Men at Arms (Discworld 15)

And will you look at that?' he said. 'My dad made that axe for me! A fine weapon to take into the afterlife, I don't think!'

IS THAT SOME KIND OF BURIAL CUSTOM?

'Don't you know? You are Death, aren't you?'

THAT DOESN'T MEAN I HAVE TO KNOW ABOUT BURIAL CUSTOMS. GENERALLY, I MEET PEOPLE BEFORE THEY'RE BURIED. THE ONES I MEET AFTER THEY'VE BEEN BURIED TEND TO BE A BIT OVER-EXCITED AND DISINCLINED TO DISCUSS THINGS.

Cuddy folded his arms.

'If I'm not going to be properly buried,' he said, 'I ain't going. My tortured soul will walk the world in torment.'

IT DOESN'T HAVE TO.

'It can if it wants to,' snapped the ghost of Cuddy.

'Detritus! You haven't got time to ooze! Get over to the Tower! Take some people with you!'

Vimes reached the doorway of the Great Hall with the Patrician over his shoulder and Carrot stumbling along behind him. The wizards were clustered around the door. Big heavy drops of rain were beginning to fall, hissing on the hot stones.

Ridcully rolled up his sleeves.

'Hell's bells! What did that to his leg?'

'That's the gonne for you! Sort him out! And Corporal Carrot too!'

'There's no need,' said Vetinari, trying to smile and stand up. 'It's just a flesh—'

The leg collapsed under him.

Vimes blinked. He'd never expected this. The Patrician was the man who always had the answers, who was never surprised. Vimes had a sense that history was flapping loose . . .

'We can handle it, sir,' said Carrot. 'I've got men on the roofs, and—'

'Shut up! Stay here! That's an order!' Vimes fumbled in his pouch and hung his badge on his torn jacket. 'Hey, you . . . Pyjama! I need a sword!'

Pyjama looked sullen.

'I only take orders from Corporal Carrot—'

'Give me a sword right now, you horrible little man! Right! Thank you! Now let's get to the Tow—'

A shadow appeared in the doorway.

Detritus walked in.

They looked at the limp shape in his hands.

He laid it carefully on a bench, without saying a word, and went and sat in a corner. While the others gathered round the mortal remains of Acting-Constable Cuddy, the troll removed his homemade cooling helmet and sat staring at it, turning it over and over in his hands.

'He was on the floor,' said Sergeant Colon, leaning against the doorframe. 'He must have been pushed off the stairs right at the top. Someone else was in there, too Must've shinned down a rope and caught me a right bang on the side of the head.'

'Being pushed down the Tower's not worth it for a shilling,' said Carrot, vaguely.

It was better when the dragon came, thought Vimes After it'd killed someone it was at least still a dragon. It went somewhere else but you could say: that's a dragon, that is. It couldn't nip over a wall and become just another person. You always knew what you were fighting. You didn't have to—

'What's that in Cuddy's hand?' he said. He realized he'd been staring at it without seeing it for some time.

He tugged at it. It was a strip of black cloth.