Thud!

Nobby. “Just one of them…things.”
    “Nearly a nasty accident, was it?” said Vimes.
    “Yessir!”
    “Well, we don’t want any nasty accidents, do we, Nobby…”
    “Nosir!”
    “ None of us want nasty accidents, I expect,” said Vimes, looking around the room. Some of the constables, he was grimly glad to see, were sweating with the effort of not moving. “And it’s so easy to have ’em, when your mind isn’t firmly on the job. Understood?”
    There was a general muttering.
    “I can’t hear you!”
    This time there were audible riffs on the theme of “Yessir!”
    “Right,” snapped Vimes. “Now get out there and keep the peace, because as sure as hell you won’t do it in here!” He directed a special glare at Constables Brakenshield and Mica, and strode back to the main office, where he almost bumped into Sergeant Angua.
    “Sorry, sir, I was just fetching—” she began.
    “I sorted it out, don’t worry,” said Vimes. “But it was that close.”
    “Some of the dwarfs are really on edge, sir. I can smell it,” said Angua.
    “You and Fred Colon,” said Vimes.
    “I don’t think it’s just the Hamcrusher thing, sir. It’s something…dwarfish.”
    “Well, I can’t beat it out of them. And just when the day couldn’t get any worse, I’ve got to interview a damned vampire.”
    Too late Vimes saw the urgent look in Angua’s eyes.
    “Ah…I think that would be me,” said a small voice behind him.

F red Colon and Nobby Nobbs, having been rousted from their lengthy coffee break, proceeded gently up Broad Way, giving the ol’ uniform an airing. What with one thing or another, it was probably a good idea not to be back at the Yard for a while.
    They walked like men who had all day. They did have all day. They had chosen this particular street because it was busy and wide and you didn’t get too many trolls and dwarfs in this part of town. The reasoning was faultless. In lots of areas, right now, dwarfs or trolls were wandering around in groups or, alternatively, staying still in groups in case any of those wandering bastards tried any trouble in this neighborhood. There had been little flare-ups for weeks. In these areas, Nobby and Fred considered, there wasn’t much peace, so it was a waste of effort to keep what little was left of it, right? You wouldn’t try keeping sheep in places where all the sheep got eaten by wolves, right? It stood to reason. It would look silly. Whereas in big streets like Broad Way there was lots of peace, which, obviously, needed keeping. Common sense told them this was true. It was as plain as the nose on your face, and especially the one on Nobby’s face.
    “Bad business,” said Colon, as they strolled. “I’ve never seen the dwarfs like this.”
    “It always gets tricky, Sarge, just before Koom Valley Day,” Nobby observed.
    “Yeah, but Hamcrusher’s really got them on the boil and no mistake.” Colon removed his helmet and wiped his brow. “I told Sam about my water, and he was impressed.”
    “Well, he would be,” Nobby agreed. “It would impress anyone.”
    Colon tapped his nose. “There’s a storm coming, Nobby.”
    “Not a cloud in the sky, Sarge,” Nobby observed.
    “Figure of speech, Nobby, figure of speech.” Colon sighed and glanced sideways at his friend. When he continued, it was in the hesitant tones of a man with something on his mind. “As a matter of fact, Nobby, there was another matter about which, per say, I wanted to speak to you about, man to—” there was only the tiniest hesitation, “—man.”
    “Yes, Sarge?”
    “Now you know, Nobby, that I’ve always taken a pers’nal interest in your moral well-being, what with you havin’ no dad to put your feet on the proper path…”
    “That’s right, Sarge. I would have strayed no end if you hadn’t,” said Nobby virtuously.
    “Well, you know you was telling me about that girl you’re goin’ out with, what was her name, now…”
    “Tawneee, Sarge?”
    “That’s the…bunny. The one you said worked in a club, right?”
    “That’s right. Is there a problem, Sarge?” said Nobby anxiously.
    “Not as such. But when you was on your day off last week, me an’ Constable Jolson got called into the Pink PussyCat Club, Nobby. You know? There’s pole-dancing and table dancing and stuff of that nature? And you know ol’ Mrs. Spudding what lives in New Cobblers?”
    “Ol’ Mrs. Spudding with the wooden teeth, Sarge?”
    “The very same, Nobby,”