There's a bar like it in every big city. It's where the coppers drink.

The Guard seldom drank in Ankh-Morpork's more cheerful taverns when they were off duty. It was too easy to see something that would put them back on duty again.10 So they generally went to The Bucket, in Gleam Street. It was small and low-ceilinged, and the presence of city guards tended to discourage other drinkers. But Mr Cheese, the owner, wasn't too worried about this. No-one drinks like a copper who has seen too much to stay sober.

Carrot counted out his change on the counter.

“That's three beers, one milk, one molten sulphur on coke with phosphoric acid—”

“With umbrella in it,” said Detritus.

“—and A Slow Comfortable Double-Entendre with lemonade.”

“With a fruit salad in it,” said Nobby.

“Woof?”

“And some beer in a bowl,” said Angua.

“That little dog seems to have taken quite a shine to you,” said Carrot.

“Yes,” said Angua. “I can't think why.”

The drinks were put in front of them. They stared at the drinks. They drank the drinks.

Mr Cheese, who knew coppers, wordlessly refilled the glasses and Detritus' insulated mug.

They stared at the drinks. They drank the drinks.

“You know,” said Colon, after a while, “what gets me, what really gets me, is they just dumped him in the water. I mean, not even weights. Just dumped him. Like it didn't matter if he was found. You know what I mean?”

“What gets me,” said Cuddy, “is that he was a dwarf.”

“What gets me is that he was murdered,” said Carrot.

Mr Cheese passed along the line again. They stared at the drinks. They drank the drinks.

Because the fact was that, despite all evidence to the contrary, murder was not a commonplace occurrence in Ankh-Morpork. There were, it was true, assassinations. And as aforesaid there were many ways one could inadvertently commit suicide. And there were occasional domestic fracas on a Saturday night as people sought a cheaper alternative to divorce. There were all these things, but at least they had a reason, however unreasonable.

“Big man in the dwarfs, was Mr Hammerhock,” said Carrot. “A good citizen, too. Wasn't always stirring up old trouble like Mr Stronginthearm.”

“He's got a workshop in Rime Street,” said Nobby.

“Had,” said Sergeant Colon.

They stared at the drinks. They drank the drinks.

“What I want to know is,” said Angua, “what put that hole in him?”

“Never see anything like that,” said Colon.

“Hadn't someone better go and tell Mrs Hammerhock?” said Angua.

“Captain Vimes is doing it,” said Carrot. “He said he wouldn't ask anyone else to do it.”

“Rather him than me,” said Colon fervently. “I wouldn't do that for a big clock. They can be fearsome when they're angry, those little buggers.”

Everyone nodded gloomily, including the little bugger and the bigger little bugger by adoption.

They stared at the drinks. They drank the drinks.

“Shouldn't we be finding out who did it?” said Angua.

“Why?” said Nobby.

She opened and shut her mouth once or twice, and finally came out with: “In case they do it again?”

“It wasn't an assassination, was it?” said Cuddy.

“No,” said Carrot. “They always leave a note. By law.”

They looked at the drinks. They drank the drinks.

“What a city,” said Angua.

“It all works, that's the funny thing,” said Carrot. “D'you know, when I first joined the Watch I was so simple I arrested the head of the Thieves' Guild for thieving?”

“Sounds good to me,” said Angua.

“Got into a bit of trouble for that,” said Carrot.

“You see,” said Colon, “thieves are organized here. I mean, it's official. They're allowed a certain amount of thieving. Not that they do much these days, mind you. If you pay them a little premium every year they give you a card and leave you alone. Saves time and effort all round.”

“And all thieves are members?” said Angua.

“Oh, yes,” said Carrot. “Can't go thieving in Ankh-Morpork without a Guild permit. Not unless you've got a special talent.”

“Why? What happens? What talent?” she said.

“Well, like being able to survive being hung upside down from one of the gates with your ears nailed to your knees,” said Carrot.

Then Angua said: “That's terrible.”

“Yes, I know. But the thing is,” said Carrot, “the thing is: it works. The whole thing. Guilds and organized crimes and everything. It all seems to work.”

“Didn't work for Mr Hammerhock,” said Sergeant Colon.

They looked at their drinks. Very slowly, like a mighty sequoia beginning the first step towards resurrection as a million Save The Trees leaflets, Detritus toppled backwards with his mug still in his hand. Apart from the 90° change in position, he didn't move a muscle.

“It's the sulphur,” said Cuddy, without looking around. “It goes right to their heads.”

Carrot thumped his fist on the bar.

“We ought to do something!”

“We could nick his boots,” said Nobby.

“I mean about Mr Hammerhock.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” said Nobby. “You sound like old Vimesy. If we was to worry about every dead body in this town—”

“But not like this!” snapped Carrot. “Normally it's just… well… suicide, or Guild fighting, stuff like that. But he was just a dwarf! Pillar of the community! Spent all day making swords and axes and burial weapons and crossbows and torture implements! And then he's in the river with a great big hole in his chest! Who's going to do anything about it, if not us?”

“You been putting anything in your milk?” said Colon. “Look, the dwarfs can sort it out. It's like Quarry Lane. Don't stick your nose where someone can pull it off and eat it.”

“We're the City Watch,” said Carrot. “That doesn't mean just that part of the city who happens to be over four feet tall and made of flesh!”

“No dwarf did it,” said Cuddy, who was swaying gently. “No troll, neither.” He tried to tap the side of his nose, and missed. “The reason being, he still had all his arms and legs on.”

“Captain Vimes'll want it investigated,” said Carrot.

“Captain Vimes is trying to learn to be a civilian,” said Nobby.

“Well, I'm not going to—” Colon began, and got off his stool.

He hopped. He jumped up and down a bit, his mouth opening and shutting. Then the words managed to come out.

“My foot!”

“What about your foot?”

“Something stuck in it!”

He hopped backwards, clutching at one sandal, and fell over Detritus.

“You'd be amazed what can get stuck to your boots in this town,” said Carrot.

“There's something on the bottom of your sandal,” said Angua. “Stop waving it about, you silly man.”

She drew her dagger.

“Bit of card or something. With a drawing pin in it. You picked it up somewhere. Probably took a while for you to tread it through… there.”

“Bit of card?” said Carrot.

“There's something written on it…” Angua scraped away the mud.

“What does that mean?” she said.

“I don't know. Something's gone, I suppose. Perhaps it's Mr Gonne's visiting card, whoever he is,” said Nobby. “Who cares? Let's have ano—”

Carrot took the card and turned it over and over in his hands.

“Save the pin,” said Cuddy. “You only get five of them for a penny. My cousin Gimick makes them.”

“This is important,” said Carrot, slowly. “The captain ought to know about this. I think he was looking for it.”

“What's important about it?” said Sergeant Colon. “Apart from my foot hurting like blazes.”

“I don't know. The captain'll know,” said Carrot stubbornly.

“You tell him, then,” said Colon. “He's staying up at her ladyship's now.”