Surly Grumblerson lay on the gurney staring irritably at the ceiling of the Lady Sybil Free Hospital. He was still a bit dazed from the anesthetic but as the pain was creeping back an oddly misshapen face appeared looking down at him.
"Tho," the face began amicably, "jutht how did all thith happen?"
Surly's face turned red above his beard. "That slut on the Watch did it!" he screamed, "It's all the Queen's fault. If she had stayed with the true shaft and remained King . . ."
The ranting continued for several minutes until the Igor leaned down nose to nose with the dwarf and growled, "Thereth jutht the two of uth in thith room and there's nothing to prevent me from putting your leg back in the cold room for a more apprethiative pathient. For that matter, thereth nothing to prevent me from rethycling the retht of you for spare parths! Now letth thart over again and thith time keep it thivil. Tho, jutht how did all thith happen?"
*****
Cuddi Ringsmithdottir stood in Vimes' office with her head down, her hands behind her back and a woebegone expression on her face. She was sure that she was so much trouble. Fortunately for her, Senior Sergeant Detritus was giving his report of 'the incident' to the Commander. It was always easier that way for Vimes as deciphering Detritus' hand writing was—challenging.
"I were introducin' der new Lance Constable to patrollin' in der night hours, Mr. Vimes, and t'ings were goin' along normal like when der doors on dis dwarf bar be flyin' open. I guessin' dat dey had been quaffin' and singin' 'bout gold for a good while 'cause dis Surly Grumblerson dwarf come staggerin' out. He take one look at der Lance Constable, grab her by der beard and screaming 'Ha'ak!' at her."
Vimes stiffened and sat bolt upright. "He called her what?" he snarled through clenched teeth, "And all she did was whisk off one of his legs? I'd call that remarkably restrained and totally justifiable self-defense. Where is this suicidal idiot now?"
"I took him to der Lady Sybil, sir. Der Igor in charge sayin' dat puttin' der leg back on will be a good trainin' exercise for der upcomin' first year students. I tought dat it would be more 'propriate iffin dey put in on backwards!"
"You're too generous, Sergeant. I think it would be more appropriate if they recycled him for spare parts!" Vimes puffed on his cigar for a couple of minutes, thinking and scowling. Then he spun in his chair and pressed a button. When the door to the adjoining office opened he curled a lip and growled, "Inspector Pessimal, if you would be so kind as to write up an official warning to the offender. Tell him that if he ever calls any of my Watchmen a Ha'ak again, he will go back to Schmaltzberg for the Low Queen's judgement. In a cage!"
Inspector Pessimal's eyes narrowed. "He called her what? Sergeant Detritus, please do come into my office and give me the details. You, too, if you please, Lance Constable. I'm going to enjoy this!"
*****
Two weeks later, Mr. Blister, Acting Magistrate for the quarter, looked down at the documents on his desk and up at Surly. Scowling in disgust, he said, "Mr. Grumblerson, it states here that you assaulted and insulted a member in good standing of the City Watch. Is this true, sir?"
Now reassembled, sober, and becoming aware that his life was rapidly spiraling downwards the dwarf swallowed and answered, "It is, your worship, but I should like to enter the mitigating fact that I was rascally drunk, sir. I come from a very conservative family, sir, and when the demon beer is in me I am disgracefully inclined to spout reactionary nonsense. I would never have behaved so badly if I had not exceeded my limit inside the Ax and Bottle, your worship."
The Magistrate raised an eyebrow and snorted dubiously. "Then I can presume that you are prepared to apologize profusely? It is the least you can do for so egregious an offense."
"Oh yes, your worship! Here, I've already written it out. Uh, you do read runes, I hope?"
"I do not," Blister replied, "but young Oresmiter, here, does. He is both my law clerk and a Grag in training, the better to mediate between the human and the dwarfish communities. If he feels that it is properly adject, I shall forward it to Commander Vimes. If he and Lance Constable Ringsmithdottir accept it I shall close the case this time. Do not be so careless about your drinking in the future. This court will meet again in one week to render final judgement. Adjourned."
*****
Sergeant Cheery Littlebottom and Lance Constable Ringsmithdottir proceeded up the Street of Small Gods towards Short Street. Their assignment sounded quite simple but a little odd. "Go to the Temple of Offler and ask the Reverend Clem for a sub-deacon named Wylnd. Bring this Wylnd to Unseen University's Infirmary where the High Priest of Blind Io and the Archchancellor will be expecting him. Be kind, patient and soft-spoken. Apparently sub-deacon Wylnd has an extreme case of the nerves and we don't (let me emphasize don't) want him going off. Understood? Dismissed."
"What could go wrong if this sub-deacon went spare?" Cuddi was puzzled.
"After being with Mr. Vimes for as long as I have," Cheery replied, "I can tell you that what he doesn't say is at least as important as what he says. He wants us to be kind, patient and soft-spoken so kind, patient and soft-spoken we will be. Obviously, the poor fellow has had some rough times and needs handling with kid gloves. That's all I know and I'm convinced that's all I need to know. It may even be all I want to know. Strange things tend to happen when the University gets involved and mixing that in with the gods makes me imagine things suitable for nightmares."
"Okay, Sergeant, kind, patient and soft-spoken it is. And here we are."
After knocking on the doors, the pair of Watchmen were invited in and escorted to the office of the High Priest. The Deputy High Priest, one Reverend Clem, was a large, burly man dressed in robes cut to resemble a crocodile's hide and wearing a hat that simulated a crocodile's head with the High Priest's face looking out from between the jaws. Right now, he looked worried.
"Ah, Sergeant, thank Offler you are here. I've sent for sub-deacon Wylnd but it will take a bit for him to arrive. The poor chap is terribly distraught and trembles so badly that he requires assistance to walk. That's why I requested the two of you."
Sergeant Littlebottom was surprised. "Good grief, your worship, whatever happened to him?"
Reverend Clem sighed. "Offler and Seven-Handed Set got into an argument that degenerated into a scuffle. When such things happen between gods, the usual victims are human and the results are lightning strikes, burnt out houses and the occasional earthquake. This time, however, Blind Io intervened and got the two settled down again with minimal damage—except to sub-deacon Wylnd. How and why, he ended up as collateral damage is very unsure, as yet."
"He's suffered injury?" Cuddi asked.
The Deputy High Priest clenched his teeth and inhaled with a drawn out hiss. "Not physically. It's the side effects. They've unsettled him badly and aren't good for anyone standing within range—and the range is long."