‘Ardent really wasn’t expecting that skull, sir,’ said Sally, pressing on. ‘I heard his heart racing. It terrified him. Er… something more, sir. There’s lots of city dwarfs here. Dozens. I can feel their hearts, too. There are six grags. Their hearts beat very slowly. And there are other dwarfs, too. Strange ones, and only a few of them. Maybe ten.’
‘That’s useful to know, lance-constable, thank you very much.’
‘Yes, I don’t know how we managed before you came,’ said Angua. She walked quickly over to the other side of the dank room, so that they wouldn’t see her face. She needed fresh air, not the pervasive, clinging, old-root-cellar reek of this place. Her head was full of shouting. The Temperance League? ‘Not One Drop’? Did anyone believe that for one minute? But everyone wanted to fall for it because vampires could be so charming. Of course they were! It was part of being a vampire! It was the only way to get people to stay the night in the dreadful castle! Everyone knew a leopard couldn’t change his shorts! But, no, stick on a stupid black ribbon and learn the words for ‘Lips that touch Ichor shall never touch Mine’ and they fall for it every time. But werewolves? Well, they were just sad monsters, weren’t they? Never mind that life was a daily struggle with the inner wolf, never mind that you had to force yourself to walk past every lamp-post, never mind that in every petty argument you had to fight back the urge to settle it all with just one bite. Never mind that, because everyone knew that a creature that was a wolf and a human combined was a kind of dog. They were expected to behave. Part of her was shouting that this wasn’t so, that this was just PLT and the known effects of a vampire’s presence, but somehow, now, with the smells around her becoming so strong that they were approaching solidity, she did not want to listen. She wanted to smell the world, she was practically climbing into her own nose. After all, that was why she was in the Watch, wasn’t it? For her nose?
New smell, new smell…
Sharp blue-grey of lichen, the browns and purples of old carrion, undertones of wood and leather… even as a full wolf she’d never tasted the air so forensically as this. Something else, sharp, chemical… The air was full of the smell of damp and dwarfs, but these little traces ran through it like a piccolo hornpipe through a requiem and formed one thing…
‘Troll,’ she croaked. ‘Troll. Troll with skull belt and head-locks. On Slab, or something like it! Troll!’ Angua was almost barking at the far door now. ‘Open door! This way!’
She barely needed her eyes now, but there on the metal of the door, in charcoal, someone had drawn a circle with two diagonal lines through it.
Suddenly Carrot was by her side. At least he had the decency not to say ‘Are you sure?’ but he rattled the big wheel. The door was locked.
‘I don’t think there’s water behind this,’ he said.
‘Oh, really?’ Angua managed. ‘You know that was jus’… to keep us out!’
Carrot turned and there, running towards them, was a squad of dwarfs. They were heading for the door as though quite oblivious of the presence of the watchmen.
‘Don’t let them go through first!’ said Angua through gritted teeth. ‘Trail is… faint!’
Carrot drew his sword with one hand and held up his badge with the other.
‘City Watch!’ he roared. ‘Lower your weapons, please! Thank you!’
The squad slowed, which meant that, in the nature of these things, those at the back piled into the hesitant ones in front.
‘This is a crime scene!’ Carrot announced. ‘I am still the smelter! Mr Ardent, are you there? Do you have guards on the other side of this door?’
Ardent pushed through the throng of dwarfs. ‘No, I believe not,’ he said. ‘Is the troll still behind it?’
Carrot glanced at Sally, who shrugged. Vampires had never developed the ability to listen for troll hearts. There was no point.
‘Possibly, but I don’t think so,’ said Carrot. ‘Please unlock it. We might yet find a trail!’
‘Captain Carrot, you know that the safety of the mine must always come first!’ said Ardent. ‘Of course you must give chase. But first we will open the door and make certain there is no danger behind it. You must concede us that.’
‘Let them,’ hissed Angua. ‘It’ll be a clearer scent. I’ll be okay.’
Carrot nodded, and whispered back, ‘Well done!’
Under her flesh, she felt her tail want to wag. She wanted to lick his face. It was the dog part of her doing the thinking. You’re a good dog. It was important to be a good dog.
Carrot pulled her aside as a couple of dwarfs approached the door purposefully.
‘But it’s long gone,’ she murmured, as two more dwarfs came up behind the first two. ‘The scent’s twelve hours old, at least—’
‘What are they doing?’ said Carrot, half to himself. The two new dwarfs were covered from head to toe in leather, like Ardent, but wore mail over the top of it; their helmets were quite unadorned, but covered the whole face and head, with only a slit for the eyes. Each dwarf carried a large black pack on his back and held a lance in front of him.
‘Oh no,’ said Carrot, ‘surely not here—’
At a word of command, the door was swung open, revealing only darkness beyond.
The lances spat flame, long yellow tongues of it, and the black dwarfs walked slowly along behind them. Smoke, heavy and greasy, filled the air.
Angua fainted.
Darkness.
Sam Vimes struggled up the hill, tired to the bone.
It was warm, warmer than he’d expected. Sweat stung his eyes. Water splashed under his feet and made his boots slip. And, ahead, up the slope, a child was screaming.
He knew he was shouting. He could hear the breath wheezing in his throat, could feel his lips moving, but he couldn’t hear the words he was reciting, over and over again.
The darkness felt like cold ink. Tendrils of it dragged at his mind and his body, slowing him down, pulling him back…
And now they came at him with flames—
Vimes blinked, and found himself staring at the fireplace. The flames flicked peacefully.
There was the swish of a dress as Sybil came back into the room, sat down and picked up her darning.
He watched her, dully. She was darning his socks. They had maids in this place and she darned his socks. It wasn’t as if they didn’t have so much money that he could have a new pair of socks every day. But she’d picked up the idea that it was a wifely duty, and so she did it. It was comforting, in a strange sort of way. It was only a shame that she wasn’t in fact any good at mending holes, so Sam ended up with sock heels that were a huge welt of criss-crossing wool. He wore them anyway, and never mentioned it.
‘A weapon that fires flame,’ he said slowly.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Carrot.
‘Dwarfs have weapons that fire flame.’
‘The deep-downers use them to explode pockets of mine-gas,’ said Carrot. ‘I never expected to see them here!’
‘It’s a weapon if some bastard points it at me!’ said Vimes. ‘How much gas did they expect to find in Ankh-Morpork?’
‘Sir? Even the river catches fire in a hot summer!’
‘Okay, okay. I’ll grant you that,’ Vimes conceded, unwillingly. ‘Make sure the word gets out, will you? Anyone seen above ground with one of those things, we’ll shoot first and there will be no point in asking questions afterwards. Good grief, that’s all we need. Have you got anything more to tell me, captain?’
‘Well, afterwards we did get to see Hamcrusher’s body,’ said Carrot. ‘What can I say? On his wrist was the draht that identifies him, and his skin was pale. There was a terrible wound on the back of the head. They say it’s Hamcrusher. I can’t prove it. What I can say is that he didn’t die where they said he did, or when they said he did.’