Men at Arms

Yes, I can see that making a big difference to my ongoing situation. Actually,” he said, “I’m definitely on a losing streak in the hair department, so maybe a, you know, not the whole bite, maybe just a nibble—”
    “Shut up.” At least you’ve got a lady friend, Carrot had said. As if there was something on his mind…
    “A quick lick, even—”
    “Shut up.”

    “This unrest is all Vetinari’s fault,” said the Duke of Eorle. “The man has no style! So now, of course, we have a city where grocers have as much influence as barons. He even let the plumbers form a Guild! That’s against nature, in my humble opinion.”
    “It wouldn’t be so bad if he set some kind of social example,” said Lady Omnius.
    “Or even governed,” said Lady Selachii. “People seem to be able to get away with anything.”
    “I admit that the old kings were not necessarily our kind of people, toward the end,” said the Duke of Eorle, “but at least they stood for something, in my humble opinion. We had a decent city in those days. People were more respectful and knew their place. People put in a decent day’s work, they didn’t laze around all the time. And we certainly didn’t open the gates to whatever riff-raff was capable of walking through. And of course we also had law. Isn’t that so, captain?”
    Captain Samuel Vimes stared glassily at a point somewhere to the left and just above the speaker’s left ear.
    Cigar smoke hung almost motionless in the air. Vimes was dimly aware that he’d spent several hours eating too much food in the company of people he didn’t like.
    He longed for the smell of damp streets and the feel of the cobbles under his cardboard soles. A tray of post-prandial drinks was orbiting the table, but Vimes hadn’t touched it, because it upset Sybil. And she tried not to show it, and that upset him even more.
    The Bearhugger’s had worn off. He hated being sober. It meant he started to think. One of the thoughts jostling for space was that there was no such thing as a humble opinion.
    He hadn’t had much experience with the rich and powerful. Coppers didn’t, as a rule. It wasn’t that they were less prone to commit crimes, it was just that the crimes they committed tended to be so far above the normal level of criminality that they were beyond the reach of men with bad boots and rusting mail. Owning a hundred slum properties wasn’t a crime, although living in one was, almost. Being an Assassin—the Guild never actually said so, but an important qualification was being the son or daughter of a gentleman—wasn’t a crime. If you had enough money, you could hardly commit crimes at all. You just perpetrated amusing little peccadilloes.
    “And now everywhere you look it’s uppity dwarfs and trolls and rude people,” said Lady Selachii. “There’s more dwarfs in Ankh-Morpork now than there are in any of their own cities, or whatever they call their holes.”
    “What do you think, captain?” said the Duke of Eorle.
    “Hmm?” Captain Vimes picked up a grape and started turning it over and over in his fingers.
    “The current ethnic problem.”
    “Are we having one?”
    “Well, yes…Look at Quarry Lane. There’s fighting there every night!”
    “And they have absolutely no concept of religion!”
    Vimes examined the grape minutely. What he wanted to say was: Of course they fight. They’re trolls . Of course they bash one another with clubs—trollish is basically body language and, well, they like to shout. In fact, the only one who ever gives anyone any real trouble is that bastard Chrysoprase, and that’s only because he apes humans and is a quick learner. As for religion, troll gods were hitting one another with clubs ten thousand years before we’d even stopped trying to eat rocks.
    But the memory of the dead dwarf stirred something perverse in his soul.
    He put the grape back on his plate.
    “Definitely,” he said. “In my view, the godless bastards should be rounded up and marched out of the city at spearpoint.”
    There was a moment’s silence.
    “It’s no more than they deserve,” Vimes added.
    “Exactly! They’re barely more than animals,” said Lady Omnius. Vimes suspected her first name was Sara.
    “Have you noticed how massive their heads are?” said Vimes. “That’s really just rock. Very small brains.”
    “And morally, of course…” said Lord Eorle.
    There was a murmur of vague agreement. Vimes reached for his glass.
    “Willikins, I