Guards! Guards! (Discworld 8)

The fight was one of those enjoyable dwarfish fights with about a hundred participants and one hundred and fifty alliances. The screams, oaths and the ringing of axes on iron helmets mingled with the sounds of a drunken group by the fireplace who-another dwarfish custom-were singing about gold.

Nobby bumped into the back of Carrot, who was watching the scene with horror.

“Look, it's like this every night in here, ” said Nobby. “Don't interfere, that's what the sergeant says. It's their ethnic folkways, or somethin'. You don't go messin' with ethnic folkways. ”

“But, but, ” Carrot stuttered, “these are my people. Sort of. It's shameful, acting like this. What must everyone think?”

“We think they're mean little buggers, ” said Nobby. “Now, come on!”

But Carrot had waded into the scuffling mass. He cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed something in a language Nobby didn't understand. Practically any language including his native one would have fitted that description, but in this case it was Dwarfish.

“Gr'duzk! Gr'duzk! aaK'zt ezem ke bur'k tze tzim?”[7]

The fighting stopped. A hundred bearded faces glared up at Carrot's stooped figure, their annoyance mingled with surprise.

A battered tankard bounced off his breastplate. Carrot reached down and picked up a struggling figure, without apparent effort.

“J'uk, ydtruz-t'rud-eztuza, hudr'zddezek drez'huk, huzukruk 't b 'tduz g 'ke 'k me 'ek b 'tduzt' be 'tk kce 'drutk ke'hkt'd. aaDb'thuk?”[8]

No dwarf had ever heard so many Old Tongue words from the mouth of anyone over four feet high. They were astonished.

Carrot lowered the offending dwarf to the floor. There were tears in his eyes.

“You're dwarfs!” he said. “Dwarfs shouldn't be acting like this! Look at you all. Aren't you ashamed?”

One hundred bone-hard jaws dropped.

“I mean, look at you!” Carrot shook his head. “Can you imagine what your poor, white-bearded old mother, slaving away back in her little hole, wondering how her son is getting on tonight, can you imagine what she'd think if she saw you now? Your own dear mothers, who first showed you how to use a pickaxe-”

Nobby, standing by the doorway in terror and amazement, was aware of a growing chorus of nose-blowings and muffled sobs as Carrot went on: “-she's probably thinking, I expect he's having a quiet game of dominoes or something-”

A nearby dwarf, wearing a helmet encrusted with six-inch spikes, started to cry gently into his beer.

“And I bet it's a long time since any of you wrote her a letter, too, and you promised to write every week-”

Nobby absent-mindedly took out a grubby handkerchief and passed it to a dwarf who was leaning against the wall, shaking with grief.

“Now, then, ” said Carrot kindly. “I don't want to be hard on anyone, but I shall be coming past here every night from now on and I shall expect to see proper standards of dwarf behaviour. I know what it's like when you're far from home, but there's no excuse for this sort of thing. ” He touched his helmet. “G'hruk, t'uk. ”[9]

He gave them all a bright smile and half-walked, half-crouched out of the bar. As he emerged into the street Nobby tapped him on the arm.

“Don't you ever do anything like that to me again, ” he fumed. “You're in the City Watch! Don't give me any more of this law business!”

“But it is very important, ” said Carrot seriously, trotting after Nobby as he sidled into a narrower street.

“Not as important as stay in' in one piece, ” said Nobby. “Dwarf bars! If you've got any sense, my lad, you'll come in here. And shut up. ”

Carrot stared up at the building they had reached. It was set back a little from the mud of the street. The sounds of considerable drinking were coming from inside. A battered sign hung over the door. It showed a drum.

“A tavern, is it?” said Carrot, thoughtfully. “Open at this hour?”

“Don't see why not, ” said Nobby, pushing open the door. “Damn useful idea. The Mended Drum. ”

“And more drinking?” Carrot thumbed hastily through the book.

“I hope so, ” said Nobby. He nodded to the troll which was employed by the Drum as a splatter, [10] “Eve-nin', Detritus. Just showing the new lad the ropes. ”

The troll grunted, and waved a crusted arm.