Men at Arms (Discworld #15)(90)

Several times the scent petered out at a wall or a low-roofed hut, and Gaspode would limp around in circles until he found it again.

Random thoughts wavered in his schizophrenic doggy mind.

'Clever Dog Saves The Day,' he muttered. 'Everyone Says, Good Doggy. No they don't, I'm only doing it 'cos I was threatened. The Marvellous Nose. I didn't want to do this. You Shall Have A Bone. I'm just flotsam on the sea of life, me. Who's a Good Boy? Shut up.'

The sun toiled up the sky. Down below, Gaspode toiled on.

Willikins opened the curtains. Sunlight poured in. Vimes groaned and sat up slowly in what remained of his bed.

'Good grief, man,' he mumbled. 'What sort of time d'you call this?'

'Almost nine in the morning, sir,' said the butler.

'Nine in the morning? What sort of time is that to get up? I don't normally get up until the afternoon's got the shine worn off!'

'But sir is not at work any more, sir.'

Vimes looked down at the tangle of sheets and blankets. They were wrapped around Ms legs and knotted together. Then he remembered the dream.

He'd been walking around the city.

Well, maybe not so much a dream as a memory. After all, he walked the city every night. Some part of him wasn't giving up; some part of Vimes was learning to be a civilian, but an old part was marching, no, proceeding to a different beat. He'd thought the place seemed deserted and harder to walk through than usual.

'Does sir wish me to shave him or will sir do it himself?'

'I get nervous if people hold blades near my face,' said Vimes. 'But if you harness the horse and cart I'll try and get to the other end of the bathroom.'

'Very amusing, sir.'

Vimes had another bath, just for the novelty of it. He was aware from a general background noise that the mansion was busily humming towards W-hour. Lady Sybil was devoting to her wedding all the directness of thought she'd normally apply to breeding out a tendency towards floppy ears in swamp dragons. Half a dozen cooks had been busy in the kitchens for three days. They were roasting a whole ox and doing amazing stuff with rare fruit. Hitherto Sam Vimes' idea of a good meal was liver without tubes. Haute cuisine had been bits of cheese on sticks stuck into half a grapefruit.

He was vaguely aware that prospective grooms were not supposed to see putative brides on the morning of the wedding, possibly in case they took to their heels. That was unfortunate. He'd have liked to have talked to someone. If he could talk to someone, it might all make sense.

He picked up the razor, and looked in the mirror at the face of Captain Samuel Vimes.

Colon saluted, and then peered at Carrot.

'You all right, sir? You look like you could do with some sleep.'

Ten o'clock, or various attempts thereof, began to boom around the city. Carrot turned away from the window.

'I've been out looking,' he said.

'Three more recruits this morning already,' said Colon. They'd asked to join 'Mr Carrot's army'. He was slightly worried about that.

'Good.'

'Detritus is giving 'em very basic training,' said Colon. 'It works, too. After an hour of him shouting in their ear, they do anything I tell 'em.'

'I want all the men we can spare up on the rooftops between the Palace and the University,' said Carrot.

'There's Assassins up there already,' said Colon. 'And the Thieves' Guild have got men up there, too.'

'They're Thieves and Assassins. We're not. Make sure someone's up on the Tower of Art as well—'

'Sir?'

'Yes, sergeant?'

'We've been talking . . . me and the lads . . . and, well . . .'


'Yes?'

'It'd save a lot of trouble if we went to the wizards and asked them—'

'Captain Vimes never had any truck with magic.'

'No, but. . .'

'No magic, sergeant.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Guard of honour all sorted out?'

'Yes, sir. Their cohorts all gleaming in purple and gold, sir.'

'Really?'

'Very important, sir, good clean cohorts. Frighten the life out the enemy.'

'Good.'

'But I can't find Corporal Nobbs, sir.'

'Is that a problem?'

'Well, it means the honour guard'll be a bit smarter, sir.'

'I've sent him on a special errand.'

'Er . . . can't find Lance-Constable Angua, either.'

'Sergeant?'

Colon braced himself. Outside, the bells were dying away.

'Did you know she was a werewolf?'

'Um . . . Captain Vimes kind of hinted, sir . . .'

'How did he hint?'

Colon took a step back.

'He sort of said, “Fred, she's a damn werewolf. I don't like it any more than you do, but Vetinari says we've got to take one of them as well, and a werewolf's better than a vampire or a zombie, and that's all there is to it.” That's what he hinted.'

'I see.'

'Er . . . sorry about that, sir.'

'Just let's get through the day, Fred. That's all—'

—abing, abing, a-bing-bong—