'Only in broad terms. Come on, let's go and have a drink . . .'
The transient moment of camaraderie in adversity completely evaporated.
'Drink with a troll?'
'Drink with a dwarf?'
'All right,' said Angua. 'How about you and you coming and having a drink with me?'
Angua removed her helmet and shook out her hair. Female trolls don't have hair, although the more fortunate ones are able to cultivate a fine growth of lichen, and a female dwarf is more likely to be complimented on the silkiness of her beard than on her scalp. But it was just possible the sight of Angua scraped little sparks off some shared, ancient, cosmic maleness.
'I haven't really had a chance to look around,' she said. 'But I saw a place in Gleam Street.'
Which meant that they had to cross the river, at least two of them trying to indicate to passers-by that they weren't with at least one of the other two. Which meant that, with desperate nonchalance, they were looking around.
Which meant that Cuddy saw the dwarf in the water.
If you could call it water.
If you could still call it a dwarf.
They looked down.
'You know,' said Detritus, after a while, 'that look like that dwarf who make weapons in Rime Street.'
'Bjorn Hammerhock?' said Cuddy.
'That the one, yeah.'
'It looks a bit like him,' Cuddy conceded, still talking in a cold flat voice, 'but not exactly like him.'
'What d'you mean?' said Angua.
'Because Mr Hammerhock,' said Cuddy, 'didn't have such a great big hole where his chest should be.'
Doesn't he ever sleep? thought Vimes. Doesn't the bloody man ever get his head down? Isn't there a room somewhere with a black dressing gown hanging on the door?
He knocked on the door of the Oblong Office.
'Ah, captain,' said the Patrician, looking up from his paperwork. 'You were commendably quick.'
'Was I?'
'You got my message?' said Lord Vetinari.
'No, sir. I've been . . . occupied.'
'Indeed. And what could occupy you?'
'Someone has killed Mr Hammerhock, sir. A big man in the dwarf community. He's been . . . shot with something, some kind of siege weapon or something, and dumped in the river. We've just fished him out. I was on the way to tell his wife. I think he lives in Treacle Street. And then I thought, since I was passing . . .'
'This is very unfortunate.'
'Certainly it was for Mr Hammerhock,' said Vimes.
The Patrician leaned back and stared at Vimes.
'Tell me,' he said, 'how was he killed?'