`On whose orders?' said Vimes.

`Someone called Ardent, apparently. He's Hamcrusher's ... interpreter, I suppose you could say. He says it's dwarf business.

`But this is Ankh-Morpork, captain. And murder is Murder.' `Yes, sir.'

`And we are the City Watch,' Vimes went on. `It says so on the

door.'

`Actually it mostly says "Copers are Barstuds" on the door at the

moment, but I've got someone scrubbing it off,' said Carrot. `And

'That means if anyone gets murdered, we're responsible,' said

Vimes.

`I know what you mean, sir,' said Carrot carefully. `Does Vetinari know?'

`I can't imagine that he doesn't.'

`Me neither.' Vimes thought for a moment. `What about the

Times? There's plenty of dwarfs working there.

`I'd be surprised if they passed it on to humans, sir. I only got to

hear about it because I'm a dwarf and Ringfounder really wants

to make sergeant and frankly I overheard them, but I doubt if the

printing dwarfs would mention it to the editor.'

`Are you telling me, captain, that dwarfs in the Watch would keep

a murder secret?'

Carrot looked shocked. `Oh no, sir!' `Good!

'They'd just keep it secret from humans. Sorry, sir.

The important thing is not to shout at this point, Vimes told

himself. Do not ... what do they call it ... go spare? Treat this as a

learning exercise. Find out why the world is not as you thought it

was. Assemble the facts, digest the information, consider the implications. Then go spare. But with precision.

`Dwarfs have always been law-abiding citizens, captain,' he said. `They even pay their taxes. Suddenly they think it's okay not to report a possible murder?'

Carrot could see the steely glint in Vimes's eyes. `Well, the fact is-'he began.

`Yes?'

`You see, Hamcrusher is a deep-down dwarf, sir. I mean really deep down. Hates coming to the surface. They say he lives at subsub-basement level. ..'

`I know all that. So?'

`So how far down does our jurisdiction go, sir?' said Carrot. `What? As far down as we like!'

`Er, does it say that anywhere, sir? Most of the dwarfs here are from Copperhead and Llamedos and Uberwald,' said Carrot. `Those places have surface laws and underground laws. I know it's not the same here but ... well, it's how they see the world. And of course Hamcrusher's dwarfs are all deep-downers, and you know how ordinary dwarfs think about them.'

They come bloody close to worshipping them, Vimes thought, pinching the bridge of his nose and shutting his eyes. It just gets worse and worse.

`All right,' he said. `But this is Ankh-Morpork and we have our own laws. There can be no harm in us just checking up on the health of brother Hamcrusher, can there? We can knock on the door, can't we? Say we've got good reason to ask? I know it's only a rumour, but if enough people believe a rumour like that we will not be able to keep a lid on it.'

`Good idea, sir.'

`Go and tell Angua I want her along. And ... oh, Haddock. And Ringfounder, maybe. You come too, of course.' `Er, not a good idea, sir. I happen to know most deep-downers

are nervous about me. They believe I'm too human to be a dwarf.'

`Really?'

Six feet three inches in his stockinged feet, thought Vimes. Adopted and raised by dwarfs in a little dwarf mine in the mountains. His dwarfish name is Kzad-bhat, which means Head Banger. He coughed. `Why on earth should they think that, I wonder?' he said.

`All right, I know I'm ... technically human, sir, but size has traditionally never been a dwarfish definition of a dwarf. Hamcrusher's group aren't happy about me, though.'

`Sorry to hear it. I'll take Cheery, then.'

`Are you mad, sir? You know what they think about female dwarfs who actually admit it!'

`All right, then, I'll take Sergeant Detritus. They'll believe in him all right, won't they?'

`Could be said to be a bit provocative, sir-' Carrot began doubtfully.

`Detritus is an Ankh-Morpork copper, captain, just like you and me,' said Vimes. `I suppose I'm acceptable, am I?

'Yes, sir, of course. I think you worry them, though.'

`I do? Oh: Vimes hesitated. `Well, that's good. And Detritus is an officer of the law. We've still got some law here. And as far as I'm concerned, it goes deep. All the way down.'

Bloody stupid thing to say, Vimes thought five minutes later as he walked through the streets at the head of the little squad. He cursed himself for saying it.

Coppers stayed alive by trickery. That's how it worked. You had your Watch Houses with the big blue lights outside, and you made certain there were always burly watchmen visible in the big public places, and you swanked around like you owned the place. But you didn't own it. It was all smoke and mirrors. You magicked a little policeman into everyone's head. You relied on people giving in, knowing the rules. But in truth a hundred well-armed people could wipe out the Watch, if they knew what they were doing. Once some madman finds out that a copper taken unawares dies just like anyone else, the spell is broken.

Hamcrusher's dwarfs don't believe in the City Watch? That could turn out to be a problem. Maybe bringing a troll along was provocative, but Detritus was a citizen, gods damn it, just like everyone else. If you-

'Duddle-dum-duddle-dum-duddle-dum!'

Ah, yes. No matter how bad things were, there was always room for them to get just that little bit worse ...

He pulled the smart brown box out of his pocket and flipped it open. The pointy-eared face of a small green imp stared up at him with that wistful, hopeless smile which, in its various incarnations, he'd come to know and dread.

`Good Morning, Insert Name Here! I am the Dis-Organizer Mark Five, "The Gooseberry"TM. How may I-' it began, speaking fast in order to get as much said as possible before the inevitable interruption.

`I swear I switched you off,' said Vimes.

`You threatened me with a hammer,' said the imp accusingly, and rattled the tiny bars. `He threatens state-of-the-Craft technomancy with a hammer, everybody!' it shouted. `He doesn't even fill in the registration card! That's why I have to call him Insert Nam-'

`I thought you'd got rid of that thing, sir,' said Angua as Vimes snapped the lid shut. `I thought it had had an ... accident.' 'Hah!' said a muffled voice from the box.

'Sybil always gets me a new one,' said Vimes, making a face. `A better one. But I know this one was turned off.'

The box's lid thrust upwards.

`I wake up for alarms!' the imp shrieked. `Ten colon Forty-Five Sit

for Damn Portrait!'

Vimes groaned. The portrait with Sir Joshua. He'd get into

trouble for this. He'd already missed two sittings. But this dwarf

thing was ... important.

`I won't be able to make it,' he mumbled.

`Then would you like to engage the handy-to-use Bluenose tm

Integrated Messenger Service?'

`What does that do?' said Vimes with deep suspicion. The

succession of Dis-Organizers he had owned had proved quite

successful at very nearly sorting out all the problems that stemmed

from owning them in the first place.

`Er, basically, it means me running with a message to the nearest

clacks tower really fast,' said the imp hopefully.

`And do you come back?' said Vimes, hope also rising.

`Absolutely!'

`Thank you, no,' said Vimes.

`How about a game of Splong!TM, specially devised for the Mark

Five?' pleaded the imp. `I have the bats right here. No? Perhaps you

would prefer the ever-popular Guess My Weight in Pigs? Or I could

whistle one of your favourite tunes? My iHUM tm function enables

me to remember up to one thousand five hundred of your