Feet of Clay

'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. 'D'you mind if youse goes out the back way?' he mumbled. 'Youse makes the help nervous an' I get pots I can't sell.'

He indicated a pair of wide doors in the rear wall, big enough for a cart to get through. Then he fumbled in his apron and produced a large keyring.

The padlock on the gate was big and shiny and new.

'You are afraid of theft?' said Angua.

'Now, lady, dat's unfair,' said Igneous. 'Someone broke der ole lock when dey pinched some stuff tree, four munfs ago.'

'Disgusting, isn't it?' said Angua. 'Makes you wonder why you pay your taxes, I expect.'

In some ways Igneous was a lot brighter than, say, Mr Ironcrust. He ignored the remark. 'It was just stuff,' he said, ushering them towards the open gate as speedily as he dared.

'Was it clay they stole?' said Cheery.

'It don't cost much but it's the principle of the t'ing,' he said. 'It beat me why dey bothered. It come to somet'ng when half a ton of clay can jus' walk out the door.'

Angua looked at the lock again. 'Yes, indeed,' she said distantly.

The gate rattled shut behind them. They were outside, in an alley.

'Fancy anyone stealing a load of clay,' said Cheery. 'Did he tell the Watch?'

'I shouldn't think so,' said Angua. 'Wasps don't complain too loudly when they're stung. Anyway, Detritus thinks Igneous is mixed up with smuggling Slab to the mountains, and so he's itching for an excuse to have a poke around in there … Look, this is still technically my day off.' She stepped back and peered up at the high spiked wall around the yard. 'Could you bake clay in a baker's oven?' she said.

'Oh, no.'

'Doesn't get hot enough?'

'No, it's the wrong shape. Some of your pots'd be baked hard while others'd still be green. Why do you ask?'

Why did I ask? Angua thought. Oh, what the hell … 'Fancy a drink?'

'Not ale,' said Cheery quickly. 'And nowhere where you have to sing while you drink. Or slap your knees.'

Angua nodded understandingly. 'Somewhere, in fact, without dwarfs?'

'Er … yes.'

'Where we're going,' said Angua, 'that won't be a problem.'

The fog was rising fast. All morning it had hung around in alleys and cellars. Now it was moving back in for the night. It came out of the ground and up from the river and down from the sky, a clinging yellowish stinging blanket, the river Ankh in droplet form. It found its way through cracks and, against all common sense, managed to survive in lighted rooms, filling the air with an eye-watering haze and making the candles crackle. Outdoors, every figure loomed, every shape was a menace …

In a drab alley off a drab street Angua stopped, squared her shoulders, and pushed open a door.

The atmosphere in the long, low, dark room altered as she stepped inside. A moment of time rang like a glass bowl, and then there was a sense of relaxation. People turned back in their seats.

Well, they were seated. It was quite likely they were people.

Cheery moved closer to Angua. 'What's this place called?' she whispered.

'It hasn't really got a name,' said Angua, 'but sometimes we call it Biers.'

'It didn't look like an inn outside. How did you find it?'

'You don't. You … gravitate to it.'

Cheery looked around nervously. She wasn't sure where they were, apart from somewhere in the cattle- market district, somewhere up a maze of alleys.

Angua walked to the bar.

A deeper shadow appeared out of the gloom. 'Hello, Angua,' it said, in a deep, rolling voice. 'Fruit juice, is it?'

'Yes. Chilled.'

'And what about the dwarf?'

'She'll have him raw,' said a voice somewhere in the gloom. There was a ripple of laughter in the dark. Some of it sounded altogether too strange to Cheery. She couldn't imagine it issuing from normal lips. ‘I’ll have a fruit juice, too,' she quavered.

Angua glanced at the dwarf. She felt oddly grateful that the remark from the darkness seemed to have gone entirely over the small bullet head. She unhooked her badge and with care and deliberation laid it down on the counter. It went perlink. Then Angua leaned forward and showed the iconograph to the barman.

If it was a man. Cheery wasn't sure yet. A sign over the bar said 'Don't you ever change'.

'You know everything that's going on, Igor,' Angua said. 'Two old men got killed yesterday. And a load of clay got stolen from Igneous the troll recently. Did you ever hear about that?'

'What's that to you?'

'Killing old men is against the law,' said Angua. 'Of course, a lot of things are against the law, so we're very busy in the Watch. We like to be busy about important things. Otherwise we have to be busy about unimportant things. Are you hearing me?'

The shadow considered this. 'Go and take a seat,' it said. 'I'll bring your drinks.'

Angua led the way to a table in an alcove. The clientele lost interest in them. A buzz of conversation resumed.

'What is this place?' Cheery whispered.

'It's … a place where people can be themselves,' said Angua slowly. 'People who … have to be a little careful at other times. You know?'

'No.'

Angua sighed. 'Vampires, zombies, bogeymen, ghouls, oh my. The und—' She corrected herself. 'The differently alive,' she said. 'People who have to spend most of their time being very careful, not frightening people, fitting in. That's how it works here. Fit in, get a job, don't worry people, and you probably won't find a crowd outside with pitchforks and flaming torches. But sometimes it's good to go where everybody knows your shape.'

Now that Cheery's eyes had grown accustomed to the low light she could make out the variety of shapes on the benches. Some of them were a lot bigger than human. Some had pointy ears and long muzzles.

'Who's that girl?' she said. 'She looks … normal.'

'That's Violet. She's a tooth fairy. And next to her is Schleppel the bogeyman.'

In the far corner something sat huddled in a huge overcoat under a high, broad-brimmed pointed hat.

'And him?'

'That's old Man Trouble,' said Angua. 'If you know what's good for you, you don't