Snuff

of the scintillating rainbow that they had just seen. But on the other side of this cave another goblin was trying to look inconspicuous as it worked on what was probably another pot. Vimes stepped over to it with care, because it was holding its pot as if prepared to use it to defend itself.
    Casually, to show that he meant no harm, Vimes put his arms behind his back and said in tones learned from his wife, ‘My word! That looks like a very good pot. Tell me, how do you make a pot, sir? Can you tell me?’
    The potter looked down at the thing in its hands, or the thing in its claws if you wanted to be nasty, and perhaps slightly more accurate, and said, ‘I make the pot.’ It raised the work in progress.
    Vimes wasn’t that good at stone which wasn’t part of masonry, but this one was slightly yellow and shiny. He said, ‘Yes, I can see that, but how do you actually make the pot?’
    Once again, the potter sought enlightenment from the universe, looking up and down and everywhere that Vimes wasn’t. At last inspiration dawned. ‘I make pot.’
    Vimes nodded gravely. ‘Thank you for sharing the secrets of your success,’ he said, and turned to Feeney. ‘Come on, let’s keep going.’
    It seemed that a goblin cave – or lair or burrow, depending on what effect you wanted to give – was not quite the hellhole that you might have thought. Instead it was just, well, a hole, stuffy with the smoke of the innumerable small fires goblins appeared to need, along with the associated small pile of rotted kindling, and not forgetting the personal midden.
    Goblins old and young watched them carefully as they passed, as if expecting them to put on a programme of entertainment. There were certainly juvenile goblins. Vimes had to admit that alone among the talking species, goblin babies were plug ugly, merely small versions of their parents who themselves were no oil paintings, and not even a watercolour. Vimes told himself that they could not help it, that some incompetent god had found a lot of bits left over, and decided that the world needed a creature that looked like a cross between a wolf and an ape, and gave them what was surely one of the most unhelpful pieces of religious dogma, even by the standards of celestial idiocy. They looked like the bad guys and, without the intervention of the Summoning Dark, they sounded like them, too. If walnuts could shriek when they were being cracked, then people would say, ‘Doesn’t that remind you of a goblin?’ And it appeared that, not content with all this, the laughing god had apparently given them that worst of gifts, self-knowledge, leaving them so certain that they were irrevocably walking rubbish that metaphorically they couldn’t even find the energy to clean the step.
    ‘Oh, blast! I’m treading on something … in something,’ said Feeney. ‘You seem to be able to see much better than me down here, sir.’
    ‘Good clean living, lad, carrots and whatnot.’
    ‘Jefferson could be in here somewhere. I’m sure there are caves that we’re missing.’
    ‘I know he’s not in here, lad, only don’t ask me how I know because I would have to lie to you. I’m going through the motions to help myself think. It’s an old copper trick.’
    ‘Yes, sir, treading in every motion, I should think!’
    Vimes smiled in the gloom. ‘Well done, lad. A sense of humour is the copper’s friend. I always say the day isn’t complete without a little chuckle—’ He paused because something had clanged against his helmet. ‘We’ve reached Jefferson’s iron workings, my lad. I just found an oil lamp; I certainly haven’t seen those higher up.’ He felt in his pocket and soon a match flame bloomed.
    Well, Vimes thought, it’s not that much of a mine, but I bet it works out better than paying dwarf prices.
    ‘I can’t see any way out,’ Feeney volunteered. ‘I suppose he drags the ore out through the main entrance.’
    ‘I don’t think that the goblins are stupid enough to live in a set of caves that have just one entrance. There’s probably one that doesn’t even show up on the outside. Look, you can see where somebody’s been lugging heavy weights across the stone—’ Vimes stopped. There was another human in the cave. Well, thank you, darkness, he thought. I suppose asking who it is might be in order?
    ‘Sir, I don’t think it’s just mining that goes on here. Take a look at these,’ said Feeney, behind Vimes.
    Feeney held out some books,