Men at Arms - Terry Pratchett [56]
“What should I do?”
“Burying the poor thing would be a good start.” Carrot turned the metal slug over in his fingers. Then he sniffed it.
“Fireworks,” he said.
“Yes,” said Angua.
“And what are you going to do?” said Queen Molly. “You’re Watchmen, aren’t you? What’s happening? What are you going to do about it?”
Cuddy and Detritus were proceeding along Phedre Road. It was lined with tanneries and brick kilns and timber yards and was not generally considered a beauty spot which was why, Cuddy suspected, they’d been given it to patrol “to get to know the city”. It got them out of the way. Sergeant Colon thought they made the place look untidy.
There was no sound but the clink of his boots and the thump of Detritus’ knuckles on the ground.
Finally, Cuddy said: “I just want you to know that I don’t like being teamed up with you any more than you like being teamed up with me.”
“Right!”
“But if we’re going to have to make the best of it, there’d better be some changes, OK?”
“Like what?”
“Like it’s ridiculous you not even being able to count. I know trolls can count. Why can’t you?”
“Can count!”
“How many fingers am I holding up, then?”
Detritus squinted.
“Two?”
“OK. Now how many fingers am I holding up?”
“Two…and one more…”
“So two and one more is…?”
Detritus looked panicky. This was calculus territory.
“Two and one more is three.”
“Two and one more is three.”
“Now how many?”
“Two and two.”
“That’s four.”
“Four-er.”
“Now how many?”
Cuddy tried eight fingers.
“A twofour.”
Cuddy looked surprised. He’d expected “many”, or possibly “lots”.
“What’s a twofour?”
“A two and a two and a two and a two.”
Cuddy put his head on one side.
“Hmm,” he said. “OK. A twofour is what we call an eight.”
“Ate.”
“You know,” said Cuddy, subjecting the troll to a long critical stare, “you might not be as stupid as you look. This is not hard. Let’s think about this. I mean…I’ll think about this, and you can join in when you know the words.”
Vimes slammed the Watch House door behind him. Sergeant Colon looked up from his desk. He had a pleased expression.
“What’s been happening, Fred?”
Colon took a deep breath.
“Interesting stuff, captain. Me and Nobby did some detectoring up at the Fools’ Guild. I’ve writ it all down what we found out. It’s all here. A proper report.”
“Fine.”
“All written down, look. Properly. Punctuation and everything.”
“Well done.”
“It’s got commas and everything, look.”
“I’m sure I shall enjoy it, Fred.”
“And the—and Cuddy and Detritus have found out stuff, too. Cuddy’s done a report, too. But it’s not got so much punctuation as mine.”
“How long have I been asleep?”
“Six hours.”
Vimes tried to make mental space for all of this, and failed.
“I’ve got to get something inside me,” he said. “Some coffee or something. And then the world will somehow be better.”
Anyone strolling along Phedre Road might have seen a troll and a dwarf apparently shouting at one another in excitement.
“A two-thirtytwo, and eight, and a one!”
“See? How many bricks in that pile?”
Pause.
“A sixteen, an eight, a four, a one!”
“Remember what I said about dividing by eight-and-two?”
Longer pause.
“Two-enty-nine…?”
“Right!”
“Right!”
“You can get there!”
“I can get there!”
“You’re a natural at counting to two!”
“I’m a nat’ral at counting to two!”
“If you can count to two, you can count to anything!”
“If I can count to two, I can count to anything!”
“And then the world is your mollusc!”
“My mollusc! What’s a mollusc?”
Angua had to scurry to keep up with Carrot.
“Aren’t we going to look at the opera house?” she said.
“Later. Anyone up there’ll be long gone by the time we get there. We must tell the captain.”
“You think she was killed by the same thing as Hammerhock?”
“Yes.”
“There are…niner birds.”
“That’s right.”
“There are…one bridge.”
“Right.”
“There are…four-ten boats.”
“All right.”
“There are…one tousand. Three hundret. Six-ty. Four bricks.”
“OK.”
“There are—”
“I should give it a rest now. You don’t want to wear everything out