Thud!

would have happened to him had his second blow hit the human, graphically indicating that finding Brick’s teeth would have been secondary to finding a head to put them in.
    He’d gone on to say, though, that there might be a place in the Watch for any troll who could still stand up after a head full of Big Hammer, and maybe Brick might like to conduct his future behavior with an eye to this.
    So, Brick thought, insofar as the term could be applied to any brain activity within two days of Big Hammer, der future was looking so bright dat he had to walk along wid his eyes almost shut, although dat was probably der Big Hammer again.
    But—
    He’d heard the other trolls talking. And the watchmen, too. All dis stuff about a troll killing a dwarf down in dat new mine. Now, Brick was still certain he hadn’t killed no dwarf, even after half an ounce of Scrape. He’d gone over and over it in what currently remained of his mind. Trouble was, der Watch had all dese tricks dese days, dey could tell what a guy had for dinner just by looking at his plate. An’ he’d lost a skull down dere, too, he was sure o’ dat. Like, dey could jus’ sniff it and know it was him! Except it wasn’t him, right? ’Cos dey said der troll dropped his club, an’ Brick still had his club, ’cos he hit dat top watchman wi’ it, so maybe that was what dey called an Ally By? Yes? Despite the cerebral gurgling noise of the Big Hammer draining away from his higher brain functions, Brick suspected that it wasn’t. An’ anyway, if dey lookin’ for a troll what done der deed, and dey find out I was dere, lost a skull an’ everytin’ an’ I say, okay, I was dere but I never walloped no dwarf, de’ll say, ho yus, pull der other one, it is havin’ bells on.
    Right here, and right now, Brick was feeling a very lonely troll.
    Dere was nothin’ for it. Dere was only one person who could help him w’ dis one. It was too much t’inkin’ for one troll.
    Slinking through alleys, pressed against walls, keeping his head down, avoiding every living creature, Brick sought out Mr. Shine.

A ngua decided to go straight to Pseudopolis Yard rather than a closer Watch house. That was HQ, after all, and besides, she always kept a spare uniform in her locker.
    What was annoying was that Sally walked so easily in six-inch heels. That was vampires for you. She had taken hers off and was carrying them; it was that or turn an ankle. The Pink PussyCat Club had a fairly limited choice of footwear. There wasn’t much to choose from in the way of clothing, either, if by clothing you meant something that actually made an attempt to cover anything.
    Angua had been rather surprised that the stage wardrobe had included a female Watch outfit, but with skimpy papier-mâché armor and a skirt that was much too short to be any protection. Tawneee had explained, rather carefully, that men sometimes liked to see a pretty girl in armor. To Angua, who’d found that men she was apprehending never looked very pleased to see her , this was food for thought.
    She’d settled for a sequined gold dress, which just didn’t work. Sally had picked something simple and cut to the thigh, in blue, which, of course, had become stunning the moment she’d put it on. She looked fabulous.
    So when Angua strode into the main office, slamming the big doors back, and there was a derisory wolf-whistle, the unwise watchman found himself being pushed backwards until he was slammed against the wall. He felt two sharp points pressed against his neck as Angua growled, “You want a wolf, do you? Say no, Sergeant Angua.”
    “No, Sergeant Angua!”
    “You don’t? I was probably mistaken then, was I?” The points pressed a little harder. In the man’s mind, steely talons were about to pierce his jugular.
    “Couldn’t say for sure, Sergeant Angua!”
    “My nerves are a tad stretched right now!” Angua howled.
    “Hadn’t noticed, Sergeant Angua!”
    “We’re all a little bit on edge at the moment, wouldn’t you say!”
    “That’s ever so true, Sergeant Angua!”
    Angua let the man’s boot reach the ground. She put two black, shiny, and noticeably pointed heels into his unresisting hands.
    “Could you do me a really big favor, please, and take these back up to the Pink PussyCat Club?” she said sweetly. “They belong to someone called Sherilee, I think. Thank you.”
    She turned and looked over to the duty desk, where Carrot was watching her with his mouth open. Well aware of