Feet of Clay

prepared to sell beer by the thimbleful or had gnome-sized mugs. Wee Mad Arthur had to go drinking in a swimming costume.
    But he liked his work. No one could clear out rats like Wee Mad Arthur. Old and cunning rats that knew all about traps, deadfalls, and poison were helpless in the face of his attack, which was where, in fact, he often attacked. The last thing they felt was a hand gripping each of their ears, and the last thing they saw was his forehead, approaching at speed.
    Muttering under his breath, Wee Mad Arthur got back to his calculations. But not for long.
    He spun around, forehead cocked.
    “It’s only us, Wee Mad Arthur,” said Sergeant Colon, stepping back hurriedly.
    “That’s Mr . Wee Mad Arthur to youse, copper,” said Wee Mad Arthur, but he relaxed a little.
    “We’re Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs,” said Colon.
    “Yeah, you remember us, don’t you?” said Nobby, in a wheedling voice. “We was the ones who helped you when you was fighting them three dwarfs last week.”
    “Yez pulled me off ’f them, if that’s what you mean,” said Wee Mad Arthur. “Just when I’d got ’em all down.”
    “We want to talk to you about some rats,” said Colon.
    “Can’t take on any more customers,” said Wee Mad Arthur firmly.
    “Some rats you sold to Gimlet’s Hole Food Delicatessen a few days ago.”
    “What’s that to yez?”
    “He reckons they was poisoned,” said Nobby, who had taken the precaution of moving behind Colon.
    “I never uses poison!”
    Colon realized he was backing away from a man six inches high. “Yeah, well…see…fing is…you being in fights and that…you don’t get on with dwarfs…some people might say…fing is…it could look like you might have a grudge.” He took another step back and almost tripped over Nobby.
    “Grudge? Why should I have a grudge, pal? It ain’t me that gets the kicking!” said Wee Mad Arthur, advancing.
    “Good point. Good point,” said Colon. “Only it’d help, right, if you could tell us…where you got those rats from…”
    “Like the Patrician’s palace, maybe,” said Nobby.
    “The palace? No one catches rats at the palace. That’s not allowed. No, I remember those rats. They wuz good fat ones, I wanted a penny each, but he held out for four for threepence, th’ ole skinflint that he is.”
    “Where did you get them, then?”
    Wee Mad Arthur shrugged. “Down the cattle market. I do the cattle market Tuesdays. Couldn’t tell yez where they came from. Them tunnels guz everywhere, see?”
    “Could they’ve eaten poison before you caught them?” said Colon.
    Wee Mad Arthur bristled. “No one puts down poison round there. I won’t have it, see? I got all the contracts along the Shambles, and I won’t deal with any gobshite who uses poison. I doesn’t charge for extermination, see? Guild hates that. But I chooses me customers.” Wee Mad Arthur grinned wickedly. “I only guz where’s there’s the finest eating for the rats and I clean up flogging ’em to the lawn ornaments. I find anyone using poison on my patch, they can pay guild rates for guild work, hah, and see how they like it.”
    “I can see you’re going to be a big man in industrial catering,” said Colon.
    Wee Mad Arthur put his head on one side. “D’youse know what happened to the last man that made a crack like that?” he said.
    “Er…no…?” said Colon.
    “Neither does anyone else,” said Wee Mad Arthur, “’cos he was never found . Have yez finished? Only I got a wasps’ nest to clean out before I go home.”
    “So you were catching them under the Shambles?” Colon persisted.
    “All the way along. ’S a good beat. There’s tanners, tallow men, butchers, sausage-makers…That’s good grazing, if you’re a rat.”
    “Yeah, right,” said Colon. “Fair enough. Well, I reckon we’ve taken up enough of your time—”
    “How d’you catch wasps?” said Nobby, intrigued. “Smoke ’em out?”
    “’Tis unsporting not to hit them on the wing,” said Wee Mad Arthur. “But if it’s a busy day I make up squibs out of that No. 1 black powder the alchemists sell.” He indicated the laden bandoliers over his shoulders.
    “You blow them up?” said Nobby. “That don’t sound too sporting.”
    “Yeah? Just ever tried settin’ and lightin’ half a dozen fuses and then fightin’ your way back out of the entrance before the first one goes off?”

    “It’s a wild-goose chase, Sarge,” said Nobby, as they