Slam cleared his throat. ‘We heard noises … People fighting …’

Moist looked at Vimes meaningfully and the commander said, ‘Detritus? Think you could find them?’

The watchman saluted with a thud. ‘Me an’ Bluejohn will go lookin’. We are good at findin’ humans. ’s a troll fing. We’ll find dem. Dead or alive.’

The two trolls headed into the undergrowth and Moist was sensitive to the fact that a large amount of firepower had gone with them. The commander looked grim.

The little gnome by Moist’s feet tugged at his trouser leg to get attention. ‘We can help with the water,’ he said. ‘There’s a good spring behind the rise, and there’s hundreds of us and it’s not far and we make excellent buckets and I reckon we can fill your tanks in an hour or so.’

And they did.

Slam brought out a whistle from his jacket and blew it, and about a hundred replicas of the little gnome appeared. Not walked up, not came out of the sky, not came out of the earth. Simply appeared, each one carrying two buckets. It was evident that, small as they were, the gnomes were tough. Simnel watched them dashing away to the tender and back again, looking very carefully at their boots, massive things.

‘Ey up, mister gnome, do you make them boots? I’m not being funny … but they are the biggest boots I’ve ever seen on such little folk. And, you know, with all the walking on t’lines and cinders and all, our boots wear out too damn quickly. I mean, look at these. Worn in all weathers. You said you were cobblers. Can you work metal an’ all? Because if you can, what we really need are lads who can make heavy boots for t’railway workers. I’d be dead chuffed if you could. Boots for lads on t’permanent way’ve got to be permanent boots.’

Slam beamed. ‘If someone could send us the specifications as soon as possible we’ll send a sample. And, for your interest, mister engineer, we are not little folk. We are big on the inside.’

He was interrupted by Detritus coming through the undergrowth like a creature from the dawn of time, followed by Bluejohn in his role as heavy weapon. Bluejohn carefully put down two corpses and a mangled water crane.

Rhys Rhysson swore when he saw the corpses and young Simnel wept, but it was now fully morning, and time was passing. After a quick consultation with Commander Vimes and the Low King, the decision was made to leave. As everyone reboarded the train, Moist and Simnel said farewell to the gnomes.

‘Please look after this place and give these gentlemen a decent burial, with a stone,’ said the red-eyed Simnel. ‘And if possible can you do owt wi’ t’water crane?’

Slam beamed again. ‘It’s only metal. Didn’t I mention that we’re tinkers as well? We can definitely fix it for you.’

‘Well then,’ said Moist, ‘you and your people are now working for the railway and that means you are working for Harry King and Sir Harry doesn’t like anything bad to happen to his employees, oh my word yes. You’ll see trains a lot in the future and I think you’ll find your lives considerably more busy. I’ll send a clacks to Sir Harry about remuneration.’