Thud

`Yessir. But there was something odd.'

`Do go on, captain,' said Vimes. `We're good at odd.'

`Every so often everyone had to stop work and the foreign dwarfs listened at the walls with a big, er, thing, like an ear trumpet. Sally found something like that when she was down there.'

`They were listening? In soggy mud? Listening for what? Singing worms?'

`The dwarfs don't know, sir. Trapped miners, they thought. I suppose it makes sense. A lot of the digging is through old stonework, so I suppose it's possible that other miners could be trapped somewhere that's got air.'

`Not to last for weeks, though, surely? And why dig in different directions?'

`It's a puzzle, sir, there's no doubt about it. But we'll get to the bottom of it soon enough. Everyone's very keen.'

`Good. But play down the Watch side, will you? This is a bunch of concerned citizens trying to find their loved ones after a reported mining disaster, okay? The watchmen are just helping them out.'

`You mean "remember I'm a dwarf" sir?'

`Thank you for that, Carrot. Yes, exactly,' said Vimes. `And now I'm off to see a legend with a name like a can of polish.'

As he went out, he noticed the Summoning Dark symbol. The Pink PussyCat Club drinks menu had been put with some care on a shelf by the window, where it got maximum light. It glowed. Maybe this was because Frosted Hot Lips Rose had been designed to be seen across a crowded bar in poor light, but it seemed to float above the oh-so-funny sticky cocktail names like Just Sex, Pussy Galore and No Brainer, making them look faded and unreal.

Someone - several ones, by the look of it - had lit candles in front of it, for when night came.

It mustn't be kept in the dark, Vimes thought. I wish I wasn't.

Pointer & Pickles was dusty. Dust was the keynote of the shop. Vimes must have passed it a thousand times; it was that kind of shop, the kind you walked past. Dust and dead flies filled the little window, which nevertheless offered dim views of large lumps of rock, covered with dust, beyond.

The bell over the door gave a dusty jangle as Vimes entered the gloomy interior. The noise died away, and there was a definite

feeling that this marked the end of the entertainment for today. Then a distant shuffling was born in the heavy silence. It turned

out to belong to a very old woman who appeared, at first sight, to

be as dusty as the rocks she, presumably, sold. Vimes had his

doubts even about that. Shops like this one often looked upon the

selling of merchandise as in some way a betrayal of a sacred trust.

As if to underline this, she was carrying a club with a nail in it. When she was close enough for conversation, Vimes said, `I've come here to-'

`Do you believe in the healing power of crystals, young man?'

snapped the woman, raising the club threateningly.

`What? What healing power?' said Vimes.

The old woman gave him a cracked smile, and dropped the

club.

`Good,' she said. `We like our customers to take their geology

seriously. We've got some trollite in this week.'

`Good, but in fact I-'

`It's the only mineral that travels backwards in time, you know.' `I'm here to see Mr Shine,' Vimes managed. `Mr who?' said the old woman, putting a hand to her ear.

`Mr Shine?' said Vimes, confidence already draining out of him. `Never heard of him, dear.'

`He, er, gave me this,' said Vimes, showing her the two pieces of

stone egg.

`Amethyst geode, very nice specimen, I'll give you seven dollars,'

said the old woman.

`Are you, er, Pickles or Pointer?' said Vimes, as a last resort.

`I'm Miss Pickles, dear. Miss Point-' She stopped. Her

expression changed, became slightly younger and considerably

more alert.

`And I'm Miss Pointer, dear,' she said. `Don't worry about Pickles,

she just runs the body when I've got other things to do. Are you

Commander Vimes?'

Vimes stared. `Are you telling me you're two people? With one body?'

`Yes, dear. It's supposed to be an illness, but all I can say is we've always got along well. I've never told her about Mr Shine. Can't be too careful. Come this way, do.'

She led the way through the dusty crystals and slabs into the back of the shop, where there was a wide corridor lined with shelves. Crystals of all sizes sparkled down at him.

`Of course, trolls have always been of interest to geologists, being made of metamorphorical rock,' said Miss Pointer/Pickles conversationally. `You're not a rock hound yourself, commander?'

`I've had the occasional stone thrown at me,' said Vimes. `I've never bothered to check what kind it was.'

`Ha. Such a shame we're on loam here,' said the woman, as the sound of quiet voices drew nearer. She opened a door and stood aside. `I rent them the room,' she said. `Do go in.'

Vimes looked at the top few treads of a flight of stairs, heading down. Oh goody, he thought. We're going underground again. But there was warm light coming up, and the voices were louder.