Men at Arms (Discworld #15)(24)

'Sorry,' said Cuddy.

'Tsk, tsk,' said Sergeant Colon.

That was the worst part. It would have been better all round if he'd called the dwarf some names. It would have been better if he'd made it seem that Cuddy was worth an insult.

He turned around and walked off towards Pseudo-polis Yard.

They heard his muttered comment.

'What him say?' said Detritus.

' “A fine body of men”,' said Angua, going red.

Cuddy spat on the ground, which didn't take long on account of its closeness. Then he reached under his cloak and produced, like a conjuror extracting a size 10 rabbit from a size 5 hat, his double-headed battle axe. And started to run.

By the time he reached the virginal target he was a blur. There was a rip and the dummy exploded like a nuclear haystack.

The other two wandered up and inspected the result, as pieces of chaff gently drifted to the ground.

'Yes, all right,' said Angua. 'But he did say you're supposed to be able to ask them questions afterwards.'

'He didn't say they've got to be able to answer them,' said Cuddy grimly.

'Lance-Constable Cuddy, deduct one dollar for target,' said Detritus, who already owed eleven dollars for bows.

' “If it's worth turning up”!' said Cuddy, losing the axe somewhere about his person again. 'Speciesist!'

'I don't think he meant it that way,' said Angua.

'Ho, it's all right for you,' said Cuddy.

'Why?'

' 'Cos you a man,' said Detritus.

Angua was bright enough to pause for a moment to think this over.

'A woman,' she said.

'Same thing.'

'Only in broad terms. Come on, let's go and have a drink . . .'

The transient moment of camaraderie in adversity completely evaporated.

'Drink with a troll?'

'Drink with a dwarf?'

'All right,' said Angua. 'How about you and you coming and having a drink with me?'

Angua removed her helmet and shook out her hair. Female trolls don't have hair, although the more fortunate ones are able to cultivate a fine growth of lichen, and a female dwarf is more likely to be complimented on the silkiness of her beard than on her scalp. But it was just possible the sight of Angua scraped little sparks off some shared, ancient, cosmic maleness.

'I haven't really had a chance to look around,' she said. 'But I saw a place in Gleam Street.'

Which meant that they had to cross the river, at least two of them trying to indicate to passers-by that they weren't with at least one of the other two. Which meant that, with desperate nonchalance, they were looking around.

Which meant that Cuddy saw the dwarf in the water.

If you could call it water.

If you could still call it a dwarf.

They looked down.

'You know,' said Detritus, after a while, 'that look like that dwarf who make weapons in Rime Street.'

'Bjorn Hammerhock?' said Cuddy.

'That the one, yeah.'

'It looks a bit like him,' Cuddy conceded, still talking in a cold flat voice, 'but not exactly like him.'

'What d'you mean?' said Angua.

'Because Mr Hammerhock,' said Cuddy, 'didn't have such a great big hole where his chest should be.'

Doesn't he ever sleep? thought Vimes. Doesn't the bloody man ever get his head down? Isn't there a room somewhere with a black dressing gown hanging on the door?

He knocked on the door of the Oblong Office.

'Ah, captain,' said the Patrician, looking up from his paperwork. 'You were commendably quick.'

'Was I?'

'You got my message?' said Lord Vetinari.

'No, sir. I've been . . . occupied.'

'Indeed. And what could occupy you?'

'Someone has killed Mr Hammerhock, sir. A big man in the dwarf community. He's been . . . shot with something, some kind of siege weapon or something, and dumped in the river. We've just fished him out. I was on the way to tell his wife. I think he lives in Treacle Street. And then I thought, since I was passing . . .'

'This is very unfortunate.'

'Certainly it was for Mr Hammerhock,' said Vimes.

The Patrician leaned back and stared at Vimes.

'Tell me,' he said, 'how was he killed?'

'I don't know. I've never seen anything like it . . . there was just a great big hole. But I'm going to find out what it was.'

'Hmm. Did I mention that Dr Cruces came to see me this morning?'

'No, sir.'

'He was very . . . concerned.'

'Yes, sir.'

'I think you upset him.'

'Sir?'

The Patrician seemed to be reaching a decision. His chair thumped forward.

'Captain Vimes—'

'Sir?'

'I know that you are retiring the day after tomorrow and feel, therefore, a little . . . restless. But while you are captain of the Night Watch I am asking you to follow two very specific instructions . . .'

'Sir?'

'You will cease any investigations connected with this theft from the Assassins' Guild. Do you understand? It is entirely Guild business.'