Thud!

another. And, somehow, the water went away.
    There were things, glittering, possibly magical, half seen in dark archways as they passed. And odd chanting. He knew dwarfish, in a the-axe-of-my-aunt-is-in-your-head kind of way, and it didn’t sound like that at all. It sounded like short words rattled out at very high speed.
    And with every turn he felt the anger coming back. They were being led in circles, weren’t they? For no reason other than pique. Ardent forged ahead, leaving Vimes to blunder along behind and occasionally bump his head.
    His temper was bubbling. This was nothing more than a bloody runaround! The dwarf didn’t care about the law, about him, about the world above. They undermine our city and they don’t obey our laws! There had been a damn murder. He admits it! Why am I putting up with this…this stupid playacting!
    He was passing yet another tunnel mouth, but this one had a piece of board nailed across it. He pulled out his sword, yelled, “I wonder what’s down here?,” smashed the board, and set off down the tunnel with Angua following.
    “Is this wise, sir?” she whispered, as they plunged along.
    “No. But I’ve had it up to here with Mr. Ardent,” Vimes growled. “I tell you, another twisty tunnel and I’ll be back here with the heavy mob, politics or not.”
    “Calm down, sir!”
    “Well, everything he says and does is an insult! It makes my blood boil!” said Vimes, striding onwards and ignoring the shouts of Ardent behind him.
    “There’s a door ahead, sir!”
    “All right, I’m not blind! Just half-blind!” Vimes snapped.
    He reached out. The big, round door had a wheel in its center, and dwarf runes chalked all over it.
    “Can you read them, Sergeant?”
    “Er…‘Mortal Danger! Flooding! No Entry!’ ” said Angua. “More or less, sir. They’re pressure doors. I’ve seen these used before, in other mines.”
    “Chained shut, too,” said Vimes, reaching out. “Looks like solid iron—ow!”
    “Sir?”
    “Gashed my hand on a nail!” Vimes rammed his hand into a pocket, where, without fail, Sybil saw to it that a clean handkerchief was lodged on a daily basis.
    “A nail in an iron door, sir?” said Angua, looking closely.
    “A rivet, then. Can’t see a thing in this gloom. Why they—”
    “You must follow me. This is a mine! There are dangers!” said Ardent, catching up with them.
    “You still get flooding?” said Vimes.
    “It is to be expected! We know how to cope! Now, stay close to me!”
    “I’ll be more inclined to do that, sir , if I thought were taking a direct route!” said Vimes. “Otherwise I might look for shortcuts!”
    “We are nearly there, Commander,” said Ardent, walking away. “Nearly there!”

A imless and hopeless, the troll wandered…
    His name was Brick, although currently he couldn’t remember this. His head ached. It really ached. It was der Scrape that did it. What did dey always say? When you sinkin’ to where you was cookin’ up Scrape, you was so low even der cockroaches had to bend down to spit on you?
    Last night…what had happenin’? What bits did he see, what bits did he do, what bits in der thumpin,’ scaldin’ cauldron of his brain were real? The bit with der giant wooly elephants, dey prob’ly weren’t real. He was pretty sure there weren’t any giant wooly elephants in dis city, ’cos if der were, he would’ve seen ’em before, and dere’d be big steamin’ turds in der streets an’ similar, you wouldn’t miss ’em…
    He was called Brick because he had been born in the city, and trolls, being made of metamorphorical rock, ofter take on the nature of the local rocks. His hide was a dirty orange, with a network of horizontal and vertical lines; if Brick stood up close to a wall, he was quite hard to see. But most people didn’t see Brick anyway. He was the kind of person whose mere existence is an insult to all decent folk, in their opinion.
    Dat mine wi’ dem dwarfs, was dat real? You go an’ find a place to lie down and watch der pretty pichturs, suddenly you’re in dis dwarf hole? That couldna bin real! Only…word on der street was dat some troll had got into a dwarf hole, yeah, and everyone was lookin’ for dat troll an’ not to shake him by der han’…Der word said der Breccia wanted to find out real hard, and by der sound of it dey were not happy. Not happy that some dwarf who’d been puttin’ der bad word on the clans was off’ed by a troll? Were dey mad? Actually,