfs got very definite definite about things like that. A lot of the huge body of dwarf lore was about contracts. You were supposed to get about things like that. A lot of the huge body of dwarf lore was about contracts. You were supposed to get paid paid.

No more politics, Vimes told himself. Someone killed four of our our dwarfs, not some crazy rabble-rouser, and left them down there in the dark. I don't care who they are, they're going to be dragged into the light. It's the law. All the way to the bottom, all the way to the top. dwarfs, not some crazy rabble-rouser, and left them down there in the dark. I don't care who they are, they're going to be dragged into the light. It's the law. All the way to the bottom, all the way to the top.

But it's going to be done by dwarfs. Dwarfs will go to that well, and dig out that mud again, and bring up the proof.

He walked into the main office. Carrot was there, along with half a dozen dwarf officers. They looked grim.

"All set?" said Vimes.

"Yes, sir. We'll meet the others at Empirical Crescent."

"You've got enough diggers?"

"All dwarfs are diggers, sir," said Carrot solemnly. "There's timber on the way, and winching gear, too. Some of the miners joining us helped dig that tunnel, sir. They knew those lads. They're a bit bewildered and angry."

"I'll bet. They believe us, then, do they?" said Vimes.

"Er...more or less, sir. If the bodies aren't there, though, we're going to have some explaining to do."

"Very true. Didn't your lads know what what they were digging for?" they were digging for?"

"No, sir. They just got orders from the dark dwarfs. And different squads dug in different directions. A long way in different directions. As far as Money Trap Lane and Ettercap Street, they think."

"That's a big slice of the city!"

"Yessir. But there was something odd."

"Do go on, Captain," said Vimes. "We're good at odd."

"Every so often everyone had to stop work, and the foreign dwarfs listened at the walls with a big, er, thing, like an ear trumpet. Sally found something like that when she was down there."

"They were listening? In soggy mud? Listening for what? Singing worms?"

"The dwarfs don't know, sir. Trapped miners, they thought. I suppose it makes sense. A lot of the digging is through old stonework, so I suppose it's possible that other miners could be trapped somewhere that's got air."

"Not to last for weeks, though, surely? And why dig in different directions?"

"It's a puzzle, sir, there's no doubt about it. But we'll get to the bottom of it soon enough. Everyone's very keen."

"Good. But play down the Watch side, will you? This is a bunch of concerned citizens trying to find their loved ones after a reported mining disaster, okay? The watchmen are just helping them out."

"You mean 'remember I'm a dwarf,' sir?"

"Thank you for that, Carrot. Yes, exactly," said Vimes. "And now I'm off to see a legend with a name like a can of polish."

As he went out, he noticed the Summoning Dark symbol. The p.u.s.s.yCat Club drinks menu had been put with some care on a shelf by the window, where it got maximum light. It glowed. Maybe this was because Frosted Hot Lips Rose had been designed to be seen across a crowded bar in poor light, but it seemed to float above the oh-so-funny sticky c.o.c.ktail names like Just s.e.x, p.u.s.s.y Galore, and No Brainer, making them look faded and unreal.

Someone-several ones, by the look of it-had lit candles in front of it, for when night came.

It mustn't be kept in the dark, Vimes thought. I wish I wasn't.

Pointer and Pickles was dusty. Dust was the keynote of the was dusty. Dust was the keynote of the shop. Vimes must have pa.s.sed it a thousand times; it was that kind of shop, the kind you walked past. Dust and dead flies filled the little window, which nevertheless offered dim views of large lumps of rock, covered with dust, beyond. shop. Vimes must have pa.s.sed it a thousand times; it was that kind of shop, the kind you walked past. Dust and dead flies filled the little window, which nevertheless offered dim views of large lumps of rock, covered with dust, beyond.

The bell over the door gave a dusty jangle as Vimes entered the gloomy interior. The noise died away, and there was a definite feeling that this marked the end of the entertainment for today.

Then a distant shuffling was born in the heavy silence. It turned out to belong to a very old woman who appeared, at first sight, to be as dusty as the rocks she, presumably, sold. Vimes had his doubts even about that. Shops like this one often looked upon the selling of merchandise as, in some way, a betrayal of a sacred trust. As if to underline this, she was carrying a club with a nail in it.

When she was close enough for conversation, Vimes said: "I've come here to-"

"Do you believe in the healing power of crystals, young man?" snapped the woman, raising the club threateningly.

"What? What healing power?" said Vimes.

The old woman gave him a cracked smile, and dropped the club.

"Good," she said. "We like our customers to take their geology seriously. We've got some trollite in this week."

"Good, but, in fact, I-"

"It's the only mineral that travels backwards in time, you know."

"I'm here to see Mr. s.h.i.+ne," Vimes managed.

"Mr. who?" said the old woman, putting a hand to her ear.

"Mr. s.h.i.+ne?" said Vimes, confidence already draining out of him.

"Never heard of him, dear."

"He, er, gave me this," said Vimes, showing her the two pieces of stone egg.

"Amethyst geode, very nice specimen, I'll give you seven dollars," said the old woman.

"Are you, er, Pickles or Pointer?" said Vimes, as a last resort.

"I'm Miss Pickles, dear. Miss Point-"

She stopped. Her expression changed, became slightly younger and considerably more alert.

"And I'm Miss Pointer, dear," she said. "Don't worry about Pickles, she just runs the body when I've got other things to do. Are you Commander Vimes?"

Vimes stared. "Are you telling me you're two people? With one body?"

"Yes, dear. It's supposed to be an illness, but all I can say is we've always got along well. I've never told her about Mr. s.h.i.+ne. Can't be too careful. Come this way, do."

She led the way through the dusty crystals and slabs into the back of the shop, where there was a wide corridor lined with shelves. Crystals of all sizes sparkled down at him.

"Of course, trolls have always been of interest to geologists, being made of metamorphorical rock," said Miss Pointer/Miss Pickles conversationally. "You're not a rock hound yourself, Commander?"

"I've had the occasional stone thrown at me," said Vimes. "I've never bothered to check what kind it was."

"Ha. Such a shame we're on loam here," said the woman as the sound of quiet voices drew nearer. She opened a door and stood aside. "I rent them the room," she said. "Do go in."

Vimes looked at the top few treads of a flight of stairs, heading down. Oh goody, he thought. We're going underground again. But there was warm light coming up, and the voices were louder.

The cellar was large and cool. There were tables everywhere, with a couple of people at each one, bent over a checkered board. A games room? The players were dwarfs, trolls, and humans, but what they had in common was concentration. Unconcerned faces glanced toward Vimes, who had paused, halfway down the stairs, and then looked back to the game at hand.

Vimes continued down to floor level. This had to be important, right? Mr. s.h.i.+ne had wanted him to see it. People-men, trolls, dwarfs-playing games. Occasionally, a couple of players would look up at each other, share a glance, and shake hands. Then one of them would go off to a new table.

"What do you notice, Mister Vimes?" said a deep voice behind him. Vimes forced himself to turn slowly.

The figure sitting in the shadows beside the stairway was shrouded entirely in black. He looked a good head taller than Vimes.

"They're all young?" he ventured, and added: "Mr. s.h.i.+ne?"

"Exactly! More youngsters tend to come along in the evenings, too. Do take a seat, sir."

"Why have I come to see you, Mr. s.h.i.+ne?" said Vimes, sitting down.

"Because you want to find out why you have come to see me," said the dark figure. "Because you're wandering in the dark. Because Mister Vimes, with his badge and his truncheon, is full of rage. More full than usual. Take care of that rage, Mister Vimes."

Mystic, thought Vimes. "I like to see whom I'm talking to," he said. "What are you?"

"You would not see me if I removed this hood," said Mr. s.h.i.+ne. "As for what what I am, I'll ask you this: would it be true to say that Captain Carrot, while very happy to be a Watch officer, is the rightful king of Ankh-Morpork?" I am, I'll ask you this: would it be true to say that Captain Carrot, while very happy to be a Watch officer, is the rightful king of Ankh-Morpork?"

"I have trouble with the term 'rightful,' " said Vimes.

"So I understand. It may well be that this is one reason why he hasn't yet chosen to declare himself," said Mr. s.h.i.+ne. "But no matter. Well, I am the rightful-excuse me-and indisputable king of the trolls."

"Really?" said Vimes. It wasn't much of a reply, but his options at this point were limited.

"Yes. And when I say'indisputable,' I mean what I say, Mister Vimes. Hidden human kings have to resort to magic swords or legendary feats to reclaim their birthright. I do not. I just have to be be. You are aware of the concept of metamorphorical rock?"

"You mean the way trolls look like certain types of rock?"

"Indeed. Schist, Mica, Shale, and so on. Even Brick, poor young Brick. No one knows why this is, and they have expended thousands of words in saying so. Oh, to h.e.l.l with it, as you would say. You deserve a glimpse. Protect your eyes. I, Mister Vimes-"

A black-robed arm was extended, a black-velvet glove removed. Vimes shut his eyes in time, but the inside of his lids blazed red.

"-am diamond," said Mr. s.h.i.+ne.

The glare faded a little. Vimes risked opening his eyes a bit, and made out a hand, every flexing finger sparkling like a prism. The players glanced up, but they'd seen this before.

"Frost forms quite quickly," said Mr. s.h.i.+ne. When Vimes dared to peek, the hand glittered like the heart of winter.

"You're hiding out from jewelers?" he managed, taken aback.

"Hah! In fact, this city is indeed a very good place for people who don't wish to be seen, Mister Vimes. I have friends here. And I have talents. You'd find me quite hard to see if I wished to be unseen. I am also, frankly, intelligent, and intelligent all the time. I don't need the Pork Futures Warehouse. I can regulate the temperature of my brain by reflecting all heat. Diamond trolls are very rare, and when we do appear, kings.h.i.+p is our destiny."