Thud!

grimly.
    “Indeed there is, sir. It portrays a small, nervous vampire and, if I may say so, a rather larger-than-life drawing of yourself leaning over your desk, holding a wooden stake in your right hand. The caption is ‘Any good on a stakeout, eh?,’ sir, this being a humorous wordplay referring, on the one hand, to the standard police procedure—”
    “Yes, I think I can just about spot it,” said Vimes wearily. “Any chance you could nip down and buy the original before Sybil does? Every time they run a cartoon of me, she gets hold of it and hangs it up in the library!”
    “Mr., er, Fizz does capture a very good likeness, sir,” the butler conceded. “And I regret to say that her ladyship has already instructed me to go down to the Times office on her behalf.”
    Vimes groaned.
    “Moreover, sir,” Willikins went on, “her ladyship desired me to remind you that she and Young Sam will meet at the studio of Sir Joshua at eleven sharp, sir. The painting is at an important stage, I gather.”
    “But I—”
    “She was very specific, sir. She said if a commander of police cannot take time off, who can?”

O ne little light illuminated the cellar, which was to say that it lent different textures to the darkness and divided shadow from darker shadow.
    The figures barely showed up at all. It was quite impossible, with normal eyes, to tell who was talking.
    “This is not to be talked about, do you understand?”
    “Not talked about? He’s dead !”
    “This is dwarf business! It’s not to come to the ears of the City Watch! They have no place here! Do any of us want them down here?”
    “They do have dwarf officers—”
    “Hah. D’rkza . Too much time in the sun. They’re just short humans now. Do they think dwarf? And Vimes will dig and dig and wave the silly rags and tatters they call laws. Why should we allow such a violation? Besides, this is hardly a mystery. Only a troll could have done it, agreed? I said, are we agreed ?”
    “That is what happened,” said a figure; the voice was thin and old and, in truth, uncertain.
    “Indeed, it was a troll,” said another voice, almost the twin of that one, but with a little more assurance.
    The subsequent pause was underlined by the ever-present sound of the pumps.
    “It could only have been a troll,” said the first voice. “And is it not said that behind every crime you will find the troll?”

T here was a small crowdoutside the Watch House in Pseudopolis Yard when Commander Sam Vimes arrived at work. It had been a fine sunny morning up until then. Now it was still sunny, but nothing like as fine.
    The crowd had placards. BLOODSUCKERS OUT !!, Vimes read, and NO FANGS ! Faces turned toward him with a sullen, half-frightened defiance.
    He uttered a bad word under his breath, but only just.
    Otto Chriek, the Times iconographer, was standing nearby, holding a sunshade and looking dejected. He caught Vimes’s eye and trudged over.
    “What’s in this for you, Otto?” said Vimes. “Come to get a picture of a jolly good riot, have you?”
    “It’s news, Commander,” said Otto, looking down at his very shiny shoes.
    “Who tipped you off?”
    “I just do zer pictures, Commander,” said Otto, looking up with a hurt expression. “Anyvay, I couldn’t tell you even if I knew, because of zer Freedom of the Press.”
    “Freedom to pour oil on a flame, d’you mean?” Vimes demanded.
    “Zat’s freedom for you,” said Otto. “No-vun said it vas nice .”
    “But…well, you’re a vampire, too!” said Vimes, waving a hand toward the protesters. “Do you like what’s been stirred up?”
    “It’s still news, Commander,” said Otto meekly.
    Vimes glared at the crowd again. It was mostly human. There was one troll, although, admittedly, the troll had probably joined in on general principle, simply because something was happening. A vampire would need a masonry drill and a lot of patience before it could put a troll to any trouble. Still, there was one good thing, if you could call it that—this little sideshow took people’s minds off Koom Valley.
    “It’s strange that they don’t seem to mind you , Otto,” he said, calming down a little.
    “Vell, I’m not official,” said Otto. “I do not haf zer sword und zer badge. I do not threaten. I am just a vorking stiff. And I make zem laff.”
    Vimes stared at the man. He’s never thought about that before. But yes…Little fussy Otto, in his red-lined black opera cloak with pockets