`When you say "he has seen the light" you sound as if you mean corrupted,' he said.

`Something like that, yes. Different worlds, commander. Down here, it would be unwise to trust your metaphors. To see the light is to be blinded. Do you not know that in darkness the eyes open wider?'

`Take me to see these people down below,' said Vimes.

`They will not listen to you. They will not even look at you. They have nothing to do with the World Above. They believe it is a kind of bad dream. I have not dared tell them about your "newspapers" printed every day and discarded like rubbish. The shock would kill them.'

But dwarfs invented the printing engine, Vimes thought. Obviously they were the wrong kind of dwarf. I've seen Cheery throw stuff in the wastepaper bin, too. It seems like nearly all dwarfs are the wrong sort, eh?

`What exactly is your job, Mr Ardent?' said Vimes.

`I am their chief liaison with the World Above. The steward, you could say.'

`I thought that was Helmclever's job?'

`Helmclever? He orders the groceries, relays my orders, pays the miners and so on. The chores, in fact,' said Ardent disdainfully. `He is a novice and his job is to do what I tell him. It is I who speak for the grags.'

`You talk to bad dreams on their behalf?

'You could put it that way, I suppose. They would not let a proud word-killer become a smelter. The idea would be abominable.' They glared at one another.

Once again, we end up in Koom Valley, Vimes told himself. `They won't-'

`Permission to make a suggestion?' said Angua quietly.

Two heads turned. Two mouths said: `Well?'

`The ... smelter. The seeker of the truth. Must they be a dwarf?' `Of course!' said Ardent.

`Then what about Captain Carrot? He's a dwarf.'

`We know of him. He is an ... anomaly,' said Ardent. `His claim to dwarfishness is debatable.'

`But most dwarfs in the city accept that he's a dwarf,' said Angua. `And he's a copper, too.'

Ardent flopped back into his seat. `To your dwarfs here, yes, he is a dwarf. He would be unacceptable to the grags.'

`There's no dwarf law that says a dwarf can't be more than six feet tall, sir.'

`The grags are the law, woman,' Ardent snapped. `They interpret laws that go back for tens of thousands of years.'

`Well, ours don't,' said Vimes. `But murder is murder anywhere. The news has got out. You've already got the dwarfs and the trolls simmering nicely, and this will bring it all right to the boil. Do you want a war?'

`With the trolls? That is-'

`No, with the city. A place inside the walls where the law doesn't run? His lordship won't accept that one.'

`You would not dare!'

`Look into my eyes,' said Vimes.

`There are far more dwarfs than there are watchmen,' said Ardent, but the amused expression had fled.

`So what you are telling me is that law is just a matter of numbers?' said Vimes. `I thought you dwarfs practically worshipped the idea of law. Is numbers all it is? I'll swear in more men, then. Trolls, too. They're citizens, just like me. Are you sure every dwarf is on your side? I'll raise the regiments. I'll have to. I know how things run in Llamedos and Uberwald, but they don't run like that here. One law, Mr Ardent. That's what we've got. If I let people slam their front door on it, I might as well shut down the Watch.'

Vimes walked to the doorway. `That's my offer. Now I'm going back to the Yard-'

`Wait!'

Ardent sat staring at the desktop, drumming his fingers on it.

`I do not have ... seniority here,' he said.

`Let me talk to your grags. I promise to rub out no words.'

`No. They will not talk to you. They do not talk to humans. They are waiting below. They had word of your arrival. They are frightened. They do not trust humans.'

Why?

`Because you are not dwarfs,' said Ardent. `Because you are ... a sort of dream.'

Vimes put his hands on the dwarf's shoulders. `Then let's go

downstairs, where you can talk to them about nightmares,' he said,

and you can point out which one is me.'

There was a long silence until Ardent said, `Very well. This is

under protest, you understand.'

`I'll be happy to make a note of that,' said Vimes. `Thank you for

your co-operative attitude.'

Ardent stood up and produced a ring of complex keys from his

robes.

Vimes tried to keep track of the journey, but it was hard. There

were twists and turns, in dim tunnels that all seemed alike.

There was not a trace of water anywhere. How far did the tunnels

go? How far down? How far out? Dwarfs mined through granite.

They could probably stroll through river mud.

In fact in most places the dwarfs hadn't so much mined as cleaned house, taking away the silt, tunnelling from one ancient, dripping room to another. And, somehow, the water went away.

There were things glittering, possibly magical, half seen in dark archways as they passed. And odd chanting. He knew dwarfish, in a `The axe of my aunt is in your head' kind of way, and it didn't sound like that at all. It sounded like short words rattled out at very high speed.

And with every turn he felt the anger coming back. They were being led in circles, were they? For no other reason than pique. Ardent forged ahead, leaving Vimes to blunder along behind and occasionally bump his head.

His temper was bubbling. This was nothing more than a bloody runaround! The dwarfs didn't care about the law, about him, about the world up above. They undermine our city and they don't obey our laws! There's been a damn murder. He admits it! Why am I putting up with this ... this stupid play-acting!

He was passing yet another tunnel mouth, but this one had a piece of board nailed across it. He pulled out his sword, yelled, `I wonder what's down here?', smashed the board and set off down the tunnel, with Angua following.

`Is this wise, sir?' she whispered, as they plunged along.

`No. But I'm up to here with Mr Ardent,' Vimes growled. `I tell you, another twisty tunnel and I'll be back here with the heavy mob, politics or not.'

`Calm down, sir!'

`Well, everything he says and does is an insult! It makes my blood boil!' said Vimes, striding onwards and ignoring the shouts of Ardent behind him.

`There's a door ahead, sir!'

`All right, I'm not blind! Just half blind!' Vimes snapped.

He reached out. The big round door had a wheel in its centre, and dwarf runes chalked all over it.

`Can you read them, sergeant?'

'Er. .. "Mortal Danger! Flooding! No Entry!"' said Angua. `More or less, sir. They're pressure doors. I've seen these used before in other mines.

`Chained shut, too,' said Vimes, reaching out. `Looks like solid iron- Ow!'

`Sir?'

`Gashed my hand on a nail!' Vimes rammed his hand into a pocket, where without fail Sybil saw to it that a clean handkerchief was lodged on a daily basis.

`A nail in an iron door, sir?' said Angua, looking closely.

`A rivet, then. Can't see a thing in this gloom. Why they-'

`You must follow me. This is a mine! There are dangers!' said Ardent, catching up with them.

`You still get flooding?' said Vimes.

`It is to be expected! We know how to cope! Now, stay close to me!'

`I'd be more inclined to do that, sir, if I thought we were taking a direct route!' said Vimes. `Otherwise I might look for short cuts!'

`We are nearly there, commander,' said Ardent, walking away. `Nearly there!'

Aimless and hopeless, the troll wandered ...

His name was Brick, although currently he couldn't remember this. His head ached. It really ached. It was der Scrape that did it. What did dey always say? When you sinkin' to where you was cookin' up Scrape you was so low even der cockroaches had to bend down to spitting on you?