Thud! - Terry Pratchett [40]
The troll who’d uttered the not-very-veiled threat then made another mistake. It must have been terror that moved his arms, or dumb machismo. Surely no one with a functioning brain cell would have selected that moment to move their arms into what, for trolls, was the attack position.
Detritus’s fist moved in a blur, and the crack, as it connected with the troll’s skull, made the furniture rattle.
Vimes opened his mouth…and shut it again. Trollish was a very physical language. And you had to respect cultural traditions, didn’t you? It wasn’t only dwarfs who were allowed to have them, was it? Besides, you couldn’t crack a troll’s skull even with a hammer and chisel. And he threatened your family, his hind brain added. He had it coming—
There was a twinge of pain from the wound on his hand, echoed by the stab of a headache. Oh hells. And Igor said the stuff would work!
The stricken troll rocked for a second or two, and then went over forwards in one rigid movement.
Detritus walked across to Vimes, kicking the recumbent figure en passant.
“Sorry about dat, sir,” he said, and his hand clanged on his helmet as he saluted. “Dey got no manners.”
“All right, that’s enough,” said Vimes, and addressed the remaining, suddenly-very-alone messenger. “Why does Chrysophrase want to see me?”
“He wouldn’t tell der Brothers Fick that, would he…” said Detritus, grinning horribly at the troll. There was no swagger left now.
“All I know is, it’s about der killin’ o’ the horug,” mumbled the troll, taking refuge in surliness. At the sound of the word the eyes of every watching dwarf narrowed further. It was a very bad word.
“Oh boy, oh boy, oh…” Detritus hesitated.
“Boy,” said Vimes out of the corner of his mouth.
“—boy!” said Detritus triumphantly. “You are makin’ friends like nobody’s business today!”
“Where’s the meeting?” said Vimes.
“Der Pork Futures Warehouse,” said the troll. “You is to come alone…” he paused, awareness of his position dawning on him, and added, “if you don’t mind.”
“Go and tell your boss I might choose to wander that way, will you?” said Vimes. “Now get out of here. Let him out, Sergeant.”
“An’ take your rubbish home wid you,” Detritus roared.
He slammed the doors behind the troll, bent under the weight of his fallen comrade.
“Okay,” said Vimes, as tensions relaxed. “You heard the troll. A good citizen wants to help the Watch. I’ll go and see what he’s got to—”
His eye caught the front page of the Times, spread out on the desk. Oh hell, he thought wearily. There we are, at a time like this, with a troll officer holding a dwarf with his feet off the ground.
“It’s a good picture of Detritus, sir,” said Sergeant Littlebottom nervously.
“ ‘The Long Arm of The Law,’ ” Vimes read aloud. “Is that supposed to be funny?”
“Probably it is to people who write headlines,” said Cheery.
“Hamcrusher Murdered,” Vimes read. “Watch Investigating.”
“Where do they get this?” he said aloud. “Who tells them? Pretty soon I’ll have to read the Times to find out what I’m doing today!” He flung the paper back on the desk. “Anything important I need to know about right now?”
“Sergeant Colon says there’s been a robbery at the Royal—” Cheery began, but Vimes waved that away.
“More important than robberies, I mean,” he said.
“Er…Another two officers have quit since I sent you that note, sir,” said Cheery. “Corporal Ringfounder and Constable Schist at Chittling Street. Both say it’s for, er, personal reasons, sir.”
“Schist was a good officer,” Detritus rumbled, shaking his head.
“Sounds like he decided to be a good troll instead,” said Vimes. He was aware of a stirring behind him. He still had an audience. Oh well, time for the speech.
“I know it’s hard for dwarf and troll officers right now,” he said to the room at large. “I know that giving one of your own kind a tap with your truncheon because he’s trying to kick you in the fork might feel like you’re siding with the enemy. It’s no fun for humans, either, but it’s worse for you. The badge seems a bit heavy now, right? You see your people looking