Thud!

Times , in which a leading article deplored the gangs stalking the city and wondered if the Watch was “up to the job” of cleaning up the streets.
    Well, yes, I think we are, you pompous twerp. Vimes struck a match on a plinth and lit a cigar in recognition of a petty but darkly satisfying triumph. Gods knew they needed one. The Watch had taken a pounding over the whole damn Koom Valley thing, and it was good to hand the lads something to be proud of for a change. All in all, it was definitely a Result—
    He stared at the plinth. He didn’t remember what statue had once been there. It celebrated generations of graffiti artists now.
    A piece of troll graffiti adorned it now, obliterating everything done by the artists who used mere paint. He read:
    MR . SHINE !
    HIM DIAMOND !
    Mine sign, city scrawl, he thought. Thing go bad, and people are moved to write on the walls…“Commander!”
    He turned. Captain Carrot, armor gleaming, was hurrying toward him, his face, as usual, radiating an expression of a hundred percent pure Keen.
    “I thought I told everyone not on prisoner duty to get some sleep, Captain?” said Vimes.
    “Just clearing up a few things, sir,” said Carrot. “Lord Vetinari sent a message down to the Yard. He wants a report. I thought I’d better tell you, sir.”
    “I was just thinking, Captain,” said Vimes expansively. “Should we put up a little plaque? Something simple? It could say something like BATTLE OF KOOM VALLEY NOT FOUGHT HERE , GRUNE THE 5 TH , YEAR OF THE PRAWN . Could we get them to do a bloody stamp? What do you think?”
    “I think you need to get some sleep yourself, Commander,” said Carrot. “And technically, it isn’t Koom Valley until Saturday.”
    “Of course, monuments to battles that didn’t take place might be stretching things a bit, but a stamp—”
    “Lady Sybil really worries about you, sir.” Carrot broadcast concern.
    The fizz in Vimes’s head subsided. As if awakened by the reference to Sybil, the debtors of his body queued up to wave their overdue IOUs: feet—dead tired and in need of a bath; stomach—gurgling; ribs—on fire; back—aching; brain—drunk on its own poisons. Bath, sleep, eat…good ideas. But still must do things…
    “How’s our Mr. Pessimal?” he said.
    “Igor’s fixed him up, sir. He’s a bit amazed at all the fuss. Now, I know I can’t order you to go and see his lordship—”
    “No, you can’t, because I am a commander , Captain,” said Vimes, still fuzzily intoxicated on exhaustion.
    “—but he can and he has , sir. And your coach will be waiting for you outside the palace when you come out. That’s Lady Sybil’s orders, sir,” said Carrot, appealing to higher authority.
    Vimes looked up at the ugly bulk of the palace. Suddenly, clean sheets seemed such a sweet idea.
    “Can’t face him like this,” he murmured.
    “I had a word with Secretary Drumknott, sir. Hot water, a razor, and a big cup of coffee will be waiting in the palace.”
    “You thought of everything, Carrot…”
    “I hope so, sir. Now off you—”
    “But I thought of something , eh?” said Vimes, swaying cheerfully. “Better dead drunk than just dead, eh?”
    “It was a classic ruse, sir,” said Carrot reassuringly. “One for the history books. Now, off you go, sir. I’m going to have a look for Angua. She hasn’t slept in her bed.”
    “But at this time of the month—”
    “I know, sir. She hasn’t slept in her basket, either.”

I n a dank cellar that once was an attic and was now half-full of mud, the vurms poured out of a small hole where wooden planks had long since worn away.
    A fist punched up. Soggy timber split and crumbled.
    Angua pulled herself up into this new darkness, then reached down to help Sally, who said: “Well, here’s another fine mess.”
    “Let’s hope so,” said Angua. “I think we need to go up at least one more level. There’s an archway here. Come on.”
    There had been too many dead ends, forgotten stinking rooms and false hopes, and altogether too much slime.
    After a while, the smell became almost tangible, and then it managed to become just another part of the darkness. The women wandered and scrambled from one dripping, fetid room to another, testing the muddy walls for hidden doors, searching for even a pinprick of light in the ceilings hanging with interesting but horrible growths.
    Now they heard music. Five minutes wading and slithering brought them to a blocked-in doorway, but