Men at Arms

dealing here,” said Vimes, “with a twisted mind.”
    “Oh, no! You think so?”
    “Yes.”
    “But…no…you can’t be right. Because Nobby was with us all the time.”
    “ Not Nobby,” said Vimes testily. “Whatever he might do to a dragon, I doubt if he’d make it explode. There’s stranger people in this world than Corporal Nobbs, my lad.”
    Carrot’s expression slid into a rictus of intrigued horror.
    “Gosh,” he said.

    Sergeant Colon surveyed the butts. Then he removed his helmet and wiped his forehead.
    “I think perhaps Lance-Constable Angua shouldn’t have another go with the longbow until we’ve worked out how to stop her…her getting in the way.”
    “Sorry, sergeant.”
    They turned to Detritus, who was standing sheepishly behind a heap of broken longbows. Crossbows were out of the question. They sat in his massive hands like a hairpin. In theory the longbow would be a deadly weapon in his hands, just as soon as he mastered the art of when to let go.
    Detritus shrugged.
    “Sorry, mister,” he said. “Bows aren’t troll weapon.”
    “Ha!” said Colon. “As for you, Lance-Constable Cuddy—”
    “Just can’t get the hang of aiming, sergeant.”
    “I thought dwarfs were famous for their skills in battle!”
    “Yeah, but…not these skills,” said Cuddy.
    “Ambush,” murmured Detritus.
    Since he was a troll, the murmur bounced off distant buildings. Cuddy’s beard bristled.
    “You devious troll, I get my—”
    “Well now,” said Sergeant Colon quickly, “I think we’ll stop training. You’ll have to…sort of pick it up as you go along, all right?”
    He sighed. He was not a cruel man, but he’d been either a soldier or a guard all his life, and he was feeling put-upon. Otherwise he wouldn’t have said what he said next.
    “I don’t know, I really don’t. Fighting among yourselves, smashing your own weapons…I mean, who do we think we’re fooling? Now, it’s nearly noon, you take a few hours off, we’ll see you again tonight. If you think it’s worth turning up.”
    There was a spang! noise. Cuddy’s crossbow had gone off in his hand. The bolt whiffled past Corporal Nobbs’ ear and landed in the river, where it stuck.
    “Sorry,” said Cuddy.
    “Tsk, tsk,” said Sergeant Colon.
    That was the worst part. It would have been better all round if he’d called the dwarf some names. It would have been better if he’d made it seem that Cuddy was worth an insult.
    He turned around and walked off towards Pseudopolis Yard.
    They heard his muttered comment.
    “What him say?” said Detritus.
    “‘A fine body of men ’,” said Angua, going red.
    Cuddy spat on the ground, which didn’t take long on account of its closeness. Then he reached under his cloak and produced, like a conjuror extracting a size 10 rabbit from a size 5 hat, his double-headed battle axe. And started to run.
    By the time he reached the virginal target he was a blur. There was a rip and the dummy exploded like a nuclear haystack.
    The other two wandered up and inspected the result, as pieces of chaff gently drifted to the ground.
    “Yes, all right,” said Angua. “But he did say you’re supposed to be able to ask them questions afterwards.”
    “He didn’t say they’ve got to be able to answer them,” said Cuddy grimly.
    “Lance-Constable Cuddy, deduct one dollar for target,” said Detritus, who already owed eleven dollars for bows.
    “‘If it’s worth turning up’!” said Cuddy, losing the axe somewhere about his person again. “Speciesist!”
    “I don’t think he meant it that way,” said Angua.
    “Ho, it’s all right for you ,” said Cuddy.
    “Why?”
    “’Cos you a man ,” said Detritus.
    Angua was bright enough to pause for a moment to think this over.
    “A woman,” she said.
    “Same thing.”
    “Only in broad terms. Come on, let’s go and have a drink…”
    The transient moment of camaraderie in adversity completely evaporated.
    “Drink with a troll?”
    “Drink with a dwarf?”
    “All right,” said Angua. “How about you and you coming and having a drink with me? ”
    Angua removed her helmet and shook out her hair. Female trolls don’t have hair, although the more fortunate ones are able to cultivate a fine growth of lichen, and a female dwarf is more likely to be complimented on the silkiness of her beard than on her scalp. But it was just possible the sight of Angua scraped little sparks off some shared, ancient, cosmic maleness.
    “I