Feet of Clay

And Mr Cheese the owner was a good listener. He listened to things like ‘Make that a double’ and ‘Keep them coming’. He also said the right things, like ‘Credit? Certainly, officer’. Watchmen paid their tab or got a lecture from Captain Carrot.

Vimes sat gloomily behind a glass of lemonade. He wanted one drink, and understood precisely why he wasn’t going to have one. One drink ended up arriving in a dozen glasses. But knowing this didn’t make it any better.

Most of the day shift were in here now, plus one or two men who were on their day off.

Scummy as the place was, he liked it here. With the buzz of other people around him, he didn’t seem to get in the way of his own thoughts.

One reason that Mr Cheese had allowed his pub to become practically the city’s fifth Watch House was the protection this offered. Watchmen were quiet drinkers, on the whole. They just went from vertical to horizontal with the minimum amount of fuss, without starting any major fights, and without damaging the fixtures overmuch. And no one ever tried to rob him. Watchmen got really intense about having their drinking disturbed.

And he was therefore surprised when the door was flung open and three men rushed in, flourishing crossbows.

‘Don’t nobody move! Anyone moves and they’re dead!’

The robbers stopped at the bar. To their own surprise their arrival didn’t seem to have caused much of a stir.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, will someone shut that door?’ growled Vimes.

A Watchman near the door did so.

‘And bolt it,’ Vimes added.

The three thieves looked around. As their eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, they received a general impression of armourality, with strong overtones of helmetness. But none of it was moving. It was all watching them.

‘You boys new in town?’ said Mr Cheese, buffing a glass.

The boldest of the three waved his bow under the barman’s nose. ‘All the money right now!’ he screamed. ‘Otherwise,’ he said, to the room in general, ‘you’ve got a dead barman.’

‘Plenty of other bars in town, boyo,’ said a voice.

Mr Cheese didn’t look up from the glass he was polishing. ‘I know that was you, Constable Thighbiter,’ he said calmly. ‘There’s two dollars and thirty pence on your slate, thank you very much.’

The thieves drew closer together. Bars shouldn’t act like this. And they fancied they could hear the faint sliding noises of assorted weapons being drawn from various sheaths.

‘Haven’t I seen you before?’ said Carrot.

‘Oh gods, it’s him,’ moaned one of the men. ‘The bread-thrower!’

‘I thought Mr Ironcrust was taking you to the Thieves’ Guild,’ Carrot went on.

‘There was a bit of an argument about taxes …’

‘Don’t tell him!’

Carrot tapped his head. ‘The tax forms!’ he said. ‘I expect Mr Ironcrust is worried I’ve forgotten about them!’

The thieves were now so close together they looked like a fat six-armed man with a very large bill for hats.

‘Er … Watchmen aren’t allowed to kill people, right?’ said one of them.

‘Not while we’re on duty,’ said Vimes.

The boldest of the three moved suddenly, grabbed Angua and pulled her upright. ‘We walk out of here unharmed or the girl gets it, all right?’ he snarled.

Someone sniggered.

‘I hope you’re not going to kill anyone,’ said Carrot.

‘That’s up to us!’

‘Sorry, was I talking to you?’ said Carrot.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,’ said Angua. She looked around to make sure Cheery wasn’t there, and then sighed. ‘Come on, gentlemen, let’s get it over with.’

‘Don’t play with your food!’ said a voice from the crowd.

There were one or two giggles until Carrot turned in his seat, whereupon everyone was suddenly intensely interested in their drinks.

‘It’s okay,’ said Angua quietly.

Aware that something was out of kilter, but not quite sure what it was, the thieves edged back to the door. No one moved as they unbolted it and, still holding Angua, stepped out into the fog, shutting the door behind them.

‘Hadn’t we better help?’ said a constable who was new to the Watch.

‘They don’t deserve help,’ said Vimes.

There was a clank of armour and then a long, deep growl, right outside in the street.

And a scream. And then another scream. And a third scream, modulated with ‘NONONOnono-nonononoNO! … aarghaargh aargh!’ Something heavy hit the door.

Vimes turned back to Carrot. ‘You and Constable Angua,’ he said. ‘You … er … get along all right?’

‘Fine, sir,’ said Carrot.

‘Some people might think that, er, there might be, er, problems …’

There was a thud, and then a faint bubbling noise.

‘We work around them, sir,’ said Carrot, raising his voice slightly.

‘I heard that her father’s not very happy about her working here …’

‘They don’t have much law up in Uberwald, sir. They think it’s for weak societies. The baron’s not a very civic-minded man.’

‘He’s pretty bloodthirsty, from what I’ve heard.’

‘She wants to stay in the Watch, sir. She likes meeting people.’

From outside came another gurgle. Fingernails scrabbled at a windowpane. Then their owner disappeared abruptly from view.

‘Well, it’s not for me to judge,’ said Vimes.

‘No, sir.’