Men at Arms (Discworld 15)

'Dat way.'

And in the Guild's main hall the master butcher Gerhardt Sock was staggering around in circles. This was because Cuddy's boots were planted on his chest. The dwarf was hanging on to the man's vest like a yachtsman tacking into a gale, and whirling his axe round and round in front of Sock's face.

'You give it to me right now or I'll make you eat your own nose!'

A crowd of apprentice butchers was trying to keep out of the way.

'But—'

'Don't you argue with me! I'm an officer of the Watch, I am!'

'But you—'

'You've got one last chance, mister. Give it to me right now!'

Sock shut his eyes.

'What is it you want?'

The crowd waited.

'Ah,' said Cuddy. 'Ahaha. Didn't I say?'

'No!'

'I'm pretty sure I did, you know.'

'You didn't!'

'Oh. Well. It's the key to the pork futures warehouse, if you must know.' Cuddy jumped down.

'Why?'

The axe hovered in front of his nose again.

'I was just asking,' said Sock, in a desperate and distant voice.

'There's a man of the Watch in there freezing to death,' said Cuddy.

There was quite a crowd around them when they finally got the main door open. Lumps of ice clinked on the stones, and there was a rush of supercold air.

Frost covered the floor and the rows of hanging carcasses on their backwards journey through time. It also covered a Detritus-shaped lump squatting in the middle of the floor.

They carried it out into the sunlight.

'Should his eyes be flashing on and off like that?' said Dibbler.

'Can you hear me?' shouted Cuddy. 'Detritus?'

Detritus blinked. Ice slid off him in the day's heat.

He could feel the cracking up of the marvellous universe of numbers. The rising temperature hit his thoughts like a flamethrower caressing a snowflake.

'Say something!' said Cuddy.

Towers of intellect collapsed as the fire roared through Detritus' brain.

'Hey, look at this,' said one of the apprentices.