There was a sharp smell of burned paper in the captain's room when n.o.bby entered.

"Nothing cheers up the day like a good fire, I always say," he said, putting the tray on the desk.

But Captain Colon wasn't paying any attention. He'd removed the sugar bowl from the locked drawer of his desk and had laid the cubes out in rows.

"Do you see anything wrong with these lumps, Corporal?" he said quietly.

"Well, they're a bit manky where you've been handling them every-"

"There's thirty-seven, Corporal."

"Sorry about that, Captain."

"Visit must've pinched them when he was in here. He must've used some fancy foreign trick. They can do that, you know. Climb ropes and disappear up the top of 'em, that sort of thing."

"Did he have a rope?" said n.o.bby.

"Are you making fun of me, Corporal?"

n.o.bby saluted. "Nossir! Maybe it was a invisible invisible one, sir. After all, if they can disappear up a rope, they can make the rope disappear, too. Obviously." one, sir. After all, if they can disappear up a rope, they can make the rope disappear, too. Obviously."

"Good thinking, Corporal."

"On the subject of thinking, sir," said n.o.bby, plunging in, "have you had time in your busy schedule to give some thought to the promotion of the new sergeant?"

"I have, as a matter of fact, put that very thing in hand, Corporal."

"Good, sir."

"I've borne in mind everything you said, and the choice was starin' me in the face."

"Yessir!" said n.o.bby, sticking out his chest and saluting.

"I just hope it don't cause loss of morals. It can do that, when people are promoted. So if there's any trouble like that, I want the sugar-stealing person reported to me right away, understand?"

"Yessir!" n.o.bby's feet had almost left the ground.

"And I shall rely on you, Corporal, to let me know if Sergeant Flint has any trouble."

"Sergeant Flint," said n.o.bby, in a little voice.

"I know he's a troll, but I won't have it said I'm an unfair man."

"Sergeant Flint. Flint."

"I know I can rely on you, Corporal."

"Sergeant Flint." Flint."

"That will be all. I've got to go and see His Lordship in an hour and I want some time to think for. That's what my job is, thinking."

"Sergeant Flint."

"Yes. I should go and report to him if I was you."

White chicken feathers were scattered across the field. The farmer stood at the door of his henhouse, shaking his head. He glanced up as a horseman approached.

"Good morrow, sir! Are you experiencing trouble?"

The farmer opened his mouth for a witty or at least snappy response, but something stopped him. Perhaps it was the sword the horseman had slung across his back. Perhaps it was the man's faint smile. The smile was somehow more frightening.

"Er...somethin's been at my fowls," he ventured. "Fox, I reckon."

"Wolf, I suspect," said the rider.

The man opened his mouth to say "Don't be daft, we don't get wolves down here this time of the year," but again the confident smile made him hesitate.

"Got many hens, did they?"

"Six," said the farmer.

"And they got in by..."

"Well, that's the strange th-Here, keep the dog away!"

A small mongrel had leapt down from the saddle and was sniffing around the henhouses.

"He won't be any trouble," said the rider.

"I shouldn't push your luck, mate. He's in a funny mood," said a voice behind the farmer. He turned around quickly.

The dog looked up at him innocently. Everyone knew that dogs didn't talk.

"Woof? Bark? Whine?" it said.

"He's highly trained," said the rider.

"Yeah, right," said the voice behind the farmer. He felt an overpowering desire to see the back of the horseman. The smile was getting on his nerves, and now he was hearing things.

"I can't see how they got in," he said. "The door's latched..."

"And wolves don't usually leave payment, right?" said the rider.

"How the h.e.l.l did you know that?"

"Well...several reasons, sir, but I couldn't help noticing that you clenched your fist tightly as soon as you heard me, and I surmise therefore that you found...let me see...three dollars left in the chicken house. Three dollars would buy six fine birds in Ankh-Morpork."

The man opened his fist, wordlessly. The coins glinted in the sunlight.

"But...but I sells 'em at the gate for ten pence!" he wailed. "They only had to arsk arsk!"

"Probably didn't want to bother you," said the hors.e.m.e.n. "Since I am here, sir, I would be grateful if you could sell me me a chicken-" a chicken-"

Behind the farmer the dog said said "Woof woof!" "Woof woof!"

"-two chickens, and I will not trespa.s.s further upon your time." chickens, and I will not trespa.s.s further upon your time."

"Woof woof woof."

"Three chickens," said the rider, wearily. "And if you have them dressed and cooked while I tend to my horse, I will gladly pay a dollar apiece." chickens," said the rider, wearily. "And if you have them dressed and cooked while I tend to my horse, I will gladly pay a dollar apiece."

"Woof, woof."

"Without garlic or any seasoning on two of the chickens, please," said the rider.

The farmer nodded wordlessly. A dollar a chicken wasn't chicken feed. You didn't turn up your nose at an offer like that. But most importantly, you didn't disobey a man with that faint little smile on his face. It didn't seem to move, or change. As smiles went, you wanted this one to go as far away as possible.

He hurried off to the yard that held his best fowls, reached down to select the fattest...and paused. A man who was fool enough to pay a dollar for a good good chicken might be quite content with just a chicken might be quite content with just a reasonable reasonable chicken, after all...He stood up. chicken, after all...He stood up.

"Only the best, mister."

He spun around. No one was there except the little scruffy dog, which had followed him and was now raising a cloud of dust as it scratched itself.

"Woof?" it said.

He threw a stone at it, and it trotted off. Then he selected three of the very best chickens.

Carrot was lying down under a tree, trying to make his head comfortable on a saddlebag.

"Did you see in the dust where she'd almost rubbed out her footprints?" said Gaspode.

"Yes," said Carrot, closing his eyes.

"Does she always always pay for chickens?" pay for chickens?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Carrot turned over.

"Because animals don't."

Gaspode looked at the back of Carrot's head. On the whole he enjoyed the unusual gift of speech, but something about the reddening of Carrot's ears told him that this was the time to employ the even rarer gift of silence.

He settled down in the position he almost unconsciously categorized as Faithful Companion Keeping Watch, got bored, scratched himself absentmindedly, curled up in the pose known as Faithful Companion Curled Up With His Nose Pressed On His Bottom,* and fell asleep. and fell asleep.

He awoke shortly afterward, to the sound of voices. There was also a faint smell of roast chicken coming from the direction of the farmhouse.

Gaspode rolled over, and saw the farmer talking to another man on a cart. He listened for a moment and then sat up, locked in a metaphysical conundrum.

Finally he awoke Carrot by licking his ear.

"Fzwl...what?"

"You got to promise to collect the roast chicken first, all right?" said Gaspode urgently.

"What?" Carrot sat up.

"Get the chickens and then we gotta go, right? You gotta promise."

"All right, all right, I promise. What's happening happening?"

"You ever heard of a town call Scant Cullot?"

"I think it's about ten miles from here..."

"One of Mister Farmer's neighbors has just told him that they've caught a wolf there."

"Killed it?"

"No, no, no...but the wolf hunters...there's wolf hunters in these parts, see, 'cos of the sheep up on the hills and...they have to train their dogs first remember you promised about the chickens remember you promised about the chickens!"

At precisely eleven o'clock there was a smart rap on Lord Vetinari's door.

The Patrician gave the woodwork a puzzled frown. At last he said: "Come."

Fred Colon entered with difficulty. Vetinari watched him for a few moments until pity overcame even him.

"Acting Captain, it is not necessary to remain at attention at all all times," he said, kindly. "You are allowed to unbend enough for the satisfactory manipulation of a doork.n.o.b. times," he said, kindly. "You are allowed to unbend enough for the satisfactory manipulation of a doork.n.o.b.

"Yes, sah!"

Lord Vetinari raised a hand to his ear protectively.

"You may be seated."

"Yes, sah!"

"You may be quieter, too."