Thud

`Okay, he a finker, he shiny. But ... Ironfoundersson? Dwarf name. Dat a problem right dere. But der name Vimes ... Dat name means a lot. Can't be bribed, he once arrested the Patrician, not der sharpest knife in the drawer but honest like anyt'ing and he don't stop diggin'.' Chrysoprase caught Vimes's expression. `Dat's what dey say. I wishin' Vimes was on dis case, 'cos him like me, bareknuckle boy, he get at der truth soon enough. And to him I say: no troll did dat t'ing, not like dat.

Forget that he's talking street troll, Vimes told himself. That's just to seem like a good ol troll. This is Chrysoprase. He beat out most of the old-style mobsters, who were pretty sharp players themselves, and he holds off the Thieves' Guild with one hand. And that's without sitting in a pile of snow. You know he's right. But ... not the sharpest knife in the drawer? Thank you so very much!

But Captain Carrot was shiny, was he? Vimes's mind always looked for connections, and came up with: `Who is Mr Shine?'

Chrysoprase was absolutely still, the only motion the greenish smoke spiralling up from the cigar. Then, when he spoke, his air was uncharacteristically jovial.

`Him? Oh, a story for kids. Kinda like a troll legend from der faroff days o' long ahead,' he said. [1]

`Like a folk hero?'

`Yeah, that kinda t'ing. Kinda silly t'ing people talk about when times is tricky. Just a willie der wisp, not real. Dis is modern times.'

[1] Troll lore says that living creatures actually move backwards through time. It's complicated.

And that seemed to be that.

Vimes stood up. `All right, I've heard what you say,' he said. `And now I've got a Watch to run.'

Chrysoprase puffed his cigar and flicked the ash into the frost, where it sizzled. `You goin' back to der Watch House by way o' Turn Again Lane?' he said.

`No, that's well out of-' Vimes stopped. There had been a hint of suggestion in the troll's voice.

`Give my regard to der of lady at next door to der cake shop,' said the troll.

`Er, I will, will I?' said Vimes, nonplussed. `Sergeant!'

The door at the far end opened with a bang and Detritus ran in, crossbow at the ready. Vimes, aware that one of the troll's few faults was an inability to understand all the implications of the term `safety catch, fought down a dreadful urge to dive for the ground.

`Time's comin' when we all got to know where we standin',' mused Chrysoprase, as if talking to the audience of ghostly pork. `An' who is standin' next to us.'

As Vimes headed for the door the troll added: `Give der coat to your lady, Mister Vimes. Wi' my compliments.'

Vimes stopped dead, and looked down at the coat over his shoulders. It was of some silvery fur, beautifully warm, but not as warm as the rage rising within him. He'd nearly walked out wearing it. He'd come that close.

He shrugged it off and wrapped it into a ball. Quite probably several dozen small rare squeaky things had died to make this, but he could see to it that their deaths were not, in some small way, in vain.

He threw the bundle high in the air, yelled 'Sergeant!', and threw himself on to the floor. There was the instant slap of the bow, a sound as of a swarm of maddened bees, the plinkplinkplink of arrow fragments turning a circle of metal roof into a colander, and the smell of burnt hair.

Vimes got to his feet. What was falling around him was a kind of

hairy snow.

He met Chrysoprase's gaze. `Trying to bribe a Watch officer is a

serious offence,' he said.

The troll winked. `Honest like anyt'ing, I tell 'em. Nice to have dis

little talk, Mister Vimes.'

When they were well outside Vimes pulled Detritus into an alley,

insofar as it was possible to pull a troll anywhere.

`Okay, what do you know about Slide?' he said.

The troll's red eyes gleamed. `I bin hearin' rumours:

`Head to Treacle Mine Road and put a heavy squad together. Go

to Turn Again Lane, behind the Scours. There's a wedding-cake

maker up there, I think. You've got a nose for drugs. Poke it around,

sergeant.'

`Right!' said Detritus. `You bin told somethin, sir?'

`Let's just say I think it's an earnest of good intent, shall we?' `Dat's good, sir,' said the troll. `Ernest who?'

`Er, someone we know wants to show us what a good citizen he

is. Get to it, okay?'

Detritus slung his crossbow over his shoulder for ease of carriage

and knuckled off at high speed. Vimes leaned against the wall. This

was going to be a long day. And now he -

On the wall, just a little above head height, a troll had scored a

rough sketch of a cut diamond. You could tell troll graffiti easily -

they did it with a fingernail and it was usually an inch deep in the

masonry.

Next to the diamond was scored: SHINE.

`Ahem,' said a small voice in his pocket. Vimes sighed

and pulled out the Gooseberry while he still stared at the

word.

`Yes?'

`You said you didn't want to be interrupted. .: said the imp

defensively.

`Well? What have you got to say?'

`It's eleven minutes to six, Insert Name Here,' said the imp meekly.

`Good grief! Why didn't you tell me!'