There was a spang! noise. Cuddy's crossbow had gone off in his hand. The bolt whiffled past Corporal Nobbs' ear and landed in the river, where it stuck.
'Sorry,' said Cuddy.
'Tsk, tsk,' said Sergeant Colon.
That was the worst part. It would have been better all round if he'd called the dwarf some names. It would have been better if he'd made it seem that Cuddy was worth an insult.
He turned around and walked off towards Pseudo-polis Yard.
They heard his muttered comment.
'What him say?' said Detritus.
' “A fine body of men”,' said Angua, going red.
Cuddy spat on the ground, which didn't take long on account of its closeness. Then he reached under his cloak and produced, like a conjuror extracting a size 10 rabbit from a size 5 hat, his double-headed battle axe. And started to run.
By the time he reached the virginal target he was a blur. There was a rip and the dummy exploded like a nuclear haystack.
The other two wandered up and inspected the result, as pieces of chaff gently drifted to the ground.
'Yes, all right,' said Angua. 'But he did say you're supposed to be able to ask them questions afterwards.'
'He didn't say they've got to be able to answer them,' said Cuddy grimly.
'Lance-Constable Cuddy, deduct one dollar for target,' said Detritus, who already owed eleven dollars for bows.
' “If it's worth turning up”!' said Cuddy, losing the axe somewhere about his person again. 'Speciesist!'
'I don't think he meant it that way,' said Angua.
'Ho, it's all right for you,' said Cuddy.
'Why?'
' 'Cos you a man,' said Detritus.
Angua was bright enough to pause for a moment to think this over.
'A woman,' she said.
'Same thing.'
'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.