Feet of Clay

to a table in an alcove. The clientele lost interest in them. A buzz of conversation resumed.
    “What is this place?” Cheery whispered.
    “It’s…a place where people can be themselves,” said Angua slowly. “People who…have to be a little careful at other times. You know?”
    “No…”
    Angua sighed. “Vampires, zombies, bogeymen, ghouls, oh my. The und—” She corrected herself. “The differently alive,” she said. “People who have to spend most of their time being very careful, not frightening people, fitting in . That’s how it works here. Fit in, get a job, don’t worry people, and you probably won’t find a crowd outside with pitchforks and flaming torches. But sometimes it’s good to go where everybody knows your shape.”
    Now that Cheery’s eyes had grown accustomed to the low light she could make out the variety of shapes on the benches. Some of them were a lot bigger than human. Some had pointy ears and long muzzles.
    “Who’s that girl?” she said. “She looks…normal.”
    “That’s Violet. She’s a tooth fairy. And next to her is Schleppel the bogeyman.”
    In the far corner something sat huddled in a huge overcoat under a high, broad-brimmed pointed hat.
    “And him?”
    “That’s Old Man Trouble,” said Angua. “If you know what’s good for you, you don’t mind him.”
    “Er…any werewolves here?”
    “One or two,” said Angua.
    “I hate werewolves.”
    “Oh?”
    The oddest customer was sitting by herself, at a small round table. She appeared to be a very old lady, in a shawl and a straw hat with flowers in it. She was staring in front of her with an expression of good-natured aimlessness, and in context looked more frightening than any of the shadowy figures.
    “What is she?” Cheery hissed.
    “Her? Oh, that’s Mrs. Gammage.”
    “And what does she do?”
    “Do? Well, she comes in here most days for a drink and some company. Sometimes we… they have a singsong. Old songs, that she remembers. She’s practically blind. If you mean, is she an undead…no, she’s isn’t. Not a vampire, a werewolf, a zombie, or a bogeyman. Just an old lady.”
    A huge shambling hairy thing paused at Mrs. Gammage’s table and put a glass in front of her.
    “Port and lemon. There you goes, Mrs. Gammage,” it rumbled.
    “Cheers, Charlie!” the old lady cackled. “How’s the plumbing business?”
    “Doing fine, love,” said the bogeyman, and vanished into the gloom.
    “ That was a plumber ?” said Cheery.
    “Of course not. I don’t know who Charlie was. He probably died years ago. But she thinks the bogeyman is him, and who’s going to tell her different?”
    “You mean she doesn’t know this place is—”
    “Look, she’s been coming here ever since the old days when it was the Crown and Axe,” said Angua. “No one wants to spoil things. Everyone likes Mrs. Gammage. They…watch out for her. Help her out in little ways.”
    “How?”
    “Well, I heard that last month someone broke into her hovel and stole some of her stuff…”
    “ That doesn’t sound helpful.”
    “…And it was all returned next day and a couple of thieves were found in the Shades with not a drop of blood left in their bodies.” Angua smiled, and her voice took on a mocking edge. “You know, you get told a lot of bad things about the undead, but you never hear about the marvelous work they do in the community.”
    Igor the barman appeared. He looked more or less human, apart from the hair on the back of his hands and the single unbifurcated eyebrow across his forehead. He tossed a couple of mats on the table and put their drinks down.
    “You’re probably wishing this was a dwarf bar,” said Angua. She lifted her beer mat carefully and glanced at the underside.
    Cheery looked around again. By now, if it had been a dwarf bar, the floor would be sticky with beer, the air would be full of flying quaff, and people would be singing. They’d probably be singing the latest dwarf tune, Gold, Gold, Gold , or one of the old favorites, like Gold, Gold, Gold , or the all-time biggie, Gold, Gold, Gold . In a few minutes, the first axe would have been thrown.
    “No,” she said, “it could never be that bad.”
    “Drink up,” said Angua. “We’ve got to go and see…something.”
    A large hairy hand grabbed Angua’s wrist. She looked up into a terrifying face, all eyes and mouth and hair.
    “Hello, Shlitzen,” she said calmly.
    “Hah, I’m hearing where there’s a baron