'I heard that her father's not very happy about her working here...'
They don't have much law up in Uberwald, sir. They think it's for weak societies. The baron's not a very civic-minded man.'
'He's pretty bloodthirsty, from what I've heard.'
'She wants to stay in the Watch, sir. She likes meeting people.'
From outside came another gurgle. Fingernails scrabbled at a windowpane. Then their owner disappeared abruptly from view.
'Well, it's not for me to judge,' said Vimes.
'No, sir.'
After a few moments of silence the door opened, slowly. Angua walked in, adjusting her clothes, and sat down. All the Watchmen in the room suddenly took a second course of advanced beer-study.
'Er ... Carrot began.
'Flesh wounds,' said Angua. 'But one of them did shoot one of the others in the leg by accident.'
'I think you'd better put it in your report as self-inflicted wounds while resisting arrest ,' said Vimes.
'Yes, sir,' said Angua.
'Not all of them,' said Carrot.
'They tried to rob our bar and take a wer - Angua hostage,' said Vimes.
'Oh, I see what you mean, sir,' said Carrot. 'Self-inflicted. Yes. Of course.'
It had gone quiet in the Mended Drum. This was because it is usually very hard to be both loud and unconscious.
Sergeant Colon was impressed at his own cleverness. Throwing a punch could stop a fight, of course, but in this case it had a quarter of rum, gin and sixteen chopped lemons floating in it.
Some people were still upright, however. They were the serious drinkers, who drank as if there was no tomorrow and rather hoped this would be the case.
Fred Colon had reached the convivial drunk stage. He turned to the man beside him. ' 'S good here, isn't it,' he managed.
'What'm I gonna tell me wife, that's what I want to know...' moaned the man.
'Dunno. Say you've bin bin bin working late,' said Colon. 'An' suck a peppermint before you goes home, that usually works - '
'Working late? Hah! I've bin given the sack! Me! A craftsman! Fifteen years at Spadger and Williams, right, and then they go bust 'cos of Carry undercutting 'em and I get a job at Carry's and, bang, I'm out of a job there, too! Surplus to requirements ! Bloody golems! Forcing real people out of a job! What they wanna work for? They got no mouth to feed, hah. But the damn thing goes at it so fast you can't see its bloody arms movin'!'
'Shame.'
'Smash 'em up, that's what I say. I mean, we had a golem at S an' W's but ole Zhlob just used to plod along, y'know, not buzz away like a blue-arsed fly. You wanna watch it, mate, they'll have yourjob next.'
'Stoneface wouldn't stand fr it,' said Colon, undulating gently.
'Any chance of a job with you lot, then?'
'Dunno,' said Colon. The man seemed to have become two men. 'What's it you do?'
Tm a Wick-Dipper and End-Teaser, mate,' they said.
'I can see that's a useful trade.'
'Here you go, Fred,' said the barman, tapping him on the shoulder and putting a piece of paper in front of him. Colon watched with interest as figures danced back and forth. He tried to focus on the one at the bottom, but it was too big to take in.