Feet of Clay by Terry Pratchett Page B

Angua.
    Igneous hesitated.
    Igneous was huge and…well, rocky. He moved around the streets of Ankh-Morpork like a small iceberg and, like an iceberg, there was more to him that immediately met the eye. He was known as a supplier of things. More or less any kind of things. And he was also a wall, which was the same as a fence only a lot harder and tougher to beat. Igneous never asked unnecessary questions, because he couldn’t think of any.
    “Nuffin,” he said, finally. Igneous had always found the general denial was more reliable than the specific refutation.
    “Glad to hear it,” said Angua. “Now…where do you get your clay from?”
    Igneous’s face crinkled as he tried to work out where this line of questioning could possibly go. “I got re-seats,” he said. “Every bit prop’ly paid for.”
    Angua nodded. It was probably true. Igneous, despite giving the appearance of not being able to count beyond ten without ripping off someone else’s arm, and having an intimate involvement in the city’s complex hierarchy of crime, was known to pay his bills. If you were going to be successful in the world of crime, you needed a reputation for honesty.
    “Have you seen any like this before?” she said, holding out the sample.
    “It clay ,” said Igneous, relaxing a little. “I see clay all der time. It don’t have no serial number. Clay’s clay. Got lumps of it out der back. You make bricks an pots and stuff outa it. Dere’s loads of potters in dis town and we all got der stuff. Why you wanna know about clay?”
    “Can’t you tell where it came from?”
    Igneous took the tiny piece, sniffed it, and rolled it between his fingers.
    “Dis is crank,” he said, looking a lot happier now that the conversation was veering away from more personal concerns. “Dat’s like…crappy clay, jus’ good enough for dem lady potters wi’ dangly earrings wot make coffee mugs wot you can’t lift wid both hands.” He rolled it again. “Also, it got a lotta grog in it. Dat’s bitsa old pots, all smashed up real small. Makes it stronger. Any potter got loadsa stuff like dis.” He rubbed it again. “Dis has been sorta heated up but it ain’t prop’ly baked.”
    “But you can’t say where it came from?”
    “Outta der ground is der best I can do, lady,” said Igneous. He relaxed a little now it appeared that inquiries were not to do with such matters as a recent batch of hollow statues and subjects of a similar nature. As sometimes happened in these circumstances, he tried to be helpful. “Come an’ have a look at dis.”
    He loped away. The Watchmen followed him through the warehouse, observed by a couple of dozen cautious trolls. No one liked to see policemen up close, especially if the reason you were working at Igneous’s place was that it was nice and quiet and you wanted somewhere to lie low for a few weeks. Besides, while it was true that a lot of people came to Ankh-Morpork because it was a city of opportunity, sometimes it was the opportunity not to be hung, skewered or dismantled for whatever crimes you’d left behind in the mountains.
    “Just don’t look,” said Angua.
    “Why?” said Cheery.
    “Because there’s just us and there’s at least two dozen of them,” said Angua. “And all our clothes were made for people with full sets of arms and legs.”
    Igneous went through a doorway and out into the yard behind the factory. Pots were stacked high on pallets. Bricks were curing in long rows. And under a crude roof were several large mounds of clay.
    “Dere,” said Igneous generously. “Clay.”
    “Is there a special name for it when it’s piled up like that?” said Cheery timorously. She prodded the stuff.
    “Yeah,” said Igneous. “Dat’s technic’ly wot we calls a heap .”
    Angua shook her head sadly. So much for Clues. Clay was clay. She’d hoped there were all different sorts, and it turned out to be as common as dirt.
    And then Igneous Helped the Police with Their Enquiries.