Thud

`What are the dwarfs saying about it?' said Vimes, over his shoulder. `The living ones, I mean?'

`A lot of dem saw der dead dwarfs brought up,' said Detritus. `I fink most of dem would hand him der crowbar.'

Let's hear it for the mob, Vimes thought. Grab it by its sentimental heart. Besides, the storm is beginning. Why worry about an extra raindrop?

`Okay,' he said. `Tell him this. I know Otto will be there with his damn picture box, so when that door is wrenched open it's going to be dwarfs doing it, okay? A picture full of dwarfs?'

`Right, sir!'

`How is young Brick? Will he swear a statement? Does he understand about that?'

`I reckon he could, sir.

`In front of dwarfs?'

`He will if I ask him, sir,' said Detritus. `Dat I can promise.'

`Good. And get someone to put out a message on the clacks, to every city watch and village constable between here and the mountains. Tell them to look out for a party of dark dwarfs. They've got what they came for and they're doing a runner, I know it.'

`You want they should try to stop 'em?' the sergeant asked.

`No! No one should try it! Say they've got weapons that shoot fire! Just let me know where they're headed!'

`I'll tell dem dat, sir.'

And I'm going home, Vimes repeated to himself. Everyone wants something from Vimes, even though I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Hell, I'm probably a spoon. Well, I'm going to be Vimes, and Vimes reads Where's My Cow? to Young Sam at six o'clock. With the noises done right.

He went home at a brisk walk, using all the little shortcuts, his mind sloshing backwards and forwards like thin soup, his ribs nudging him occasionally to say, yes, they were still there and twingeing. He arrived at the door just as Willikins was opening it.

`I shall tell her ladyship you are back, sir,' he called out, as Vimes hurried up the stairs. `She is mucking out the dragon pens.'

Young Sam was standing up in his cot, watching the door. Vimes's day went soft and pink.

The chair was littered with the favoured toys of the hour - a rag ball, a little hoop, a woolly snake with one button eye. Vimes pushed them on to the rug, sat down and took off his helmet. Then he took off his damp boots. You didn't need to heat a room after Sam Vimes had taken his boots off. On the wall the nursery clock ticked, and with every tick and tock a little sheep jumped back and forth over a fence.

Sam unfolded the rather chewed, rather soggy book.

`Where's my cow?' he announced, and Young Sam chuckled. Rain rattled on the window.

Where's my cow? Is that my cow?

... A `thing' that talks, he thought, as his mouth and eyes took over the task in hand. I'm going to have to find out about that. Why'd it make dwarfs want to kill one another?

It goes, 'Baa!' It is a sheep!

... Why did we go into that mine? Because we heard there'd been a murder, that's why!

That's not my cow!

... Everyone knows that dwarfs gossip. It was stupid to tell them to keep it from us! That's the deep-downers for you, they think they just have to say a thing and it's true!

Where's my cow?

... water dripping on a stone ...

Is that my cow?

Where did I see one of those Thud boards recently? It goes, `Neigh!'

Oh, yes, Helmclever. He was very worried, wasn't he?

It is a horse!

He had a board. He said he was a keen player.

That's not my cow!

That was a dwarf under pressure if ever I saw one; he looked as if he was dying to tell me something ...

Where's my cow? That look in his eyes ... Is that my cow?

I was so angry. Don't tell the Watch? What did they expect? You'd have thought he would have known ...

It goes, 'Hruuugh!' He knew I'd go spare!

It is a hippopotamus! He wanted me to be angry!

That's not my cow!

He damn well wanted me to be angry!

Vimes snorted and crowed his way through the rest of the zoo, missing out not one hark or squeak, and tucked up his son with a kiss.

There was the sound of tinkling glass from downstairs. Oh, someone's dropped a glass, said his front brain. But his back brain, which had steered him safely through these mean streets for more than fifty years, whispered: like hell they did!

Cook had the evening off. Purity would be up in her room. Sybil was out feeding the dragons. That left Willikins. Butlers didn't drop things.

From below there was a quiet ugh, and then the thud of something hitting meat.

And Vimes's sword was on the hook at the other end of the hall, because Sybil didn't like him wearing it in the house.

As quietly as possible he looked around for something, anything, that could be turned into a weapon. Regrettably, they had, when choosing toys for Young Sam, completely neglected the whole area of hard things with sharp edges. Bunnies, chuckies and piggies there were in plenty, but- Ah. Vimes spotted something that would do, and wrenched it free.

Moving soundlessly on thick, over-darned socks, he crept down the stairs.