Thud (15 page)

“Mr. Vimes! Good o’ you to be comin’,” said Chrysophrase jovially. “Dese gentlemen are all high-toned businessmen of my acquaintance. I ’spect you can put names to faces…”

“Yeah, the Breccia,” said Vimes.

“Now den, Mr. Vimes, you know dat don’t exist,” said Chrysophrase innocently. “We just band togeder to furder troll interests in der city via many charitable concerns. You could say we are community leaders. Dere’s no call for name-callin’.”

Community leaders, Vimes thought. There’d been a lot of talk about community leaders lately, as in “community leaders appealed for calm,” a phrase the
Times
used so often that the printers probably left it set in type. Vimes wondered who they were and how they were appointed, and, sometimes, if “appealing for calm” meant winking and saying “do not use those shiny new battle-axes in that cupboard over there…no, not that one, the other one.” Hamcrusher had been a community leader.

“You said you wanted to talk to me alone,” he said, nodding toward the shadowy figures. Some of them were hiding their faces.

“Dat is so. Oh, dese gennlemen behind me? Dey will be leaving us now,” said Chrysophrase, waving a hand at them. “Dey’re just here so’ you understand dat one troll, dat is yours truly, is speakin’ for der many. An,’ at de same time, your good sergeant dere, my ol’ frien’ Detritus, is goin’ outside for a smoke, would dat be der case? Dis conversation is between you an’ me or it don’t happen.”

Vimes turned and nodded to Detritus. Reluctantly, with a scowl at Chrysophrase, the sergeant withdrew. So did the trolls. Boots crunched over the frost, and then doors slammed shut.

Vimes and Chrysophrase looked at each other in literally frozen silence.

“I can hear you teeth chattin’,” said Chrysophrase. “Dis place jus’ right for troll, but for you it freezes der brass monkey, right? Dat why I bringed dis fur coat.” He shrugged it off and held it out. “Dere jus’ you and me here, okay?”

Pride was one thing; not being able to feel your fingers was another. Vimes wrapped himself in the fine, warm fur.

“Good. Can’t talk to a man whose ears are froze, eh?” said Chrysophrase, pulling out a big cigar case. “Firstly, I am hearin’ where one of my boys was disrespectful to you. I am hearin’ how him suggestin’ I am de kind of troll dat would get pers’nal, dat would raise a hand to your lovely lady an’ your liddle boy who is growin’ up so fine. Sometimes I am despairin’ o’ young trolls today. Dey show no respec’. Dey have no style. Dey lack finesse. If you are wanting a new rockery in your garden, just say der word.”

“What? Just make sure I never clap eyes on him again,” said Vimes shortly.

“Dat will not be a problem,” said the troll. He indicated a small box, about a foot square, beside the crate. It was far too small to contain a
whole
troll.

Vimes tried to ignore it, but found this hard.

“Was that all you wanted to see me for?” he said, trying to stop his imagination playing its homemade horrors across his inner eyeballs.

“Smokin’, Mr. Vimes?” Chrysophrase said, flipping open the case. “Der ones on der left is okay for humans. Finest kind.”

“I’ve got my own,” said Vimes, pulling out a battered packet. “What is this
about
? I’m a busy man.”

Chrysophrase lit a silvery troll cigar and took a long pull. There was a smell like burning tin.

“Yeah, busy because dat ol’ dwarf dies,” he said, not looking at Vimes.

“Well?”

“It was no troll done it,” said Chrysophrase.

“How do you know?”

Now the troll looked directly at Vimes. “If it was, I would have foun’ out by now. I bin askin’ questions.”

“So are we.”

“I bin askin’ questions more louder,” said the troll. “I get lotsa answers. Sometimes I am gettin’ answers to questions I ain’t even asked yet.”

I bet you are, Vimes thought.
I
have to obey rules.

“Why should you care who kills a dwarf?” he said.

“Mister Vimes! I am a honest citizen! It my public duty to care!” Chrysophrase watched Vimes’s face to see how this was playing, and grinned. “All dis stoopid Koom Valley t’ing is bad for bidness. People are getting edgy, pokin’ around, askin’ questions. I am sittin’ dere gettin’ nervous. An’ den I hear my ol’ friend Mister Vimes is on der case and I am thinkin’, dat Mister Vimes, he may be very insensitive to de nu-unces of troll culture sometimes, but der man is straight as a arrow and der are on him no flies. He will see where dis so-called troll left his club behind an’ he is laughin’ his head off, it is so see-through like glass! Some dwarf did it an’ want to make de trolls look bad, Kew Eee Dee.”

He sat back.

“What club?” said Vimes quietly.

“What’s dat?”

“I haven’t mentioned a club. There was nothing in the paper about a troll club.”

“Dear Mister Vimes, dat’s what der lawn ornaments is sayin’,” said Chrysophrase.

“And dwarfs talk to you, do they?” said Vimes.

The troll looked thoughtfully at the roof, and blew out more smoke.

“Eventually,” he said. “But dat’s jus’ detail. Jus’ between you an’ me, here an’ now. We unnerstan’ dese t’ings. It is clear as anyt’ing dat der crazy dwarfs had a fight, or der ol’ dwarf died o’ bein alive too long, or—”

“—or you asked him a few questions?”

“No callin’ for dat, Mister Vimes. Dat club is nothin’ but a red dried swimmin’ thing. Der dwarfs put it dere.”

“Or a troll did the murder, dropped his club, and ran,” said Vimes. “Or he was clever, and thought ‘No one would believe a troll would be so stupid as to leave his club, so if I
do
leave it, the dwarfs will get the blame.’ ”

“Hey, good job it so cold in here or I wouldn’t be followin’ you!” Chrysophrase laughed. “But den I ask, a troll gets into a nest o’ dem lousy deep-downers and lays out jus’ one? No way, Hose, eh! He’d whack as many of ’em as he could, thud, thud!”

He looked at Vimes’s puzzlement and sighed.

“See, any troll gettin’ in dere, he’d be a mad troll to start wid. You know how der kids are all wound up? People bin feeding dem dat honor an’ glory an’ destiny stuff, dat coprolite rots your brain faster’n Slab, faster even dan Slide. From what I am hearin’, der dwarf got knocked off
for-rensic
, all slick an’ quiet. We don’t do dat, Mister Vimes. You played der game, you know it. Get a troll in der middle o’ a load of dwarfs, he is like a fox in der…dem fings wi’ wings, layin’ dem egg fings…”

“Fox in a henhouse?”

“Dat’s der—you know, fur, big ears—”

“Bunny?!”

“Right! Bash one dwarf an’ sneak out? No troll’d stop at one, Mister Vimes. It’s like you people an’ peanuts. Der game got dat right.”

“What’s this game?”

“You never played Thud?” Chrysophrase looked surprised.

“Oh,
that
. I don’t play games,” said Vimes. “And on the subject of Slab, you
do
run the biggest pipeline. Just between you and me, here and now.”

“Nah, I’m out o’ dat whole thing,” said Chrysophrase, waving his cigar dismissively. “You could say I am seein’ der error o’ my ways. From now on it’s clean livin’ straight down der middle. Property an’ financial services, dat is der way forward.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Besides, der kids are movin’ in,” Chrysophrase went on. “Sediment’ry trash. And dey cuts Slab w’ bad sulfides an’ cooks it up wi’ ferric chloride an’ crap like dat. You thought Slab was bad? You wait ’til you see Slide. Slab makes a troll go an’ sit down to watch all der pretty colors, be no trouble to no one, nice and quiet. But Slide make him feel like him der biggest, strongest troll in der worl,’ don’t need sleep, don’t need food. After a few weeks, don’t need life. Dat ain’t for me.”

“Yes, why kill your customers?” said Vimes.

“Low blow, Mister Vimes, low blow. Nah, der new kids, half der time dey on Slide deyselves. Too much fightin,’ too much of no respec’.” He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. “I know names and places.”

“It’s your duty as a good citizen to tell me, then,” said Vimes. Ye gods, what does he think I am? But I
want
those names. Slide sounds nasty. Right now we need battle-crazy trolls like we need a hole in the head, which we’ll probably end up getting.

“Can’t tell you. Dat der problem,” said Chrysophrase. “Dis ain’t der time. You know what’s happening out dere. If der stupid dwarfs want to fight, we’ll need every troll. Dat’s what I sayin.’ I tellin’ my people, give Vimes a chance. Be good citizens, not rockin’ around der boat. People still listenin’ to me an’ my…associates. But not for much longer. I hope you on der case, Mister Vimes?”

“Captain Carrot is investigating right now,” said Vimes.

Chrysophrase’s eyes narrowed again.

“Carrot Ironfoundersson?” he said. “Der big dwarf? He a lovely boy, bright as a button, but to trolls dat won’t look so good, I tell you flat.”

“It doesn’t look that good to dwarfs, if it come to that,” said Vimes. “But it’s my Watch. I’ll not be told who I put on what case.”

“You trust him?” said Chrysophrase.

“Yes!”

“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 der Patrician, not der sharpest knife in der drawer but honest like anything and he don’t stop digging.” Chrysophrase caught Vimes’s expression. “Dat’s what dey say. I wishin’ Vimes was on dis case, ’cos him like me, bare-knuckle 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 Chrysophrase. 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?”

Chrysophrase was absolutely still, apart from the greenish smoke spiraling 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 far-off days o’ long ahead,” he said.
*

“Like a folk hero?”

“Yeah, dat 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.”

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.”

Chrysophrase puffed his cigar and flicked the ash into the frost, where it sizzled.

“You going 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 ol’ 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 Chrysophrase, as if talking to the audience of ghostly pork. “An’ who is standin’ next to us.”

As Vimes headed to 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 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 Chrysophrase’s gaze.

“Trying to bribe a Watch officer is a serious offense,” 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’ rumors.”

“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?” said Vimes.

“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 still staring at the word.