Men at Arms

There was a big workbench under a skylight. On the opposite wall was a forge and a tool rack. And a hole.
    A chunk of plaster had fallen away a few feet above the ground, and cracks radiated away from the shattered brickwork underneath.
    Vimes pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t found time to sleep today. That was another thing. He’d have to get used to sleeping when it was dark. He couldn’t remember when he’d last slept at night.
    He sniffed.
    “I can smell fireworks,” he said.
    “Could be from the forge,” said Carrot. “Anyway, trolls and dwarfs have been letting fireworks off all over the city.”
    Vimes nodded.
    “All right,” he said, “so what can we see?”
    “Someone thumped the wall pretty hard just here,” said Carrot.
    “Could have happened at any time,” said Vimes.
    “No, sir, because there’s the plaster dust underneath and a dwarf always keeps his workshop clean.”
    “Really?”
    There were various weapons, some of them half finished, on racks by the bench. Vimes picked up most of a crossbow.
    “He did good work,” he said. “Very good at mechanisms.”
    “Well known for it,” said Carrot, poking around aimlessly on the bench. “A very delicate hand. He made musical boxes for a hobby. Could never resist a mechanical challenge. Er. What are we looking for actually , sir?”
    “Not sure. Now this is good…”
    It was a war axe, and so heavy that Vimes’ arm sagged. Intricate etched lines covered the blade. It must have represented weeks of work.
    “Not your actual Saturday night special, eh?”
    “Oh no,” said Carrot, “that’s a burial weapon.”
    “I should think it is!”
    “I mean, it’s made to be buried with a dwarf. Every dwarf is buried with a weapon. You know? To take with him to…wherever he’s going.”
    “But it’s fine workmanship! And it’s got an edge like—aargh,” Vimes sucked his finger, “like a razor.”
    Carrot looked shocked. “Of course. It’d be no good him facing them with an inferior weapon.”
    “What them are you talking about?”
    “Anything bad he encounters on his journey after death,” said Carrot, a shade awkwardly.
    “Ah.” Vimes hesitated. This was an area in which he did not feel comfortable.
    “It’s an ancient tradition,” said Carrot.
    “I thought dwarfs didn’t believe in devils and demons and stuff like that.”
    “That’s true, but…we’re not sure if they know.”
    “Oh.”
    Vimes laid down the axe and picked up something else from the work rack. It was a knight in armor, about nine inches high. There was a key in its back. He turned it, and then nearly dropped the thing when the figure’s legs started to move. He put it down, and it began to march stiffly across the floor, waving its sword.
    “Moves a bit like Colon, don’t it,” said Vimes. “Clockwork!”
    “It’s the coming thing,” said Carrot. “Mr. Hammerhock was good at that.”
    Vimes nodded. “We’re looking for anything that shouldn’t be here,” he said. “Or something that should be and isn’t. Is there anything missing?”
    “Hard to say, sir. It isn’t here.”
    “What?”
    “Anything that’s missing, sir,” said Carrot conscientiously.
    “I mean,” said Vimes, patiently, “anything not here which you’d expect to find.”
    “Well, he’s got—he had —all the usual tools, sir. Nice ones, too. Shame, really.”
    “What is?”
    “They’ll be melted down, of course.”
    Vimes stared at the neat racks of hammers and files.
    “Why? Can’t some other dwarf use them?”
    “What, use another dwarf’s actual tools? ” Carrot’s mouth twisted in distaste, as though someone had suggested he wear Corporal Nobbs’ old shorts. “Oh, no, that’s not…right. I mean, they’re…part of him. I mean…someone else using them, after he’s used them all these years, I mean…urrgh.”
    “Really?”
    The clockwork soldier marched under the bench.
    “It’d feel…wrong,” said Carrot. “Er. Yukky.”
    “Oh.” Vimes stood up.
    “Capt—”
    “Ow!”
    “—mind your head. Sorry.”
    Rubbing his head with one hand, Vimes used the other to examine the hole in the plaster.
    “There’s…something in here,” he said. “Pass me one of those chisels.”
    There was silence.
    “A chisel, please. If it makes you feel any better, we are trying to find out who killed Mr. Hammerhock. All right?”
    Carrot picked one up, but with considerable reluctance.
    “This is Mr. Hammerhock’s chisel, this