"Yes, sah!"

Lord Vetinari retreated to the protection of his desk.

"May I commend you on the gleam of your armor, Acting Captain-"

"Spit and polish, sah! No subst.i.tute for it, sah!" Sweat was streaming down Colon's face.

"Oh, good. Clearly you have been purchasing extra supplies of spit. Now then, let me see..."

Lord Vetinari drew a sheet of paper from one of the small stack in front of him.

"Now then, Acti-"

"Sah!"

"To be sure. I have here another complaint of overenthusiastic clamping...I'm sure you know to what I refer."

"It was causing serious traffic congestion, sah!"

"Quite so. It is well known for it. But it is, in fact, the opera house."

"Sah!"

"The owner feels that big yellow clamps at each corner detract from what I might call the tone tone of the building. And, of course, they do prevent him from driving it away." of the building. And, of course, they do prevent him from driving it away."

"Sah!"

"Indeed. I think that this is a case where discretion might be advisable, Acting Captain!"

"Got to make an example to the others, sah!"

"Ah. Yes." The Patrician held another piece of paper delicately between thumb and forefinger, as though it were some rare and strange creature. "The others being...let me see if I can recall, some things do stick in the mind so...ah, yes...three other buildings, six fountains, three statues and the gibbet in Nonesuch Street. Oh, and my own palace."

"I fully understand you're parked on business, sah!"

Lord Vetinari paused. He found it difficult to talk to Frederick Colon. He dealt on a daily basis with people who treated conversation as a complex game, and with Colon he had to keep on adjusting his mind in case he overshot.

"Pursuing the business of your recent career with, I have to admit, some considerable and growing fascination, I am moved to ask you why the Watch now appears to have a staff of twenty."

"Sah?"

"You had around sixty a little while ago, I'm sure."

Colon mopped his face.

"Cutting out the dead wood, sah! Making the Watch leaner an' fitter, sah!"

"I see. The number of internal disciplinary charges you have laid against your men," and here the Patrician picked up a much thicker doc.u.ment, "seems somewhat excessive. I see no fewer than one hundred and seventy three offenses of eyeballing, earlobing and nostrilling, for example."

"Sah!"

"Nostrilling, Acting Captain?"

"Sah!"

"Oh. And I see, ah yes, one charge of 'making his arm fall off in an insubordinate way' laid against Constable Shoe. Commander Vimes has always given me glowing reports about this officer."

"'E's a nasty piece of work, sah! You can't trust the dead ones!"

"Nor, it would seem, most of the live ones."

"Sah!" Colon leaned forward, his face twisted in a ghastly grimace of conspiratoriality. "Between you and me, sir, Commander Vimes was a good deal too soft on them. He let them get away with too much. No sugar is safe, sah!"

Vetinari's eyes narrowed, but the telescopes on Planet Colon were far too unsophisticated to detect his mood.

"I certainly recall him mentioning a couple of officers whose timekeeping, demeanor, and all around uselessness were a dreadful example to the rest of the men," said the Patrician.

"There's my point," said Colon triumphantly. "One bad apple ruins the whole barrel!"

"I think there's only a basket now," said the Patrician. "A punnet, possibly."

"Don't you worry about a thing, Your Lordship! I'll turn things around. I'll soon get them smartened up!"

"I am sure you have it in you to surprise me even further," said Vetinari, leaning back. "I shall definitely keep my eye on you as the man to watch. And now, Acting Captain, do you have anything else to report?"

"All nice and quiet, sah!"

"I would that it was," said Vetinari. "I was just wondering if there was anything going on involving any person in this city called..." he looked down at another sheet of paper, "Sonky?"

Captain Colon almost swallowed his tongue.

"Minor matter, sah!" he managed.

"So...Sonky is alive?"

"Er...found dead, sah!"

"Murdered?"

"Sah!"

"Dear me. Many people would not consider that a minor matter, Acting Captain. Sonky, for one."

"Well, sah, not everyone agrees with what he does, sah."

"Are we by any chance talking about Wallace Wallace Sonky? The manufacturer of rubber goods?" Sonky? The manufacturer of rubber goods?"

"Sah!"

"Boots and gloves seem noncontroversial to me me, Acting Captain."

"It's...er...the other stuff, sah!" Colon coughed nervously. "He makes them rubber wallies, sah."

"Ah. The preventatives."

"Lot of people don't agree with that sort of thing, sah."

"So I understand."

Colon drew himself up to attention again.

"Not natural, in my view, sah. Not in favor of unnatural things."

Vetinari looked perplexed.

"You mean...you eat your meat raw and sleep in a tree?"

"Sah?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing. Someone in Uberwald seems to be taking an interest in him lately. And now he's dead. I would not dream of telling the Watch their job, of course."

He watched Colon carefully to see if this had sunk in.

"I said that it is entirely up to you to choose what to investigate in this bustling city," he prompted.

Colon was lost in unfamiliar country without a map.

"Thank you, sah!" he barked.

Vetinari sighed. "And now, Acting Captain, I'm sure there's much that needs your attention."

"Sah! I've got plans to-"

"I meant, do not let me detain you."

"Oh, that's all right, sir, I've got plenty of time-"

"Goodbye, Acting Captain Colon."

Out in the anteroom, Fred Colon stood very still for a while, until his heartbeat wound down from a whine to at least a purr.

It had, on the whole, gone quite well. Very well. Amazingly well, really. His Lordship had practically taken him into his confidence. He'd called him "a man to watch."

Fred wondered why he'd been so scared of officering all these years. There was nothing to it, really, once you got the bull between your teeth. If only he'd started years ago! Of course, he wouldn't hear a word said about Mr. Vimes, who should certainly be looking after himself in those dangerous foreign parts...but...well, Fred Colon had been a sergeant when Sam Vimes was a rookie, hadn't he? It was only his nat'ral deference that'd held him back all these years. When Sam Vimes came back, and with the Patrician there to put in a good word for him, Fred Colon would definitely be on the promotion ladder.

Only to full captain, of course, he thought as he strutted down the stairs-with great care, because strutting is usually impossible while walking downward. He wouldn't want to outrank Captain Carrot. That would be...wrong.

This fact shows that, however crazed with power someone may become, a tiny instinct for self-preservation always remains.

He got the chickens first, thought Gaspode, winding his way through the legs of the crowd. Amazin'.

They hadn't stopped to eat them, though. Gaspode had been stuffed into the other saddlebag and would not like to have to go through ten miles like that again, especially so close to the smell of roast chicken.

It looked as though there was a market going on, and the wolf-baiting had been saved as a sort of closing ceremony. Hurdles had been arranged on a rough circle. Men were holding the collars of dogs-big, heavy, unpleasant looking dogs, which were already wild with excitement and deranged stupidity.

There was a coop by the hurdles. Gaspode made his way to it, and peered through the wooden bars at the heap of matted gray fur in the shadows.

"Looks like you're in a spot of strife, friend," he said.

Contrary to legend-and there are so many legends about wolves, although mostly they are legends about the way men think about wolves-a trapped wolf is more likely to whine and fawn than go wild with rage.

But this one must have felt it had nothing to lose. Foam-flecked jaws snapped at the bars.

"Where's the rest of your pack, then?" said Gaspode.

"No pack, shorty!"

"Ah. A lone wolf, eh?" The worst kind, Gaspode thought.

"Roast chicken isn't worth this," he muttered. Out loud, he growled, "You seen any other wolves around here?"

"Yes!"

"Good. You want to get out of here alive?"

"I'll kill them all!"

"Right, right...but there's dozens of 'em, see. You won't stand a chance. They'll tear you to bits. Dogs're a lot nastier than wolves."

In the shade, the eyes narrowed.

"Why're you telling me, dog?"

"'Cos I am here to help you, see? You do what I tell you, you could be out of here in half an hour. Otherwise you're a rug on someone's floor tomorrow. Your choice. O'course, there might not be enough of you left to make a rug."

The wolf listened to the baying of the dogs. There was no mistaking their intent.

"What did you have in mind?" it said.

A few minutes later the crowd was gently nudged aside as Carrot edged his horse toward the pen. The hubbub died. A sword on a horse always commands respect; the rider is often a mere courtesy detail, but in this case it was not so. The Watch had put the final swell and polish on Carrot's muscles.

And there was that faint smile. It was the sort you backed away from.

"Good day. Who is in charge here?" he said.