Feet of Clay by Terry Pratchett Page A

she said. “I see . Hah. Yes. I know that tune.”
    “I can’t hold an axe!” said Cheery. “I’m scared of fights! I think songs about gold are stupid! I hate beer! I can’t even drink dwarfishly! When I try to quaff I drown the dwarf behind me!”
    “I can see that could be tricky,” said Angua.
    “I saw a girl walk down the street here and some men whistled after her! And you can wear dresses! With colors! ”
    “Oh, dear.” Angua tried not to smile. “How long have lady dwarfs felt like this? I thought they were happy with the way things are…”
    “Oh, it’s easy to be happy when you don’t know any different,” said Cheery bitterly. “Chainmail trousers are fine if you’ve never heard of lingerry!”
    “Li—oh, yes,” said Angua. “Lingerie. Yes.” She tried to feel sympathetic and found that she was, really, but she did have to stop herself from saying that at least you don’t have to find styles that can easily be undone by claws.
    “I thought I could come here and get a different kind of job,” Cheery moaned. “I’m good at needlework and I went to see the Guild of Seamstresses and—” She stopped, and blushed behind her beard.
    “Yes,” said Angua. “Lots of people make that mistake.” She stood up straight and brushed herself off. “You’ve impressed Commander Vimes, anyway. I think you’ll like it here. Everyone’s got troubles in the Watch. Normal people don’t become policemen. You’ll get on fine.”
    “Commander Vimes is a bit…” Cheery began.
    “He’s OK when he’s in a good mood. He needs to drink but he doesn’t dare to these days. You know: one drink is too many, two is not enough…And that makes him edgy. When he’s in a bad mood he’ll tread on your toes and then shout at you for not standing up straight.”
    “ You’re normal,” said Cheery, shyly. “I like you .”
    Angua patted her on the head. “You say that now,” she said, “but when you’ve been around here for a while you’ll find out that sometimes I can be a bitch…What’s that?”
    “What?”
    “That…painting. With the eyes…”
    “Or two points of red light,” said Cheery.
    “Oh, yeah?”
    “It’s the last thing Father Tubelcek saw, I think,” said the dwarf.
    Angua stared at the black rectangle. She sniffed. “There it is again!”
    Cheery took a step backwards. “What? What?”
    “Where’s that smell coming from?” Angua demanded.
    “Not me!”
    Angua grabbed a small dish from the bench and sniffed at it. “This is it! I smelled this at the museum! What is it?”
    “It’s just clay. It was on the floor in the room where the old priest was killed,” said Cheery. “Probably it came off someone’s boot.”
    Angua crumbled some of it between her fingers.
    “I think it’s just potters’ clay,” said Cheery. “We used to use it at the Guild. For making pots,” she added, just in case Angua hadn’t grasped things. “You know? Crucibles and things. This looks like someone tried baking it but didn’t get the heat right. See how it crumbles?”
    “Pottery,” said Angua. “I know a potter…”
    She glanced down at the dwarf’s iconograph again.
    Please, no, she thought. Not one of them?

    The front gate of the College of Arms— both front gates—were swung open. The two Heralds bobbed excitedly around Corporal Nobbs as he tottered out.
    “Has your lordship got everything he requires?”
    “Nfff,” said Nobby.
    “If we can be of any help whatsoever—”
    “Nnnf.”
    “Any help at all—?”
    “Nnnf.”
    “Sorry about your boots, m’lord, but the wyvern’s been ill. It’ll brush off no trouble when it dries.”
    Nobby tottered off along the lane.
    “He even walks nobly, wouldn’t you say?”
    “More…nobbly than nobly, I think.”
    “It’s disgusting that he’s a mere corporal, a man of his breeding.”

    Igneous the troll backed away until he was up against his potter’s wheel.
    “I never done it,” he said.
    “Done what?” said