Thud

There were a lot of them out and about this morning. They weren't particularly angry, insofar as Vimes could tell when the available area of expression between eyebrows and moustache was a few square inches, but it wasn't usual to see dwarfs just standing around. They tended to be somewhere working hard, usually for one another. No, they weren't angry, but they were worried. You didn't need to see faces to sense that. Dwarfs as a whole weren't happy about newspapers, regarding such news as a lover of fine grapes would regard raisins. They got their news from other dwarfs, to ensure that it was new and fresh and full of personality, and no doubt it grew all kinds of extras in the telling. This crowd was waiting uncertainly for news that it was going to become a riot.

For now, the crowd parted to let them through. The presence of Detritus caused a wake of muttering, which the troll cleverly decided not to hear.

`Feel that?' said Angua, as they walked up the street. `Through your feet?'

`I don't have your senses, sergeant,' said Vimes.

`It's a constant thud, thud, underground,' said Angua. `I can feel the street shaking. I think it's a pump.'

`Pumping out more cellars, maybe?' said Vimes. Sounds like a big undertaking. How far down could they go? he wondered. AnkhMorpork is mostly built on Ankh-Morpork, after all. There's been a city here since for ever.

It wasn't just a random crowd, when you looked closely. It was also a queue, along one side of the street, moving very slowly towards a side door. They were waiting to see the grags. Please come and say the death words over my father ... Please advise me on the sale of my shop ... Please guide me in my business ... I am a long way from the bones of my grandfathers, please help me stay a dwarf...

This was not the time to be d'rkza. Strictly speaking, most Ankh-Morpork dwarfs were d'rkza; it meant something like `not really a dwarf' They didn't live deep underground and come out only at night, they didn't mine metal, they let their daughters show at least a few indications of femininity, they tended to be a little slipshod when it came to some of the ceremonies. But the whiff of Koom Valley was in the air and this was no time to be mostly a dwarf. So you paid attention to the grags. They kept you on the straight seam.

And, until now, that had been fine by Vimes. Up until now, though, the grags in the city had stopped short of advocating murder.

He liked dwarfs. They made reliable officers, and tended to be naturally law-abiding, at least in the absence of alcohol. But they were all watching him. He could feel the pressure of their gaze.

Standing around watching people was, of course, Ankh-Morpork's leading industry. The place was a net exporter of penetrating stares. But these were the wrong kind. The street felt not exactly hostile, but alien. And yet it was an Ankh-Morpork street. How could he be a stranger here?

Maybe I shouldn't have brought a troll, he thought. But where does that lead? Pick your own copper from a chart?

Two dwarfs were on guard outside Hamcrusher's house. They were more heavily armed than the average dwarf, insofar as that was possible, but it was probably the black leather sashes they wore that were doing the trick of keeping the mood subdued. These declared to those who recognized them that they were working for deep-down dwarfs and, as such, partook a little of the magic, mana, awe or fear that they engendered in the average, backsliding dwarf.

They started to give Vimes the look of all guards everywhere, which in summary is this: the default position is that you're dead; only my patience stands in the way. But Vimes was ready for it. Any five hells you cared to name knew that he'd used it himself often enough. He countered with the aloof expression of someone who didn't notice guards.

`Commander Vimes, City Watch,' he said, holding up his badge.

`I need to see Grag Hamcrusher immediately.' `He's not seeing anyone,' said one of the guards. `Oh. So he is dead, then?' said Vimes.

He felt the answer. He didn't even have to see Angua's little nod. The dwarfs had been dreading the question, and were sweating.

To their shock and horror, and also somewhat to his own surprise, he sat down on the steps between them and pulled a packet of cheap cigars out of his pocket.

`I won't offer one to you lads because I know that you aren't allowed to smoke on duty' he said convivially. `I don't allow my boys to do it. The only reason I can get away with it is that there's

no one to tell me off, haha.' He blew a stream of blue smoke. `Now, I am, as you know, head of the City Watch. Yes?'

The two dwarfs, staring straight ahead, both nodded imperceptibly.