Feet of Clay

teeth or, if the evening was going really well, with somebody else’s teeth.
    “So we ain’t good enough for you, is that what you’re saying?” the man demanded.
    Nobby waved his scroll. His mouth opened to frame words like—Sergeant Colon just knew —“Unhand me, you low-born oaf.”
    With tremendous presence of mind and absence of any kind of common sense, Sergeant Colon said: “His Lordship wants everyone to have a drink with him!”

    Compared to the Mended Drum, the Bucket, on Gleam Street, was an oasis of frigid calm. The Watch had adopted it as their own, as a silent temple to the art of getting drunk. It wasn’t that it sold particularly good beer, because it didn’t. But it did serve it quickly, and quietly, and gave credit. It was one place where Watchmen didn’t have to see things or be disturbed. No one could sink alcohol in silence like a Watchman who’d just come off duty after eight hours on the street. It was as much protection as his helmet and breastplate. The world didn’t hurt so much.
    And Mr. Cheese the owner was a good listener. He listened to things like “Make that a double” and “Keep them coming.” He also said the right things, like “Credit? Certainly, officer.” Watchmen paid their tab or got a lecture from Captain Carrot.
    Vimes sat gloomily behind a glass of lemonade. He wanted one drink, and understood precisely why he wasn’t going to have one. One drink ended up arriving in a dozen glasses. But knowing this didn’t make it any better.
    Most of the day shift were in here now, plus one or two men who were on their day off.
    Scummy as the place was, he liked it here. With the buzz of other people around him, he didn’t seem to get in the way of his own thoughts.
    One reason that Mr. Cheese had allowed his pub to become practically the city’s fifth Watch House was the protection this offered. Watchmen were quiet drinkers, on the whole. They just went from vertical to horizontal with the minimum amount of fuss, without starting any major fights, and without damaging the fixtures overmuch. And no one ever tried to rob him. Watchmen got really intense about having their drinking disturbed.
    And he was therefore surprised when the door was flung open and three men rushed in, flourishing crossbows.
    “Don’t nobody move! Anyone moves and they’re dead!”
    The robbers stopped at the bar. To their own surprise their arrival didn’t seem to have caused much of a stir.
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake, will someone shut that door?” growled Vimes.
    A Watchman near the door did so.
    “And bolt it,” Vimes added.
    The three thieves looked around. As their eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, they received a general impression of armorality, with strong overtones of helmetness. But none of it was moving. It was all watching them.
    “You boys new in town?” said Mr. Cheese, buffing a glass.
    The boldest of the three waved his bow under the barman’s nose. “All the money right now!” he screamed. “Otherwise,” he said, to the room in general, “you’ve got a dead barman.”
    “Plenty of other bars in town, boyo,” said a voice.
    Mr. Cheese didn’t look up from the glass he was polishing. “I know that was you, Constable Thighbiter,” he said calmly. “There’s two dollars and thirty pence on your slate, thank you very much.”
    The thieves drew closer together. Bars shouldn’t act like this. And they fancied they could hear the faint sliding noises of assorted weapons being drawn from various sheaths.
    “Haven’t I seen you before?” said Carrot.
    “Oh gods, it’s him ,” moaned one of the men. “The bread-thrower!”
    “I thought Mr. Ironcrust was taking you to the Thieves’ Guild,” Carrot went on.
    “There was a bit of an argument about taxes…”
    “Don’t tell him!”
    Carrot tapped his head. “The tax forms!” he said. “I expect Mr. Ironcrust is worried I’ve forgotten about them!”
    The thieves were now so close together they looked like a fat six-armed man with a very large bill for hats.
    “Er…Watchmen aren’t allowed to kill people, right?” said one of them.
    “Not while we’re on duty,” said Vimes.
    The boldest of the three moved suddenly, grabbed Angua and pulled her upright. “We walk out of here unharmed or the girl gets it, all right?” he snarled.
    Someone sniggered.
    “I hope you’re not going to kill anyone,” said Carrot.
    “That’s up to us!”
    “Sorry, was I talking to you?” said