"He, er, gave me this," said Vimes, showing her the two pieces of
stone egg.
"Amethyst geode, very nice specimen, I"ll give you seven dollars,"
said the old woman.
"Are you, er, Pickles or Pointer?" said Vimes, as a last resort.
"I"m Miss Pickles, dear. Miss Point-" She stopped. Her
expression changed, became slightly younger and considerably
more alert.
"And I"m Miss Pointer, dear," she said. "Don"t worry about Pickles,
she just runs the body when I"ve got other things to do. Are you
Commander Vimes?"
Vimes stared. "Are you telling me you"re two people? With one body?"
"Yes, dear. It"s supposed to be an illness, but all I can say is we"ve always got along well. I"ve never told her about Mr Shine. Can"t be too careful. Come this way, do."
She led the way through the dusty crystals and slabs into the back of the shop, where there was a wide corridor lined with shelves. Crystals of all sizes sparkled down at him.
"Of course, trolls have always been of interest to geologists, being made of metamorphorical rock," said Miss Pointer/Pickles conversationally. "You"re not a rock hound yourself, commander?"
"I"ve had the occasional stone thrown at me," said Vimes. "I"ve never bothered to check what kind it was."
"Ha. Such a shame we"re on loam here," said the woman, as the sound of quiet voices drew nearer. She opened a door and stood aside. "I rent them the room," she said. "Do go in."
Vimes looked at the top few treads of a flight of stairs, heading down. Oh goody, he thought. We"re going underground again. But there was warm light coming up, and the voices were louder.
The cellar was large and cool. There were tables everywhere, with a couple of people at each one, bent over a chequered board. A games room? The players were dwarfs, trolls and humans, but what they had in common was concentration. Unconcerned faces glanced towards Vimes, who had paused halfway down the stairs, and then looked back to the game in hand.
Vimes continued down to floor level. This had to be important, right? Mr Shine had wanted him to see it. People - men, trolls, dwarfs - playing games. Occasionally a couple of players would look up at one another, share a glance and shake hands. Then one of them would go off to a new table.
"What do you notice, Mister Vimes?" said a deep voice behind him. Vimes forced himself to turn slowly.
The figure sitting in the shadows beside the stairway was
shrouded entirely in black. He looked a good head taller than Vimes.
"They"re all young?" he ventured, and added: "Mr Shine?"
"Exactly! More youngsters tend to come along in the evenings, too. Do take a seat, sir."
"Why have I come to see you, Mr Shine?" said Vimes, sitting down.
"Because you want to find out why you have come to see me, "said the dark figure. "Because you"re wandering in the dark. Because Mister Vimes, with his badge and his truncheon, is full of rage. More full than usual. Take care of that rage, Mister Vimes."
Mystic, thought Vimes. "I like to see who I"m talking to," he said. "What are you?"
"You would not see me if I removed this hood," said Mr Shine. "As for what I am, I"ll ask you this: would it be true to say that Captain Carrot, while very happy to be a Watch officer, is the rightful king of Ankh-Morpork?"
"I have trouble with the term "rightful"," said Vimes.