Feet of Clay

The atmosphere in the long, low, dark room altered as she stepped inside. A moment of time rang like a glass bowl, and then there was a sense of relaxation. People turned back in their seats.

Well, they were seated. It was quite likely they were people.

Cheery moved closer to Angua. ‘What’s this place called?’ she whispered.

‘It hasn’t really got a name,’ said Angua, ‘but sometimes we call it Biers.’^{37}

‘It didn’t look like an inn outside. How did you find it?’

‘You don’t. You … gravitate to it.’

Cheery looked around nervously. She wasn’t sure where they were, apart from somewhere in the cattle-market district, somewhere up a maze of alleys.

Angua walked to the bar.

A deeper shadow appeared out of the gloom. ‘Hello, Angua,’ it said, in a deep, rolling voice. ‘Fruit juice, is it?’

‘Yes. Chilled.’

‘And what about the dwarf?’

‘She’ll have him raw,’ said a voice somewhere in the gloom. There was a ripple of laughter in the dark. Some of it sounded altogether too strange to Cheery. She couldn’t imagine it issuing from normal lips. ‘I’ll have a fruit juice, too,’ she quavered.

Angua glanced at the dwarf. She felt oddly grateful that the remark from the darkness seemed to have gone entirely over the small bullet head. She unhooked her badge and with care and deliberation laid it down on the counter. It went perlink. Then Angua leaned forward and showed the iconograph to the barman.

If it was a man. Cheery wasn’t sure yet. A sign over the bar said ‘Don’t you ever change’.

‘You know everything that’s going on, Igor,’ Angua said. ‘Two old men got killed yesterday. And a load of clay got stolen from Igneous the troll recently. Did you ever hear about that?’

‘What’s that to you?’

‘Killing old men is against the law,’ said Angua. ‘Of course, a lot of things are against the law, so we’re very busy in the Watch. We like to be busy about important things. Otherwise we have to be busy about unimportant things. Are you hearing me?’

The shadow considered this. ‘Go and take a seat,’ it said. ‘I’ll bring your drinks.’

Angua led the way to a table in an alcove. The clientele lost interest in them. A buzz of conversation resumed.

‘What is this place?’ Cheery whispered.

‘It’s … a place where people can be themselves,’ said Angua slowly. ‘People who … have to be a little careful at other times. You know?’

‘No …’

Angua sighed. ‘Vampires, zombies, bogeymen, ghouls, oh my. The und—’ She corrected herself. ‘The differently alive,’ she said. ‘People who have to spend most of their time being very careful, not frightening people, fitting in. That’s how it works here. Fit in, get a job, don’t worry people, and you probably won’t find a crowd outside with pitchforks and flaming torches. But sometimes it’s good to go where everybody knows your shape.’^{38}

Now that Cheery’s eyes had grown accustomed to the low light she could make out the variety of shapes on the benches. Some of them were a lot bigger than human. Some had pointy ears and long muzzles.

‘Who’s that girl?’ she said. ‘She looks … normal.’

‘That’s Violet. She’s a tooth fairy. And next to her is Schleppel the bogeyman.’

In the far corner something sat huddled in a huge overcoat under a high, broad-brimmed pointed hat.

‘And him?’

‘That’s old Man Trouble,’ said Angua. ‘If you know what’s good for you, you don’t mind him.’^{39}

‘Er … any werewolves here?’

‘One or two,’ said Angua.

‘I hate werewolves.’

‘Oh?’

The oddest customer was sitting by herself, at a small round table. She appeared to be a very old lady, in a shawl and a straw hat with flowers in it. She was staring in front of her with an expression of good-natured aimlessness, and in context looked more frightening than any of the shadowy figures.

‘What is she?’ Cheery hissed.

‘Her? Oh, that’s Mrs Gammage.’

‘And what does she do?’

‘Do? Well, she comes in here most days for a drink and some company. Sometimes we … they have a singsong. Old songs, that she remembers. She’s practically blind. If you mean, is she an undead … no, she isn’t. Not a vampire, a werewolf, a zombie or a bogeyman. Just an old lady.’

A huge shambling hairy thing paused at Mrs Gammage’s table and put a glass in front of her.

‘Port and lemon. There you goes, Mrs Gammage,’ it rumbled.

‘Cheers, Charlie!’ the old lady cackled. ‘How’s the plumbing business?’

‘Doing fine, love,’ said the bogeyman, and vanished into the gloom.

‘That was a plumber?’ said Cheery.

‘Of course not. I don’t know who Charlie was. He probably died years ago. But she thinks the bogeyman is him, and who’s going to tell her different?’

‘You mean she doesn’t know this place is—’

‘Look, she’s been coming here ever since the old days when it was the Crown and Axe,’ said Angua. ‘No one wants to spoil things. Everyone likes Mrs Gammage. They … watch out for her. Help her out in little ways.’

‘How?’

‘Well, I heard that last month someone broke into her hovel and stole some of her stuff …’

‘That doesn’t sound helpful.’