Men at Arms

Somewhere under the table, Vimes screamed at Ridcully: “Amazing! Who built it!”

“I don't know! But it's got the name B.S. Johnson on the keyboard cover!”

There was a descending wail, one last Hurdy-Gurdy Effect, and then silence.

“Twenty minutes those lads were pumping up the reservoirs,” said Ridcully, dusting himself off as he stood op. “Go easy on the Vox Dei stop, there's a good chap!”

“Ook!”

The Archchancellor turned back to Vimes, who was wearing the standard waxen pre-nuptial grimace. The hall was filling up quite well now.

“I'm not an expert on this stuff,” he said, “but you've got the ring, have you?”

“Yes.”

“Who's giving away the bride?”

“Her Uncle Lofthouse. He's a bit gaga, but she insisted.”

“And the best man?”

“What?”

“The best man. You know? He hands you the ring and has to marry the bride if you run away and so on. The Dean's been reading up on it, haven't you, Dean?”

“Oh, yes,” said the Dean, who'd spent all the previous day with Lady Deirdre Waggon's Book of Etiquette. “She's got to marry someone once she's turned up. You can't have unmarried brides flapping around the place, being a danger to society.”

“I completely forgot about a best man!” said Vimes.

The Librarian, who'd given up on the organ until it had some more puff, brightened up.

“Ook?”

“Well, go and find one,” said Ridcully. “You've got nearly half an hour.”

“It's not as easy as that, is it? They don't grow on trees!”

“Oook?”

“I can't think who to ask!”

“Oook.”.

The Librarian liked being best man. You were allowed to kiss bridesmaids, and they weren't allowed to run away. He was really disappointed when Vimes ignored him.

Acting-Constable Cuddy climbed laboriously up the steps inside the Tower of Art, grumbling to himself He knew he couldn't complain. They'd drawn lots because, Carrot said, you shouldn't ask the men to do anything you wouldn't do yourself. And he'd drawn the short straw, harhar, which meant the tallest building. That meant if there was any trouble, he'd miss it.

He paid no attention to the thin rope dangling from the trapdoor far above. Even if he'd thought about it… so what? It was just a rope.

Gaspode looked up into the shadows.

There was a growl from somewhere in the darkness. It was no ordinary dog growl. Early man had heard sounds like that in deep caves.

Gaspode sat down. His tail thumped uncertainly.

“Knew I'd find you sooner or later,” he said. “The old nose, eh? Finest instrument known to dog.”

There was another growl. Gaspode whimpered a bit.

“The thing is,” he said, “the thing is… the actual thing is, see… the thing what I've been sent to do…”

Late man heard sounds like that, too. Just before he became late.

“I can see you… don't want to talk right now,” said Gaspode. “But the thing is… now, I know what you're thinking, is this Gaspode obeyin' orders from a human?”

Gaspode looked conspiratorially over his shoulder, as if there could be anything worse than what was in front of him.

“That's the whole mess about being a dog, see?” he said. “That's the thing what Big Fido can't get his mind around, see? You looked at the dogs in the Guild, right? You heard 'em howl. Oh, yes, Death To The Humans, All Right. But under all that there's the fear. There's the voice sayin': Bad Dog. And it don't come from anywhere but inside, right from inside the bones, 'cos humans made dogs. I knows this. I wish I didn't, but there it is. That's the Power, knowin'. I've read books, I have. Well, chewed books.”

The darkness was silent.

“And you're a wolf and human at the same time, right? Tricky, that. I can see that. Bit of a dichotomy, sort of thing. Makes you kind of like a dog. 'Cos that's what a dog is, really. Half a wolf and half a human. You were right about that. We've even got names. Hah! So our bodies tell us one thing, our heads tell us another. It's a dog's life, being a dog. And I bet you can't run away from him. Not really. He's your master.”

The darkness was more silent. Gaspode thought he heard movement.

“He wants you to come back. The thing is, if he finds you, that's it. He'll speak, and you'll have to obey. But if you goes back of your own accord, then it's your decision. You'd be happier as a human. I mean, what can I offer you except rats and a choice of fleas? I mean, I don't know, I don't see it as much of a problem, you just have to stay indoors six or seven nights every month—”

Angua howled.

The hairs that still remained on Gaspode's back stood on end. He tried to remember which was his jugular vein.

“I don't want to have to come in there and get you,” he said. Truth rang on every word.

“The thing is… the actual thing is… I will, though,” he added, trembling. “It's a bugger, bein' a dog.”

He thought some more, and sighed.

“Oh, I remember. It's the one in the throat,” he said.

Vimes stepped out into the sunlight, except that there wasn't much of it. Clouds were blowing in from the Hub. And—

“Detritus?”

Dink. “Captain Vimes, sah!”

“Who're all these people?”

“Watchmen, sir.”