Thud! - A Novel Of Discworld Part 32

"I mean, why do you think men pay to watch you onstage?" 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 cla.s.s."

"Tap-dancing?" said Sally, grinning. "Hey, why don't you try that onstage?"

Angua closed her mind to the image of Tawneee tap-dancing. The club would probably burn to the ground.

"Er...let me try this another way..." she said. "And I'm telling you this as another woma-female..."

Tawneee listened intently, and even the way in which she looked puzzled was unfair to the rest of her s.e.x.

When Angua had finished, she watched the angelic expression hopefully.

"So what you're saying, right," said Tawneee, "is that walking out with n.o.bby is like going into a big posh restaurant and only eating the bread roll?"

"Exactly!" said Angua. "You've got it!"

"But I never really meet meet men. Granny told me not to act like a floozy." men. Granny told me not to act like a floozy."

"And you don't think that working at-" Angua began, but Sally cut in.

"Sometimes you need to flooze regularly," she said. "Haven't you ever just gone into a bar and had a drink with a man?"

"No."

"Right," said Sally. She drained her gla.s.s. "I don't like these Neck Bolts. Let's go somewhere else and..." she paused, "open your mind to pos.h.i.+biliteesh."

It was odd, having Sybil in Pseudopolis Yard. It had been one of having Sybil in Pseudopolis Yard. It had been one of the Ramkin family homes before she'd given it to the Watch. She'd been a girl there. It had been her home. the Ramkin family homes before she'd given it to the Watch. She'd been a girl there. It had been her home.

Some apprehension of this crept into the chipped and stained souls of the watchmen. Men not known for the elegance of their manners found themselves automatically wiping their feet as they came in, and respectfully removing their helmets.

They spoke differently, too, slowly and hesitantly, anxiously scanning the sentence ahead for expletives to delete. Someone even found a broom and swept up, or at least moved the dirt to a less obvious place.

Upstairs, in what had been up until then the cash office, Young Sam slept peacefully in a makes.h.i.+ft bed. One day, Vimes hoped, he would be able to tell him that on one special night he'd been guarded by four troll watchmen. They'd been off duty but volunteered to come in for this, and were just itching itching for some dwarfs to try anything. Sam hoped the boy would be impressed; the most other kids could hope for was angels. for some dwarfs to try anything. Sam hoped the boy would be impressed; the most other kids could hope for was angels.

Vimes had commandeered the canteen, because it had a big enough table. He'd spread out a map of the city. A lot of the rest of the planking was occupied by pages from the Koom Valley Codex Koom Valley Codex.

This wasn't a game, this was a puzzle. A sort of, yes, jigsaw puzzle. And he ought to be able to do it, he reasoned, because he already had nearly all the corners.

"Ettercap Street, Money Trap Lane, Crybaby Alley, Scuttle-b.u.t.t Court, the Jeebies, Pellicool Steps," he said. "Tunnels everywhere! They were lucky to find it after only three or four. Mr. Rascal must have had lodgings in half the streets in the area. Including Empirical Crescent!"

"But hwhy?" said Sir Reynold St.i.tched. "I mean, hwhy dig tunnels everyhwhere?"

"Tell him, Carrot," said Vimes, drawing a line across the city.

Carrot cleared his throat. "Because they were dwarfs, sir, and deep-downers at that," he said. "It wouldn't occur to them not not to dig. And mostly it'd be just a matter of clearing out buried rooms, in any case. That's a stroll, to a dwarf. And they were laying rails, so they could take the spoil out anywhere they wanted." to dig. And mostly it'd be just a matter of clearing out buried rooms, in any case. That's a stroll, to a dwarf. And they were laying rails, so they could take the spoil out anywhere they wanted."

"Yes, but sureleah-" Sir Reynold began.

"They were listening out for something talking at the bottom of an old well," said Vimes, still bending over the map. "What chance that'd still be visible? And people can get a bit iffy when a bunch of dwarfs turn up and start digging holes in the garden."

"It'd be very slow, sureleah?"

"Well, yes, sir. But it would be in the dark, under their control, and secret," said Carrot. "They could go anywhere they wanted. They could zigzag around if they weren't certain, they could home in with their listening tube, and they'd never have to speak to a human or see daylight. Dark, controllable, and secret. secret."

"Deep-downers in a nutsh.e.l.l," said Vimes.

"This is very exciting!" said Sir Reynold. "And they dug into the cellars of my museum?"

"Over to you, Fred," said Vimes, carefully drawing a line across the map.

"Er, right," said Fred Colon. "Er...n.o.bby an' me found out where only a couple of hours ago," he said, thinking it wisest not to add "after Mister Vimes yelled at us and made us tell him every last detail and then sent us back and told us what to look for." What he did did add was: "They were pretty clever, sir. The mortar even looked dirty. I bet you're saying to yourself, ahah, sir?" add was: "They were pretty clever, sir. The mortar even looked dirty. I bet you're saying to yourself, ahah, sir?"

"I am?" said Sir Reynold, bewildered. "I hwould normalleah say 'my goodness.' "

"I expect you're saying to yourself, ahah, how were they able to build up the wall again after they'd got the muriel out, sir, and we reckon-"

"hWell, I imagine one dwarf stayed behind to make good, lay low, as you hwould say, and hwandered out in the morning," said Sir Reynold. "There hwere people going in and out all the time. hWe hwere looking for a big painting, after all, not a person."

"Yessir. We reckon one dwarf stayed behind to make good, lay low, and wandered out in the morning. There were people going in and out all the time. You were looking for a big painting, after all, not a person," said Fred Colon. He'd been very pleased to come up with that theory, so he was going to say it out loud no matter what.

Vimes tapped the map. "And here, Sir Reynold, is where a troll called Brick fell through another cellar floor into their tunnel," he said. "He also told us he saw something in the main mine, which sounds very much like the Rascal."

"But, alas, you have not found it," said Sir Reynold.

"I'm sorry, sir. It's probably long gone out of the city."

"But hwhy?" said the curator. "They could have studied it in the museum! hWe're very interactive these days!"

"Interactive?" said Vimes. "What do you mean?" said Vimes. "What do you mean?"

"hWell, people can...look at the pictures as much as they hwant," said Sir Reynold. He sounded a little annoyed. People shouldn't ask that kind of question.

"And the pictures do what, exactly?"

"Er...hang there, Commander," said Sir Reynold. "Of course."

"So what you mean is, people can come and look at the pictures, and the pictures, for their part, are looked at?"

"Rather like that, yes," said the curator. He thought for a moment, aware that this probably wasn't sufficient, and added: "But dynamicaleah dynamicaleah."

"You mean the people are moved moved by the pictures, sir?" said Carrot. by the pictures, sir?" said Carrot.

"Yes!" said Sir Reynold, with huge relief. "hWell done! That's just hwhat happens. And hwe've had the Rascal on public display for years. hWe even have a stepladder, in case people hwant to examine the mountains. Sometimes people come in hwith a bee in their bonnet that one of the hwarriors is pointing to some bareleah visible cave or something. Frankleah, if there hwas some secret, I I hwould have found it by now. There hwas no hwould have found it by now. There hwas no point point to the theft!" to the theft!"

"Unless someone had had found the secret and didn't want anyone else to find it," said Vimes. found the secret and didn't want anyone else to find it," said Vimes.

"That hwould be rather a coincidence, hwouldn't it, Commander? It's not that anything has just changed recentleah. Mr. Rascal didn't turn up and paint another mountain! And, although I hate to say this, just destroying the painting hwould have been enough."

Vimes walked around the table. All the bits, he thought, I must have all the bits by now.

Let's start with this legend of a dwarf turning up, nearly dead, weeks after the battle, babbling about treasure.

All right, then it might have been this talking cube thing, Vimes thought. He survived the battle, hid out somewhere, and he's got this thing and it's important. important. He's got to get it somewhere safe...no, maybe he's got to get people to He's got to get it somewhere safe...no, maybe he's got to get people to listen listen to it. And, of course, he doesn't take it with him, 'cos there's still likely to be trolls wandering the area and right now they'll be in a mood to club first and try to think up some questions later. He needs some bodyguards. to it. And, of course, he doesn't take it with him, 'cos there's still likely to be trolls wandering the area and right now they'll be in a mood to club first and try to think up some questions later. He needs some bodyguards.

He gets as far as some humans, but when he's leading them back to the place where it's hidden, he finally dies.

Forward two thousand years. Would a cube last that long? h.e.l.l, they bob up in molten lava!

So it's lying there. Methodia Rascal comes along, looking for...a nice view, or something, and he looks down and there it is? Well, I'll have to accept that he did, because he found it and got it talking, who knows how. But he couldn't stop stop it. He drops it down the well. The dwarfs find it. They listen to the box, but hate what they hear. They hate it so much that Hamcrusher has four miners killed just because they heard it, too. So why the painting? It shows what the box is talking about? Where the box is? If you've got the box in your hand, isn't that it. He drops it down the well. The dwarfs find it. They listen to the box, but hate what they hear. They hate it so much that Hamcrusher has four miners killed just because they heard it, too. So why the painting? It shows what the box is talking about? Where the box is? If you've got the box in your hand, isn't that it it?

Anyway, who says it was the voice of Bloodaxe doing the speaking? It could be anybody. Why would you believe what it said?

He was aware of Sir Reynold talking to Carrot...

"...said to your sergeant Colon here, the painting is set several miles from hwhere the actual battle hwas fought. It's in entireleah the hwrong part of Koom Valley! That's just about the one thing both sides are agreed on!"

"So why did he set it there?" said Vimes, staring at the table as if hoping to draw a clue from it by willpower alone.

"Who knows? It's all Koom Valley. There are about two hundred and fifty square miles of the place. I imagine he just chose somewhere that looked dramatic."

"Would you chaps like a cup of tea?" said Lady Sybil, from the door. "I felt a bit at a loose end, so I made a pot. And you should be getting your head down, Sam."

Sam Vimes looked panicky, a figure of authority caught once again in a domestic situation.

"Oh, Lady Sybil, they took the Rascal!" said Sir Reynold. "I know it belonged to your family!"

"My grandfather said it was just a d.a.m.n nuisance," said Sybil. "He used to let me unroll it on the floor of the ballroom. I used to name all the dwarfs. We looked for the secret, because he said there was hidden treasure, and the painting showed you where it was. Of course, we never found it, but it kept me quiet on rainy afternoons."

"Oh, it hwasn't great art," said Sir Reynold. "And the man hwas quite quite mad, of course. But somehow it spoke to people." mad, of course. But somehow it spoke to people."

"I wish it'd say something to me," said Vimes. "You really don't need to make tea for people, dear. One of the officers-"

"Nonsense! We must be hospitable," said Sybil.

"Of course, people tried tried to copeah it," said the curator, accepting a cup. "Oh dear, they hwere terrible! A painting fifteah feet long and ten feet deep is really to copeah it," said the curator, accepting a cup. "Oh dear, they hwere terrible! A painting fifteah feet long and ten feet deep is really quite quite impossible to copy hwith any kind of accuraceah-" impossible to copy hwith any kind of accuraceah-"

"Not if you lay it out on the ballroom floor and get a man to make you a pantograph," said Sybil, pouring tea. "This teapot is really a disgrace, Sam. Worse than the urn. Doesn't anyone anyone ever clean it out?" ever clean it out?"

She looked up at their faces.

"Did I say something wrong?" she said.

"You made a copy of the Rascal?" said Sir Reynold.

"Oh, yes. The whole thing, on a scale of one to five," said Sybil. "When I was fourteen. It was a school project. We were doing dwarf history, you see, and, well, since we owned that painting, it was too good to miss. You know what a pantograph is, don't you? It's a very simple way of making larger or smaller copies of a painting, using geometry, some wooden levers, and a sharp pencil. Actually, I did it as five panels ten feet square, that's full-size, to make sure I got all the detail, and then I did the one-fifth scale version to display it as poor Mr. Rascal wanted it displayed. I got full marks from Miss Turpitude. She was our math teacher, you know, she wore her hair in a bun with a pair of compa.s.ses and a ruler stuck in it? She used to say that a girl who knew how to use a set square and protractor would go a long way in life."

"What a shame you no longer have it!" said Sir Reynold.

"Why should you say that, Sir Reynold?" said Sybil. "I'm sure I've still got it somewhere. I had it hanging up from the ceiling of my room for some time. Let me think...did we take it with us when we moved? I'm sure-" She looked up brightly. "Ah, yes. Have you even been up to the attics here, Sam?"

"No!" said Vimes.

"Now's the time, then."

"I've never been on a girls' night out before," said Cheery on a girls' night out before," said Cheery as they walked, a little uncertainly, through the nighttime city. "Was that last bit supposed to happen?" as they walked, a little uncertainly, through the nighttime city. "Was that last bit supposed to happen?"

"What bit was that?" said Sally.

"The bit where the bar was set on fire."

"Not usually usually," said Angua.

"I've never seen men fight fight over a woman before," Cheery went on. over a woman before," Cheery went on.

"Yeah, that was something, wasn't it?" said Sally. They'd dropped Tawneee off at her home. She'd been in quite a thoughtful frame of mind.

"And all she did was smile at a man," said Cheery.

"Yes," said Angua. She was trying to concentrate on walking.

"It'd be a bit of a shame for n.o.bby if she lets that go to her head, though," said Cheery.

Save me from talkative druks...drinks...drunks, Angua thought. She said: "Yes, but what about Miss Pushpram? She's thrown some quite expensive fish at n.o.bby over the years."

"We've struck a blow for womanhood," Sally declared loudly. "Shoes, men, coffins...never accept the first one you see."

"Oh, shoes shoes," said Cheery. "I can talk about shoes shoes. Has anyone seen the new Yan Rockhammer solid-copper slingbacks?"

"Er...we don't go to a metalworker for our footwear, dear," said Sally. "Oh...I think I'm going to be sick..."

"Serves you right for drinking...vine," said Angua maliciously.

"Oh ha ha," said the vampire, from the shadows. "I'm perfectly fine with sarcastic pause sarcastic pause 'vine,' thank you! What I 'vine,' thank you! What I shouldn't shouldn't have drunk was sticky drinks with names made up by people with less sense of humor than, uh, excuse me...oh, noooo..." have drunk was sticky drinks with names made up by people with less sense of humor than, uh, excuse me...oh, noooo..."

"Are you all right?" said Cheery.

"I've just thrown up a small, hilarious, paper umbrella..."

"Oh dear."