Thud! - Terry Pratchett [32]
“I’ll be happy to make a note of that,” said Vimes. “Thank you for your cooperative attitude,” he added.
Ardent stood up and produced a ring of complex keys from his robes.
Vimes tried to keep track of the journey, but it was hard. There were twists and turns, in dim tunnels that seemed all alike. There was not a trace of water anywhere. How far did the tunnels go? How far down? How far out? Dwarfs mined through granite. They could probably stroll through river mud.
In fact, in most places, the dwarfs hadn’t so much mined as cleaned house, taking away the silt, tunneling from one ancient, dripping room to another. And, somehow, the water went away.
There were things, glittering, possibly magical, half seen in dark archways as they passed. And odd chanting. He knew dwarfish, in a the-axe-of-my-aunt-is-in-your-head kind of way, and it didn’t sound like that at all. It sounded like short words rattled out at very high speed.
And with every turn he felt the anger coming back. They were being led in circles, weren’t they? For no reason other than pique. Ardent forged ahead, leaving Vimes to blunder along behind and occasionally bump his head.
His temper was bubbling. This was nothing more than a bloody runaround! The dwarf didn’t care about the law, about him, about the world above. They undermine our city and they don’t obey our laws! There had been a damn murder. He admits it! Why am I putting up with this…this stupid playacting!
He was passing yet another tunnel mouth, but this one had a piece of board nailed across it. He pulled out his sword, yelled, “I wonder what’s down here?,” smashed the board, and set off down the tunnel with Angua following.
“Is this wise, sir?” she whispered, as they plunged along.
“No. But I’ve had it up to here with Mr. Ardent,” Vimes growled. “I tell you, another twisty tunnel and I’ll be back here with the heavy mob, politics or not.”
“Calm down, sir!”
“Well, everything he says and does is an insult! It makes my blood boil!” said Vimes, striding onwards and ignoring the shouts of Ardent behind him.
“There’s a door ahead, sir!”
“All right, I’m not blind! Just half-blind!” Vimes snapped.
He reached out. The big, round door had a wheel in its center, and dwarf runes chalked all over it.
“Can you read them, Sergeant?”
“Er…‘Mortal Danger! Flooding! No Entry!’ ” said Angua. “More or less, sir. They’re pressure doors. I’ve seen these used before, in other mines.”
“Chained shut, too,” said Vimes, reaching out. “Looks like solid iron—ow!”
“Sir?”
“Gashed my hand on a nail!” Vimes rammed his hand into a pocket, where, without fail, Sybil saw to it that a clean handkerchief was lodged on a daily basis.
“A nail in an iron door, sir?” said Angua, looking closely.
“A rivet, then. Can’t see a thing in this gloom. Why they—”
“You must follow me. This is a mine! There are dangers!” said Ardent, catching up with them.
“You still get flooding?” said Vimes.
“It is to be expected! We know how to cope! Now, stay close to me!”
“I’ll be more inclined to do that, sir, if I thought were taking a direct route!” said Vimes. “Otherwise I might look for shortcuts!”
“We are nearly there, Commander,” said Ardent, walking away. “Nearly there!”
Aimless and hopeless, the troll wandered…
His name was Brick, although currently he couldn’t remember this. His head ached. It really ached. It was der Scrape that did it. What did dey always say? When you sinkin’ to where you was cookin’ up Scrape, you was so low even der cockroaches had to bend down to spit on you?
Last night…what had happenin’? What bits did he see, what bits did he do, what bits in der thumpin,’ scaldin’ cauldron of his brain were real? The bit with der giant wooly elephants, dey prob’ly weren’t real. He was pretty sure there weren’t any giant wooly elephants in dis city, ’cos if der were, he would’ve seen ’em before, and dere’d be big steamin’ turds in der streets an’ similar, you wouldn’t miss ’em…
He was called Brick because he had been born in the city, and trolls, being made of metamorphorical