Men at Arms

by Terry Pratchett

Page 14

 

  Following the trail.

  What for? He wont thank you, you know.

  Who wont?

  Your young man.

  Angua stopped so suddenly that Gaspode ran into her.

  You mean Corporal Carrot? Hes not my young man!

  Yeah? Im a dog, right? Its all in the nose, right? Smell cant lie. Pheremonies. Its the ole sexual alchemy stuff.

  Ive only known him a couple of nights!

  Aha!

  What do you mean, aha?

  Nothing, nothing. Nothing wrong with it, anyway—

  There isnt any it to be wrong!

  Right, right. Not that it would be, said Gaspode, adding hurriedly, even if there was. Everyone likes Corporal Carrot.

  They do, dont they, said Angua, her hackles settling down. Hes very . . . likeable.

  Even Big Fido only bit his hand when Carrot tried to pat him.

  Whos Big Fido?

  Chief Barker of the Dog Guild.

  Dogs have got a Guild? Dogs? Pull one of the other ones, its got bells on—

  No, straight up. Scavenging rights, sunbathing spots, night-time barking duty, breeding rights, howling rotas . . . the whole bone of rubber.

  Dog Guild, snarled Angua sarcastically. Oh, yeah.

  Chase a rat up a pipe in the wrong street and call me a liar. Sgood job for you Im around, else you could get into big trouble. Theres big trouble for a dog in this town who aint a Guild member. Its lucky for you, said Gaspode, that you met me.

  I suppose youre a big ma—dog in the Guild, yes?

  Aint a member, said Gaspode smugly.

  How come you survive, then?

  I can think on my paws, me. Anyway, Big Fido leaves me alone. I got the Power.

  What power?

  Never you mind. Big Fido . . . hes a friend o mine.

  Biting a mans arm for patting you doesnt sound very friendly.

  Yeah? Last man who tried to pat Big Fido, they only ever found his belt buckle.

  Yes?

  And that was in a tree.

  Where are we?

  Not even a tree near here. What?

  Gaspode sniffed the air. His nose could read the city in a way reminiscent of Captain Vimes educated soles.

  Junction of Scoone Avenue and Prouts, he said.

  Trails dying out. Its mixed up with too much other stuff.

  Angua sniffed around for a while. Someone had come up here, but too many people had crossed the trail. The sharp smell was still there, but only as a suggestion in the welter of conflicting scents.

  She was aware of an overwhelming smell of approaching soap. Shed noticed it before, but only as a woman and only as a faint whiff. As a quadruped, it seemed to fill the world.

  Corporal Carrot was walking up the road, looking thoughtful. He wasnt looking where he was going, however, but he didnt need to. People stood aside for Corporal Carrot.

  It was the first time shed seen him through these eyes. Good grief. How did people not notice it? He walked through the city like a tiger through tall grass, or a hubland bear across the snow, wearing the landscape like a skin—

  Gaspode glanced sideways. Angua was sitting on her haunches, staring.

  Yer tongues hanging out, he said.

  What? . . . So? So what? Thats natural. Im panting.

  Har, har.

  Carrot noticed them, and stopped.

  Why, its the little mongrel dog, he said.

  Woof, woof, said Gaspode, his traitor tail wagging.

  I see youve got a lady friend, anyway, said Carrot, patting him on the head and then absent-mindedly wiping his hand on his tunic.

  And, my word, what a splendid bitch, he said. A Ramtop wolfhound, if Im any judge. He stroked Angua in a vague friendly way. Oh, well, he said. This isnt getting any work done, is it?

  Woof, whine, give the doggy a biscuit, said Gaspode.

  Carrot stood up and patted his pockets. I think Ive got a piece of biscuit here – well, I could believe you understand every word I say . . .

  Gaspode begged, and caught the biscuit easily.

  Woof, woof, fawn, fawn, he said.

  Carrot gave Gaspode the slightly puzzled look that people always gave him when he said woof instead of barking, nodded at Angua, and carried on towards Scoone Avenue and Lady Ramkins house.

  There, said Gaspode, crunching the stale biscuit noisily, goes a very nice boy. Simple, but nice.

  Yes, he is simple, isnt he? said Angua. Thats what I first noticed about him. Hes simple. And everything else here is complicated.

  He was making sheeps eyes at you earlier, said Gaspode. Not that Ive got anything against sheeps eyes, mind you. If theyre fresh.

  Youre disgusting.

  Yeah, but at least I stay the same shape all month, no offence meant.

  Youre asking for a bite.

  Oh, yeah, moaned Gaspode. Yeah, youll bite me. Aaargh. Oh, yes, thatll really worry me, that will. I mean, think about it. Ive got so many dog diseases Im only alive cos the little buggers are too busy fighting among emselves. I mean, Ive even got Licky End, and you only get that if youre a pregnant sheep. Go on. Bite me. Change my life. Every time theres a full moon, suddenly I grow hair and yellow teeth and have to go around on all fours. Yes, I can see that making a big difference to my ongoing situation. Actually, he said, Im definitely on a losing streak in the hair department, so maybe a, you know, not the whole bite, maybe just a nibble—

  Shut up. At least youve got a lady friend, Carrot had said. As if there was something on his mind . . .

  A quick lick, even—

  Shut up.

  This unrest is all Vetinaris fault, said the Duke of Eorle. The man has no style! So now, of course, we have a city where grocers have as much influence as barons. He even let the plumbers form a Guild! Thats against nature, in my humble opinion.

  It wouldnt be so bad if he set some kind of social example, said Lady Omnius,

  Or even governed, said Lady Selachii. People seem to be able to get away with anything.

  I admit that the old kings were not necessarily our kind of people, towards the end, said the Duke of Eorle, but at least they stood for something, in my humble opinion. We had a decent city in those days. People were more respectful and knew their place. People put in a decent days work, they didnt laze around all the time. And we certainly didnt open the gates to whatever riffraff was capable of walking through. And of course we also had law. Isnt that so, captain?

  Captain Samuel Vimes stared glassily at a point somewhere to the left and just above the speakers left ear.

  Cigar smoke hung almost motionless in the air. Vimes was dimly aware that hed spent several hours eating too much food in the company of people he didnt like.

  He longed for the smell of damp streets and the feel of the cobbles under his cardboard soles. A tray of postprandial drinks was orbiting the table, but Vimes hadnt touched it, because it upset Sybil. And she tried not to show it, and that upset him even more.

  The Bearhuggers had worn off. He hated being sober. It meant he started to think. One of the thoughts jostling for space was that there was no such thing as a humble opinion.

  He hadnt had much experience with the rich and powerful. Coppers didnt, as a rule. It wasnt that they were less prone to commit crimes, it was just that the crimes they committed tended to be so far above the normal level of criminality that they were beyond the reach of men with bad boots and rusting mail. Owning a hundred slum properties wasnt a crime, although living in one was, almost; Being an Assassin – the Guild never actually said so, but an important qualification was being the son or daughter of a gentleman – wasnt a crime. If you had enough money, you could hardly commit crimes at all. You just perpetrated amusing little peccadilloes.

  And now everywhere you look its uppity dwarfs and trolls and rude people, said Lady Selachii. Theres more dwarfs in Ankh-Morpork now than there are in any of their own cities, or whatever they
call their holes.

  What do you think, captain? said the Duke of Eorle.

  Hmm? Captain Vimes picked up a grape and started turning it over and over in his fingers.

  The current ethnic problem.

  Are we having one?

  Well, yes . . . Look at Quarry Lane. Theres fighting there every night!

  And they have absolutely no concept of religion!

  Vimes examined the grape minutely. What he wanted to say was: Of course they fight. Theyre trolls. Of course they bash one another with clubs – trollish is basically body language and, well, they like to shout. In fact, the only one who ever gives anyone any real trouble is that bastard Chrysoprase, and thats only because he apes humans and is a quick learner. As tor religion, trollgods were hitting one another with clubs ten thousand years before wed even stopped trying to eat rocks.

  But the memory of the dead dwarf stirred something perverse in his soul.

  He put the grape back on his plate.

  Definitely, he said. In my view, the godless bastards should be rounded up and marched out of the city at spearpoint.

  There was a moments silence.

  Its no more than they deserve, Vimes added.

  Exactly! Theyre barely more than animals, said Lady Omnius. Vimes suspected her first name was Sara.

  Have you noticed how massive their heads are? said Vimes. Thats really just rock. Very small brains.

  And morally, of course . . . said Lord Eorle.

  There was a murmur of vague agreement. Vimes reached for his glass.

  Willikins, I dont think Captain Vimes wants any wine, said Lady Ramkin.

  Wrong! said Vimes cheerfully. And while were on the subject, how about the dwarfs?

  I dont know if anyones noticed, said Lord Eorle, but you certainly dont see as many dogs about as you used to.

  Vimes stared. It was true about the dogs. There didnt seem to be quite so many mooching around these days, that was a fact. But hed visited a few dwarf bars with Carrot, and knew that dwarfs would indeed eat dog, but only if they couldnt get rat. And ten thousand dwarfs eating continuously with knife, fork and shovel wouldnt make a dent in Ankh-Morporks rat population. It was a major feature in dwarfish letters back home: come on, everyone, and bring the ketchup.

  Notice how small their heads are? he managed. Very limited capacity, surely. Fact of measure-ment.

  And you never see their women, said Lady Sara Omnius. I find that very . . . suspicious. You know what they say about dwarfs, she added darkly.

  Vimes sighed. He was just about aware that you saw their women all the time, although they looked just like the male dwarfs. Surely everyone knew that, who knew anything about dwarfs?

  Cunning little devils too, said Lady Selachii. Sharp as needles.

  You know, Vimes shook his head, you know, thats whats so damn annoying, isnt it? The way they can be so incapable of any rational thought and so bloody shrewd at the same time.

  Only Vimes saw the look Lady Ramkin flashed him. Lord Eorle stubbed out his cigar.

  They just move in and take over. And work away like ants all the time real people should be getting some sleep. Its not natural.

  Vimes mind circled the comment and compared it to the earlier one about a decent days work.

  Well, one of them wont be working so hard, said Lady Omnius. My maid said one of them was found in the river this morning. Probably some tribal war or something.

  Hah . . . its a start, anyway, said Lord Eorle, laughing. Not that anyone will notice one more or less.

  Vimes smiled brightly.

  There was a wine bottle near his hand, despite Will-ikins tactful best efforts to remove it. The neck looked invitingly grippable—