'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 Nobby.
'Are you making fun of me, corporal?'
Nobby saluted. 'Nossir! Maybe it was a invisible 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 Nobby, 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 Nobby, 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!' Nobby'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 Nobby, in a little voice.
'I know he's a troll, but I won't have it said I'm an unfair man.'
'Sergeant Flint.'
'I knows I can rely on you, corporal.'
'Sergeant Flint.'
'That will be all. I've got to go and see his lordship in an hour and I want some time to think. 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 that 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 hell 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 tenpence!' he wailed. 'They only had to arsk!'
'Probably didn't want to bother you,' said the horseman. 'Since I am here, sir, I would be grateful if you could sell me a chicken—'
Behind the farmer the dog said, 'Woof woof!'
'—two chickens, and I will not trespass 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 each.'
'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 chickenfeed. 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 mad enough to pay a dollar for a good chicken might be quite content with just a reasonable chicken, after all. He stood up.
'Only the best, mister.'
He spun around. There was no one 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 where she'd almost rubbed out her footprints in the dust?' said Gaspode.
'Yes,' said Carrot, closing his eyes.
'Does she always 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 pose 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[13], and fell asleep.
He awoke shortly afterwards 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 woke 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?'
'You ever heard of a town called Scant Cullot?'
'I think it's about ten miles from here.'
'One of Mister Farmer's neighbours 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!'
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 to attention at all times,' he said kindly. 'You are allowed to unbend enough for the satisfactory manipulation of a doorknob.'
'Yes, sah!'
Lord Vetinari raised a hand to his ear protectively. 'You may be seated.'
'Yes, sah!'
&
nbsp; 'You may be quieter, too.'
'Yes, sah!'
Lord Vetinari retreated to the protection of his desk. 'May I commend you on the gleam of your armour, Acting Captain—'
'Spit and polish, sah! No substitute 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 stacks in front of him.
'Now then, Acti—'
'Sah!'
'To be sure. I have here another complaint of over-enthusiastic 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 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 was 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 document - 'seems somewhat excessive. I see no fewer than one hundred and seventy-three offences 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.'
Ole'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 time-keeping, demeanour, and all-round 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 Sonky? The manufacturer of rubber goods?'
'Sah!'
'Boots and gloves seem non-controversial to 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 favour 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 downwards. He wouldn't want to outrank Captain Carrot. That would be... wrong.
This fact shows that, however crazed with power someone may be, a tiny instinct for selfpreservation 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 in 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 grey 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 g
o 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'm 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 towards 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.
There was a certain amount of comparison of status, and a man cautiously raised his hand.
'I'm the deputy mayor, y'honour,' he said.
'And what is this event?'
'We'm about to bait a wolf, y'honour.'
'Really? I myself own a wolfhound of unusual strength and prowess. May I test it against the creature?'
There was more mumbling among the bystanders, the general consensus being: why not? Anyway, there was that smile...
'Go ahead, y'honour,' said the deputy mayor.
Carrot stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled. The townspeople watched in astonishment as Gaspode walked out from between their legs and sat down. Then the laughter started.
It died away after a while, because the faint smile didn't.
'Is there a problem?' said Carrot.
'It'll get torn limb from limb!'
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