Thud!

very loud.
    “I think this, Mr. Pessimal, is the point where we wake up Commander Vimes.”

T here was an old military saying that Fred Colon used to describe total bewilderment and confusion. An individual in that state, according to Fred, “couldn’t tell if it was arsehole or breakfast time.”
    This had always puzzled Vimes. He wondered what research had been done. Even now, with his mouth tasting of warmed-over yesterday and everything curiously sharp in his vision, he thought he’d be able to tell the difference. Only one was likely to include a cup of coffee, for a start.
    He had one now, ergo, it was breakfast time. Actually, it was near lunchtime, but that would have to do.
    The troll known to everyone else and occasionally to himself as Brick was seated in one of the big troll cells, but in deference to the fact that no one could decide if he was a prisoner or not, the door had been left unlocked. The understanding was that, provided he didn’t try to leave, no one would stop him leaving. Brick was engulfing his third bowl of mineral-rich mud that, to a troll, was nourishing soup.
    “What is Scrape?” Vimes said, leaning back in the room’s one spare chair and staring at Brick as a zoologolist might eye a fascinating but highly unpredictable new species. He’d put the stone book from the mysterious Mr. Shine on the table by the bowl, to see if it got any reaction, but the troll paid it no attention.
    “Scrape? You don’t see it much dese days now dat Slab’s so damn cheap,” rumbled Detritus, who was watching his new find with a proprietorial air, like a mother hen watching a chick who was about to leave the nest. “It what you ‘scrape up,’ see? It few bits o’ drain-grade Slab boiled up in a tin wi’ alcohol and pigeon droppin’s. It what der street trolls make when dey is short o’ cash an’…what is it dey’s short of, Brick?”
    The moving spoon paused. “Dey is short o’ self-respec’, Sergeant,” he said, as one might who’d had the lesson shouted into his ear for twenty minutes.
    “By Io, he got it!” said Detritus, slapping the skinny Brick on the back so hard that the young troll dropped his spoon into the steaming gloop. “But dis lad has promised me all dat is behind him and he is damn straight now, on account o’ havin’ joined my One-Step Program! Ain’t dat so, Brick? No more Slab, Scrape, Slice, Slide, Slunkie, Slurp, or Sliver for dis boy, right?”
    “Yes, Sergeant,” said Brick obediently.
    “Sergeant, why do the names of all troll drugs start with s ?” said Vimes.
    “Ah, it make dem easier to remember, sir,” said Detritus, nodding sagely.
    “Ah, of course. I hadn’t spotted that,” said Vimes. “Has Sergeant Detritus explained to you why he calls it a one-step program, Brick?”
    “Er…’cos he won’t let me put a foot wrong, sir?” said Brick, as if reading it off a card.
    “An’ Brick here’s got something else to say to you, haven’t you, Brick?” said the maternal Detritus. “Go on, tell Mister Vimes.”
    Brick looked down at the table. “Sorry I tried to kill you, Mister Vimes,” he whispered.
    “Well, we’ll see about that, shall we?” said Vimes, for something better to say. “By the way, I think you meant Mister Vimes, and I prefer it if only people who’ve fought alongside me call me Mister Vimes.”
    “Well, technic’ly Brick has fought—” Detritus began, but Vimes put down his coffee mug firmly. His ribs were aching.
    “No, ‘in front of’ is not the same thing as ‘alongside,’ Sergeant,” he said. “It really isn’t.”
    “Not really his fault, sir, it was more a case o’ mis-taken identity,” Detritus protested.
    “You mean he didn’t know who I was?” said Vimes. “That didn’t seem to—”
    “Nosir. He didn’t know who he was, sir. He thought he was a bunch o’ lights and fireworks. Trust me, sir, I reckon I can make something o’ this one. Please? Sir, he was out o’ his brain on Big Hammer and still he was walkin’ about!”
    Vimes stared at Detritus a moment, and then looked back at Brick.
    “Mr. Brick, tell me how you got into the mine, will you?” he said.
    “I told the other polisman—” Brick began.
    “Now you tell Mister Vimes!” growled Detritus. “Right now!”
    It took a little while, with pauses for bits of Brick’s mind to shunt into position, but Vimes assembled it like this:
    The wretched Brick had been cooking up Scrape with some fellow gutter trolls in