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"
But
it
’
s
the
Law
-
"
he
began
.
He
was
nearly
terminally
interrupted
by
an
axe
that
whirred
out
of
a
low
doorway
beside
him
and
bounced
off
the
opposite
wall
.
It
was
followed
by
sounds
of
splintering
timber
and
breaking
glass
.
"
Hey
,
Nobby
!
"
said
Carrot
urgently
,
"
There
’
s
a
fight
going
on
!
"
Nobby
glanced
at
the
doorway
.
"
O
’
course
there
is
,
"
he
said
.
"
It
’
s
a
dwarf
bar
.
Worst
kind
.
You
keep
out
of
there
,
kid
.
Them
little
buggers
like
to
trip
you
up
and
then
kick
twelve
kinds
of
shit
out
of
you
.
You
come
along
o
’
Nobby
and
he
’
ll
-
"
He
grabbed
Carrot
’
s
treetrunk
arm
.
It
was
like
trying
to
tow
a
building
.
Carrot
had
gone
pale
.
"
Dwarfs
drinking
?
And
fighting
?
"
he
said
.
"
You
bet
,
"
said
Nobby
.
"
All
the
time
.
And
they
use
the
kind
of
language
I
wouldn
’
t
even
use
to
my
own
dear
mother
.
You
don
’
t
want
to
mix
it
with
them
,
they
’
re
a
poisonous
bunch
of
-
don
’
t
go
in
there
!
"
.
.
.
No
-
one
knows
why
dwarfs
,
who
at
home
in
the
mountains
lead
quiet
,
orderly
lives
,
forget
it
all
when
they
move
to
the
big
city
.
Something
comes
over
even
the
most
blameless
iron
-
ore
miner
and
prompts
him
to
wear
chain
-
mail
all
the
time
,
carry
an
axe
,
change
his
name
to
something
like
Grabthroat
Shinkicker
and
drink
himself
into
surly
oblivion
.
