Thud!

shortly.
    “Dat will not be a problem,” said the troll. He indicated a small box, about a foot square, beside the crate. It was far too small to contain a whole troll.
    Vimes tried to ignore it, but found this hard.
    “Was that all you wanted to see me for?” he said, trying to stop his imagination playing its homemade horrors across his inner eyeballs.
    “Smokin’, Mr. Vimes?” Chrysophrase said, flipping open the case. “Der ones on der left is okay for humans. Finest kind.”
    “I’ve got my own,” said Vimes, pulling out a battered packet. “What is this about ? I’m a busy man.”
    Chrysophrase lit a silvery troll cigar and took a long pull. There was a smell like burning tin.
    “Yeah, busy because dat ol’ dwarf dies,” he said, not looking at Vimes.
    “Well?”
    “It was no troll done it,” said Chrysophrase.
    “How do you know?”
    Now the troll looked directly at Vimes. “If it was, I would have foun’ out by now. I bin askin’ questions.”
    “So are we.”
    “I bin askin’ questions more louder,” said the troll. “I get lotsa answers. Sometimes I am gettin’ answers to questions I ain’t even asked yet.”
    I bet you are, Vimes thought. I have to obey rules.
    “Why should you care who kills a dwarf?” he said.
    “Mister Vimes! I am a honest citizen! It my public duty to care!” Chrysophrase watched Vimes’s face to see how this was playing, and grinned. “All dis stoopid Koom Valley t’ing is bad for bidness. People are getting edgy, pokin’ around, askin’ questions. I am sittin’ dere gettin’ nervous. An’ den I hear my ol’ friend Mister Vimes is on der case and I am thinkin’, dat Mister Vimes, he may be very insensitive to de nu-unces of troll culture sometimes, but der man is straight as a arrow and der are on him no flies. He will see where dis so-called troll left his club behind an’ he is laughin’ his head off, it is so see-through like glass! Some dwarf did it an’ want to make de trolls look bad, Kew Eee Dee.”
    He sat back.
    “What club?” said Vimes quietly.
    “What’s dat?”
    “I haven’t mentioned a club. There was nothing in the paper about a troll club.”
    “Dear Mister Vimes, dat’s what der lawn ornaments is sayin’,” said Chrysophrase.
    “And dwarfs talk to you, do they?” said Vimes.
    The troll looked thoughtfully at the roof, and blew out more smoke.
    “Eventually,” he said. “But dat’s jus’ detail. Jus’ between you an’ me, here an’ now. We unnerstan’ dese t’ings. It is clear as anyt’ing dat der crazy dwarfs had a fight, or der ol’ dwarf died o’ bein alive too long, or—”
    “—or you asked him a few questions?”
    “No callin’ for dat, Mister Vimes. Dat club is nothin’ but a red dried swimmin’ thing. Der dwarfs put it dere.”
    “Or a troll did the murder, dropped his club, and ran,” said Vimes. “Or he was clever, and thought ‘No one would believe a troll would be so stupid as to leave his club, so if I do leave it, the dwarfs will get the blame.’ ”
    “Hey, good job it so cold in here or I wouldn’t be followin’ you!” Chrysophrase laughed. “But den I ask, a troll gets into a nest o’ dem lousy deep-downers and lays out jus’ one? No way, Hose, eh! He’d whack as many of ’em as he could, thud, thud!”
    He looked at Vimes’s puzzlement and sighed.
    “See, any troll gettin’ in dere, he’d be a mad troll to start wid. You know how der kids are all wound up? People bin feeding dem dat honor an’ glory an’ destiny stuff, dat coprolite rots your brain faster’n Slab, faster even dan Slide. From what I am hearin’, der dwarf got knocked off for-rensic , all slick an’ quiet. We don’t do dat, Mister Vimes. You played der game, you know it. Get a troll in der middle o’ a load of dwarfs, he is like a fox in der…dem fings wi’ wings, layin’ dem egg fings…”
    “Fox in a henhouse?”
    “Dat’s der—you know, fur, big ears—”
    “Bunny?!”
    “Right! Bash one dwarf an’ sneak out? No troll’d stop at one, Mister Vimes. It’s like you people an’ peanuts. Der game got dat right.”
    “What’s this game?”
    “You never played Thud?” Chrysophrase looked surprised.
    “Oh, that . I don’t play games,” said Vimes. “And on the subject of Slab, you do run the biggest pipeline. Just between you and me, here and now.”
    “Nah, I’m out o’ dat whole thing,” said Chrysophrase, waving his cigar dismissively. “You could say I am