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that one in your belt?'
Carrot said nothing. However, he shifted position slightly. His biceps strained against the leather of his jerkin.
'Official sword. Right,' said Quirke. He turned. He was one of those people who would recoil from an assault on strength, butwords like halfpint and gritsucker were offensive, they were as terms of universal brotherhood compared to words like 'people of their type' in the mouth of men like Quirke. Much to her shock, she found her gaze concentrating on the man's jugular vein.
'Fighting?' said Carrot. 'Why?'
Quirke shrugged.
'Who knows?' attack weakness without mercy. 'Where's the gritsucker?' he said. 'And the rock?''Ah,' said Vimes, 'you are referring to those representative members of our fellow sapient races who have chosen to throw in their lots with the people of this city?''I mean the dwarf and the troll,' said Quirke.'Haven't the faintest idea,' said Vimes cheerfully. It seemed to Angua that he was drunk again, if people could get drunk on despair.'We dunno, sir,' said Colon. 'Haven't seen 'em all day.''Probably fighting up in Quarry Lane with the rest of them,'' said Quirke. 'You can't trust people of their type. You ought to know that.'And it also seemed to Angua that although