“You wish me to believe,” said Lord Vetinari, “that Mr. A. E. Pessimal single-handedly attacked a troll?”

“Both hands, sir,” said Vimes. “And feet, too. And tried to bite it, we think.”

“Isn’t that certain death?” said Vetinari.

“That didn’t seem to worry him, sir.”

Vimes had last seen A. E. Pessimal being bandaged by Igor and smiling in a semiconscious way. Watchmen were dropping in all the time to say things like “Hi, big man!” and slap him on the back. The world had turned for A. E. Pessimal.

“Might I inquire, Vimes, why one of my most conscientious and most decidedly civilian clerks was in a position to do this?”

Vimes shifted uncomfortably. “He was inspecting. Learning all about us, sir.”

He gave Vetinari a look that said: If you take this any further, I will have to lie.

Vetinari returned one that said: I know.

“You yourself are not too badly injured?” the Patrician said aloud.

“Just a few scratches, sir,” said Vimes.

Vetinari gave him a look that said: Broken ribs, I’m certain of it.

Vimes returned one that said: Nothing.

Vetinari wandered over to the window and stared down at the waking city. He didn’t speak for some time, and then let out a sigh.

“Such a shame, I think, that so many of them were born here,” he said.

Vimes stuck with saying nothing. It generally sufficed.

“Perhaps I should have taken action against that wretched dwarf,” Vetinari went on.

“Yes, sir.”

“You think so? A wise ruler thinks twice before directing violence against someone because he does not approve of what they say.”

Once again, Vimes did not comment. He himself directed violence daily and with a certain amount of enthusiasm against people, because he didn’t approve of them saying things like “Give me all your money” or “What are you going to do about it, copper?” But perhaps rulers had to think differently. Instead, he said: “Someone else didn’t, sir.”

“Thank you for that, Vimes,” said the Patrician, turning around sharply. “And have you found out who they are yet?”

“Investigations are continuing, sir. Last night’s affair got in the way.”

“Is there any evidence that it was a troll?”

“There is…puzzling evidence, sir. We are…assembling a jigsaw, you might say.” Except that we haven’t got any of the edges and it’d help if we had the lid of the box, he added to himself. And, because Vetinari’s face bore a hungry look, Vimes continued aloud: “If you’re expecting me to pull a magic rabbit out of my helmet, sir, it’ll be a cooked one. The dwarfs are certain it was a troll. There’s a thousand years of history telling them. They don’t need proof. And the trolls don’t think it was a troll but probably wish it was. This isn’t about a murder, sir. Something inside ’em’s gone click, and it’s time for all good men—well, you know what I mean—to fight Koom Valley all over again. Something else is going on in that mine, I know it. Something bigger than murder. All those tunnels…what are they for? All those lies…I can smell lies, and the place is full of them.”

“Much hangs on this, Vimes,” said Vetinari. “It’s bigger than you know. I have this morning had a clacks from the Rhys Rhysson, the Low King. All politicians have their enemies, of course. There are, shall we say, factions that disagree with him, his policy toward us, his conciliatory approaches to the troll clans, his stance on the whole wretched Ha’ak thing…And now there are stories about a troll killing a grag and, yes, rumors that the Watch has threatened the dwarfs…”

Vetinari held up a pale hand as Vimes opened his mouth to protest.

“We need to know the truth, Vimes. Commander Sam Vimes’s truth. It may count for more than you think. In the Plains, certainly, and much further. People know about you, Commander. Descendant of a watchman who believed that if a corrupted court will not behead an evil king, then the watchman should do it himself—”

“It was only one king,” Vimes protested. “It waasn’t a habit!”

“Sam Vimes once arrested me for treason,” said Vetinari calmly. “And Sam Vimes once arrested a dragon. Sam Vimes stopped a war between nations by arresting two high commands. He’s an arresting fellow, Sam Vimes. Sam Vimes killed a werewolf with his bare hands, and carries law with him, like a lamp—”

“Where did all that come from?”

“Watchmen across half the continent will say that Sam Vimes is as straight as an arrow, can’t be corrupted, won’t be turned, never took a bribe. Listen to me. If Rhys falls, the next Low King will not be one who is prepared to talk to the trolls. Can I make it simple for you? Those clans whose leaders have been dealing with Rhys will in all likelihood feel they have been made fools of, overthrow said leaders, and replace them with trolls too belligerent and stupid to be fools. And there will be a war, Vimes. It’ll come here. It won’t be a gang crumble such as you thwarted last night. We won’t be able to hold fast or stand aloof. Because we have our own fools, Vimes, as I’m sure you know, who’ll insist we pick sides. Koom Valley will be everywhere. Find me a murderer, Vimes. Hound them down and bring them into the daylight. Troll or dwarf or human, it doesn’t matter. Then at least we shall have the truth, and can make use of it. It is rumor and uncertainty that is our enemy now. The Low King’s throne trembles, Vimes, and thus do the foundations of the world.”

Vetinari paused, and carefully squared up the paperwork in front of him, as if he now felt he’d gone too far.

“However, obviously I do not wish to put you under any kind of pressure,” he finished.

In Vimes’s confused, lukewarm brain, one word bobbed to the surface.

“Crumble?” he said.

Lord Vetinari’s secretary leaned down and whispered into his master’s ear.

“Ah, I believe I meant ‘rumble,’ ” said Vetinari brightly.

Vimes was still trying to cope with the international news digest.

“All this over one murder?” he said, trying to stifle a yawn.

“No, Vimes. You said it yourself: all this over thousands of years of tension and politics and power struggles. In recent years, things have gone in certain ways, causing power to shift. There are those who would like it to shift back, even if it returns on a tide of blood. Who cares about one dwarf? But if his death can be turned into a casus belli—” here Lord Vetinari looked at Vimes’s sleepy eyes and went on, “—that is, a reason for war, then suddenly he is the most important dwarf in the world. When did you last get some proper sleep, Vimes?”

Vimes muttered something about “not long ago.”

“Go and have some more. And then find me the murderer. Quickly. Good day to you.”

Not just thrones trembling, Vimes managed to think. Your chair is wobbling a bit, too. Pretty soon some people will be saying: Who let all these dwarfs in here? They undermine our city and they don’t obey our laws. And the trolls? We used to chain ’em up like guard dogs, and now they’re allowed to walk around threatening real people!

They’d be gathering now, the plotters, the people who chatted quietly in the corner at parties, the people who know how to fashion opinions into knives. Last night’s little fray had been turned into a joke that had probably dismayed the party people, but you couldn’t do it twice. Once things began to spread, once a few humans had been killed, you wouldn’t need to talk behind closed doors anymore. The mob would scream on your behalf.

They undermine our city and they don’t obey our laws…

He climbed in the coach on legs that were only marginally under his control, muttered an instruction to head for Pseudopolis Yard, and fell asleep.