He had a hat with plumes in it.
'Come in, come in,' said Vimes. 'It wasn't as if we were doing anything.'
'Captain Vimes—'
'It's all right. We know. Give him your weapons, people. That's an order, Carrot. One official issue sword, one pike or halberd, one night stick or truncheon, one crossbow. That's right, isn't it, Sergeant Colon?'
'Yessir.'
Carrot hesitated only a moment.
'Oh, well,' he said. 'My official sword is in the rack.'
'What's that one in your belt?'
Carrot said nothing. However, he shifted position slightly. His biceps strained against the leather of his jerkin.
'Official sword. Right,' said Quirke. He turned. He was one of those people who would recoil from an assault on strength, but attack weakness without mercy. 'Where's the gritsucker?' he said. 'And the rock?'
'Ah,' said Vimes, 'you are referring to those representative members of our fellow sapient races who have chosen to throw in their lots with the people of this city?'
'I mean the dwarf and the troll,' said Quirke.
'Haven't the faintest idea,' said Vimes cheerfully. It seemed to Angua that he was drunk again, if people could get drunk on despair.
'We dunno, sir,' said Colon. 'Haven't seen 'em all day.'
'Probably fighting up in Quarry Lane with the rest of them,'' said Quirke. 'You can't trust people of their type. You ought to know that.'
And it also seemed to Angua that although words like halfpint and gritsucker were offensive, they were as terms of universal brotherhood compared to words like 'people of their type' in the mouth of men like Quirke. Much to her shock, she found her gaze concentrating on the man's jugular vein.
'Fighting?' said Carrot. 'Why?'
Quirke shrugged.
'Who knows?'
'Let me think now,' said Vimes. 'It could be something to do with a wrongful arrest. It could be something to do with some of the more restless dwarfs just needing any excuse to have a go at the trolls. What do you think, Quirke?'
'I don't think, Vimes.'
'Good man. You're just the type the city needs.'
Vimes stood up.
'I'll be going, then,' he said. 'I'll see you all tomorrow. If there is one.'
The door slammed behind him.
This hall was huge. It was the size of a city square, with pillars every few yards to support the roof. Tunnels radiated off it in every direction, and at various heights in the walls. Water trickled out of many of them, from small springs and underground streams.
That was the problem. The film of running water over the stone floor of the hall had wiped away traces of the footprints.
A very large tunnel, almost blocked with debris and silt, led off in what Cuddy was pretty sure was the direction of the estuary.
It was almost pleasant. There was no smell, other than a damp, under-a-stone mustiness. And it was cool.
'I've seen big dwarf halls in the mountains,' said Cuddy, 'but I've got to admit this is something else.' His voice echoed back and forth in the chamber.