'We're, er, we're trying to find out who killed him,' Cheery began.
There was a movement behind Cheery, and the faces in front of him suddenly looked very worried indeed. He turned to see Detritus in the doorway to the next room.
'Everyt'ing okay?' said the troll.
The changed fortunes of the Watch had allowed Detritus to have a proper breastplate rather than a piece of elephant battle armour. As was normal practice for the uniform of a sergeant, the armourer had attempted to do a stylized representation of muscles on it. As far as Detritus was concerned, he hadn't been able to get them all in.
'Is dere any trouble?' he said.
The crowd backed away.
'None at all, officer,' said Mr Raddley. 'You, er, just loomed suddenly, that's all...'
'Dis is correct,' said Detritus. 'I am a loomer. It often happen suddenly. So dere's no trouble, den?'
'No trouble whatsoever, officer.'
'Amazing t'ing, trouble,' rumbled Detritus thoughtfully. 'Always I go lookin' for trouble, an' when I find it people said it ain't dere.'
Mr Raddley drew himself up.
'But we want to take Father Tubelcek away to bury him,' he said.
Detritus turned to Cheery Littlebottom. 'You done everyt'ing you need?'
'I suppose so...'
'He dead?'
'Oh, yes.'
'He gonna get any better?'
'Better than dead? I doubt it.'
'Okay, den you people can take him away.'
The two Watchmen stood aside as the body was carried down the stairs.
'Why you takin' pictures of the dead man?' said Detritus.
'Well, er, it might be helpful to see how he was lying.'
Detritus nodded sagely. 'Ah, he was lyin', was he? An' him a holy man, too.'
Littlebottom pulled out the picture and looked at it again. It was almost black. But...
A constable arrived at the bottom of the stairs. 'Is there someone up there called' - there was a muffled snigger - 'Cheery Littlebottom?'
'Yes,' said Littlebottom gloomily.
'Well, Commander Vimes says you've to come to the Patrician's palace right now, all right?'
'Dat's Corporal Littlebottom you're talkin' to,' said Detritus.
'It's all right,' said Littlebottom. 'Nothing could make it any worse.'
Rumour is information distilled so finely that it can filter through anything. It does not need doors and windows - sometimes it doesn't even need people. It can exist free and wild, running from ear to ear without ever touching lips.