'They were armed, sir. I got them from the blacksmith in Market Street, sir. I said you'd be along later to pay for them.'
'And the cry?' said Vimes weakly.
'Dwarfish war yodel, sir,' said Carrot proudly.
'It's a good cry,' said Vimes, picking his words with care. 'But I'd be grateful if you'd warn me first another time, all right?'
'Certainly, sir.'
'In writing, I think.'
The Librarian swung on. It was slow progress, because there were things he wasn't keen on meeting. Creatures evolve to fill every niche in the environment, and some of those in the dusty immensity of L- space were best avoided. They were much more unusual than ordinary unusual creatures.
Usually he could forewarn himself by keeping a careful eye on the kickstool crabs that grazed harmlessly on the dust. When they were spooked, it was time to hide. Several times he had to flatten himself against the shelves as a thesaurus thundered by. He waited patiently as a herd of Critters crawled past, grazing on the contents of the choicer books and leaving behind them piles of small slim volumes of literary criticism. And there were other things, things which he hurried away from and tried not to look hard at ...
And you had to avoid cliches at all costs.
He finished the last of his peanuts atop a stepladder, which was browsing mindlessly off the high shelves.
The territory definitely had a familiar feel, or at least he got the feeling that it would eventually be familiar. Time had a different meaning in L-space.
There were shelves whose outline he felt he knew. The book titles, while still unreadable, held a tantalising hint of legibility. Even the musty air had a smell he thought he recognized.
He shambled quickly along a side passage, turned the corner and, with only the slightest twinge of disorientation, shuffled into that set of dimensions that people, because they don't know any better, think of as normal.
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