Terry Pratchett: Feet of Clay

They were half-way along Elm Street before they saw Carrot, head and shoulders above the crowd.

‘Looks like he was coming to see you,' said Cheri. 'Er, shall I go away?'

Too late...'

'Ah, good morning, Corporal Miss Little-bottom!' said Carrot cheerfully. 'Hello, Angua. I was just coming to see you but I had to write my letter home first, of course.'

He took off his helmet, and smoothed back his hair. 'Er...' he began.

'I know what you're going to ask,' said Angua.

'You do?'

'I know you've been thinking about it. You knew I was wondering about going.'

'It was obvious, was it?'

'And the answer's no. I wish it could be yes.'

Carrot looked astonished. 'It never occurred to me that you'd say no,' he said. 'I mean, why should you?'

'Good grief, you amaze me,' she said. 'You really do.'

'I thought it'd be something you'd want to do,' said Carrot. He sighed. 'Oh, well ... it doesn't matter, really.'

Angua felt that a leg had been kicked away. 'It doesn't matter? she said.

'I mean, yes, it'd have been nice, but I won't lose any sleep over it.'

'You won't?'

'Well, no. Obviously not. You've got other things you want to do. That's fine. I just thought you might enjoy it. I'll do it by myself.'

'What? How can ... ?' Angua stopped. 'What are you talking about, Carrot?'

‘The Dwarf Bread Museum. I promised Mr Hopkinson's sister that I'd tidy it up. You know, get it sorted out. She's not very well off and I thought it could raise some money. Just between you and me, there's several exhibits in there that could be better-presented, but I'm afraid Mr Hopkinson was rather set in his ways. I'm sure there's a lot of dwarfs in the city that'd flock there if they knew about it, and of course there's a lot of youngsters that ought to learn more about their proud heritage. A good dusting and a lick of paint would make all the difference, I'm sure, especially on the older loaves. I don't mind giving up a few days off. I just thought it might cheer you up, but I appreciate that bread isn't everyone's cup of tea.'

Angua stared at him. It was the stare that Carrot so often attracted. It roamed every feature of his face, looking for the tiniest clue that he was making some kind of joke. Some long, deep joke at the expense of everyone else. Every sinew in her body knew that he must be, but there was not a clue, not a twitch to prove it.

'Yes,' she said weakly, still searching his face, 'I expect it could be a little goldmine.'

'Museums have got to be a whole lot more interesting these days. And, you know, there's a whole guerrilla crumpet assortment he hasn't even catalogued,' said Carrot. 'And some early examples of defensive bagels.'

'Gosh,' said Angua. 'Hey, why don't we paint a big sign saying something like The Dwarf Bread Experience ?'

'That probably wouldn't work for dwarfs,' said Carrot, oblivious to sarcasm. 'A dwarf bread experience tends to be short. But I can see it's certainly caught your imagination!'

I'll have to go, Angua thought as they strolled on down the street. Sooner or later he'll see that it can't really work out. Werewolves and humans... we've both got too much to lose. Sooner or later I'll have to leave him.

But, for one day at a time, let it be tomorrow.

'Want the dresses back?' said Cheri, behind her.

'Maybe one or two,' said Angua.

THE END

[1] He subsequently got dead-drunk and was shanghaied aboard a merchantman bound for strange and foreign parts, where he met lots of young ladies who didn't wear many clothes. He eventually died from stepping on a tiger. A good deed goes around the world.

[2] That is to say, the sort you can use to give something three extra legs and then blow it up.

[3] Town hall.

[4] Because Ankh-Morpork doesn't have a town hall.

[5] Yeast bowl.

[6] Commander Vimes, on the other hand, was all for giving criminals a short, sharp shock. It really depended on how tightly they could be tied to the lightning rod.

[7] Constable Visit was an Omnian, whose country's traditional approach to evangelism was to put unbelievers to torture and the sword. Things had become a lot more civilized these days but Omnians still had a strenuous and indefatigable approach to spreading the Word, and had merely changed the nature of the weapons. Constable Visit spent his days off in company with his co-religionist Smite-The-Unbeliever-With-Cunning-Arguments, ringing doorbells and causing people to hide behind the furniture everywhere in the city.

[8] Detritus was particularly good when it came to asking questions. He had three basic ones. They were the direct ('Did you do it?'), the persistent ('Are you sure it wasn't you what done it?') and the subtle ('It was you what done it, wasn't it?'). Although they were not the most cunning questions ever devised, Detritus's talent was to go on patiently asking them for hours on end, until he got the right answer, which was generally something like: 'Yes! Yes! I did it! I did it! Now please tell me what it was I did!'

[9] It is a pervasive and beguiling myth that the people who design instruments of death end up being killed by them. There is almost no foundation in fact. Colonel Shrapnel wasn't blown up, M. Guillotin died with his head on, Colonel Catling wasn't shot. If it hadn't been for the murder of cosh and blackjack maker Sir William Blunt-Instrument in an alleyway, the rumour would never have got started.

[10] 'Welcome, Corporal Smallbottom! This is Constable Angua... Angua, show Smallbottom how well you're learning dwarfish...'

[11] The Ankh-Morpork view of crime and punishment was that the penalty for the first offence should prevent the possibility of a second offence.

[12] This always happens in any police chase anywhere, A heavily laden lorry will always pull out of a side alley in front of the pursuit.

If vehicles aren't involved, then it'll be a man with a rack of garments. Or two men with a large sheet of glass.

There's probably some kind of secret society behind all this.

[13] And for the most part were unconcerned about matters of height. There's a dwarfish saying: 'All trees are felled at ground-level' - although this is said to be an excessively bowdlerized translation for a saw which more literally means, 'When his hands are higher than your head, his groin is level with your teeth.'

[14] These terms are often synonymous.

[15] As they were euphemistically named. People said, 'They call themselves seamstresses - hem, hem!'

[16] Because of the huge obtrusive mass of his forehead, Rogers the bulls' view of the universe was from two eyes each with their own non-overlapping hemispherical view of the world. Since there were two separate visions, Rogers had reasoned, that meant there must be two bulls (bulls not having been bred for much deductive reasoning). Most bulls believe this, which is why they always keep turning their head this way and that when they look at you. They do this because both of them want to see.