Terry Pratchett: Thud

it, right? You wouldn't try keeping sheep in places where all the sheep got eaten by wolves, right? It stood to reason. It would look silly. Whereas in big streets like Broadway there was lots of peace which, obviously, needed keeping. Common sense told them this was true. It was as plain as the nose on your face, and especially the one on Nobby's face.

`Bad business,' said Colon, as they strolled. `I've never seen the dwarfs like this.'

`It always gets tricky, sarge, just before Koom Valley Day,' Nobby observed.

`Yeah, but Hamcrusher's really got them on the boil and no mistake.' Colon removed his helmet and wiped his brow. `I told Sam about my water and he was impressed.'

`Well, he would be,' Nobby agreed. `It would impress anyone.'

Colon tapped his nose. `There's a storm coming, Nobby.'

`Not a cloud in the sky, sarge,' Nobby observed.

`Figure of speech, Nobby, figure of speech.' Colon sighed, and glanced sideways at his friend. When he continued, it was in the hesitant tones of a man with something on his mind. `As a matter of fact, Nobby, there was another matter about which, per say, I wanted to speak to you about, man to-' there was only the tiniest hesitation, `-man:

`Yes, sarge?'

`Now you know, Nobby, that I've always taken a pers'nal interest in your moral well-being, what with you havin' no dad to put your feet on the proper path. .:Colon managed.

`That's right, sarge. I would have strayed no end if you hadn't,' said Nobby virtuously.

`Well, you know you was telling me about that girl you're goin' out with, what was her name, now...'

'Tawneee, sarge?'

`That's the ... bunny. The one you said worked in a club, right?' `That's right. Is there a problem, sarge?' said Nobby anxiously.

`Not as such. But when you was on your day off last week me an' Constable Jolson got called into the Pink PussyCat Club, Nobby. You know? There's pole-dancing and table-dancing and stuff of that nature? And you know of Mrs Spudding what lives in New Cobblers?'

`Ol' Mrs Spudding with the wooden teeth, sarge?'

`The very same, Nobby,' said Colon magisterially. `She does the cleaning in there. And it appears that when she come in at eight o'clock in the morning ae-em, with no one else about, Nobby, well, I hardly like to say this, but it appears she took it into her head to have a twirl on the pole.'

They shared a moment of silence as Nobby ran this image in the cinema of his imagination and hastily consigned much of it to the cutting-room floor.

`But she must be seventy-five, sarge!' he said, staring at nothing in fascinated horror.

`A girl can dream, Nobby, a girl can dream. O'course, she forgot she wasn't as limber as she used to be, plus she got her foot caught in her long drawers and panicked when her dress fell over her head. She was in a bad way when the manager came in, having been upside down for three hours with her false teeth fallen out on the floor. Wouldn't let go of the pole, too. Not a pretty sight - I trust I do not have to draw you a picture. Come the finish, Precious Jolson had to rip the pole out top and bottom and we slid her off. That girl's got the muscles of a troll, Nobby, I'll swear it. And then, Nobby, when we was bringing her round behind the scenes this young lady wearing two sequins and a bootlace comes up and says she's a friend of yours! I did not know where to put my face!'

`You're not supposed to put it anywhere, sarge. They throw you out for that sort of thing,' said Nobby.

`You never told me she was a pole-dancer, Nobby!' Fred wailed.

`Don't say it like that, sarge: Nobby sounded a little hurt. `This is

modern times. And she's got class, Tawneee has. She even brings her own pole. No hanky-panky.'

`But, I mean ... showin' her body off in lewd ways, Nobby! Dancing around without her vest and practic'ly no drawers on. Is that any way to behave?'

Nobby considered this deep metaphysical question from various angles. `Er ... yes?' he ventured.

`Anyway, I thought you were still walking out with Verity Pushpram? That's a handy little seafood stall she runs,' Colon said, sounding as though he was pleading a case.

`Oh, Hammerhead's a nice girl if you catch her on a good day, sarge,' Nobby conceded.

`You mean those days when she doesn't tell you to bugger off and chase you down the street throwing crabs at you?'

`Exactly those days, sarge. But good or bad, you can never get rid of the smell of fish. And her eyes are too far apart. I mean, it's hard to have a relationship with a girl who can't see you if you stand right in front of her.'

`I shouldn't think Tawneee can see you if you're up close, either!' Colon burst out. `She's nearly six feet tall and she's got a bosom like ... well, she's a big girl, Nobby.' Fred Colon was at a loss. Nobby Nobbs and a dancer with big hair, a big smile and ... general bigitigy? Look upon this picture, and on this! It did your head in, it really did.

He struggled on. `She told me, Nobby, that she's been Miss May on the centrefold of Girls, Giggles and Garters! Well, I mean. .. !'

`What do you mean, sarge? Anyway, she wasn't just Miss May, she was the first week in June as well,' Nobby pointed out. `It was the only way they had room.'

`Err, well, I ask you,' Fred floundered, `is a girl who displays her body for money the right kind of wife for a copper? Ask yourself that!'

For the second time in five minutes, what passed for Nobby's face wrinkled up in deep thought.

`Is this a trick question, sarge?' he said, at last. ''Cos I know for a fact that Haddock has got that picture pinned up in his locker and every time he opens it he goes "Phwoar, will you look at th-"

' `How did you meet her, anyway?' said Colon quickly.

`What? Oh, our eyes met when I shoved an IOU in her garter, sarge,' said Nobby happily.

`And ... she hadn't just been hit on the head, or something?' `I don't think so, sarge:

`She's not ... ill, is she?' said Fred Colon, exploring every likelihood.

`No, sarge!' `Are you sure?'

`She says perhaps we're two halves of the same soul, sarge,' said

Nobby dreamily.

Colon stopped with one foot raised above the pavement. He

stared at nothing, his lips moving.

`Sarge?' said Nobby, puzzled by this.

`Yeah ... yeah,' said Colon, more or less to himself. `Yeah. I can see that. Not the same stuff in each half, obviously. Sort of ... sieved. .

The foot landed. `I say!'

It was more of a bleat than a cry, and it came from the door of

the Royal Art Museum. A tall, thin figure was beckoning to the

watchmen, who strolled over.

`Yessir?' said Colon, touching his helmet. `We've had a burglareah, officer!' `Burglar rear?' said Nobby.

`Oh dear, sir,' said Colon, putting a warning hand on the corporal's shoulders. `Anything taken?'

`Years. I rather think that's hwhy it was a burglareah, you see?' said

the man. He had the attitude of a preoccupied chicken, but Fred

Colon was impressed. You could barely understand the man, he was

that posh. It was not so much speech as modulated yawning. `I'm Sir Reynold Stitched, curator of Fine Art, and I was hwalking through the Long Gallereah and ... oh, dear, they took the Rascal!'

The man looked at two blank faces.

'Methodia Rascal?' he tried. `The Battle of Koom Valley? It is a priceless work of art!'

Colon hitched up his stomach. `Ah,' he said, `that's serious. We'd better take a look at it. Er ... I mean, the locale where it was situated in.

`Years, years, of course,' said Sir Reynold. `Do come this hway. I am given to understand that the modern hWatch can learn a lot just by looking at the place where a thing was, is that not so?'

`Like, that it's gone?' said Nobby. `Oh, years. We're good at that.'

`Er ... quite so,' said Sir Reynold. `Do come this way.'