Men at Arms (Discworld 15)

'I should think it is!'

'I mean, it's made to be buried with a dwarf. Every dwarf is buried with a weapon. You know? To take with him to . . . wherever he's going.'

'But it's fine workmanship! And it's got an edge like – aargh,' Vimes sucked his finger, 'like a razor.'

Carrot looked shocked. 'Of course. It'd be no good him facing them with an inferior weapon.'

'What them are you talking about?'

'Anything bad he encounters on his journey after death,' said Carrot, a shade awkwardly.

'Ah.' Vimes hesitated. This was an area in which he did not feel comfortable.

'It's an ancient tradition,' said Carrot.

'I thought dwarfs didn't believe in devils and demons and stuff like that.'

'That's true, but . . . we're not sure if they know.'

'Oh.'

Vimes laid down the axe and picked up something else from the work rack. It was a knight in armour, about nine inches high. There was a key in its back. He turned it, and then nearly dropped the thing when the figure's legs started to move. He put it down, and it began to march stiffly across the floor, waving its sword.

'Moves a bit like Colon, don't it,' said Vimes. 'Clockwork!'

'It's the coming thing,' said Carrot. 'Mr Hammerhock was good at that.'

Vimes nodded. 'We're looking for anything that shouldn't be here,' he said. 'Or something that should be and isn't. Is there anything missing?'

'Hard to say, sir. It isn't here.'

'What?'

'Anything that's missing, sir,' said Carrot conscientiously.

'I mean,' said Vimes, patiently, 'anything not here which you'd expect to find.'

'Well, he's got – he had - all the usual tools, sir. Nice ones, too. Shame, really.'

'What is?'

'They'll be melted down, of course.'

Vimes stared at the neat racks of hammers and files.

'Why? Can't some other dwarf use them?'

'What, use another dwarf's actual tools?' Carrot's mouth twisted in distaste, as though someone had suggested he wear Corporal Nobbs' old shorts. 'Oh, no. that's not . . . right. I mean, they're . . . part of him. I mean . . . someone else using them, after he's used them all these years, I mean . . . urrgh.'

'Really?'

The clockwork soldier marched under the bench.

'It'd feel . . . wrong,' said Carrot. 'Er. Yukky.'

'Oh.' Vimes stood up.

'Capt—'