Thud

Yeah, right, thought Vimes. And politics with Uberwald will become just that bit easier, won't it, if you can say you even have a Black Ribboner in the Watch. And if I turn this man down, I'll have to explain why. And `I just don't like vampires, okay?' probably won't do.

`Of course,' he said. `Send him along.'

`He is in fact she,' said Lord Vetinari. He glanced down at his paperwork. 'Salacia Deloresista Amanita Trigestatra Zeldana Malifee..: He paused, turned over several pages, and said, `I think we can skip some of these, but they end "von Humpeding". She is fifty-one, but' he added quickly, before Vimes could seize on this revelation, `that is no age at all for a vampire. Oh, and she'd prefer to be known simply as Sally.'

The locker room wasn't big enough. Nothing like big enough. Sergeant Angua tried not to inhale.

A large hall, that was fine. The open air, even better. What she needed was room to breathe. More specifically, she needed room not to breathe vampire.

Damn Cheery! But she couldn't have refused, that would have looked bad. All she could do was grin and bear it and fight down a pressing desire to rip out the girl's throat with her teeth.

She must know she's doing it, she thought. They must know that they exude this air of effortless ease, confident in any company, at home everywhere, making everyone else feel second class and awkward. Oh, my. Call me Sally, indeed!

`Sorry about this, she said aloud, trying to force the hairs on the back of her neck not to rise. `It's a bit close in here.' She coughed. `Anyway, this is it. Don't worry, it always smells like this in here. And don't bother to lock your locker, all the keys are the same and anyway most of the doors spring open if you hit the frame in the right way. Don't keep valuables in it, this place is too full of coppers. And don't get too upset when someone puts holy water or a wooden stake in there.'

`Is that likely to happen?' said Sally.

`Not likely' said Angua. `Certain. F'r instance, I used to find dog collars and bone-shaped biscuits in mine.'

`Didn't you complain?'

`What? No! You don't complain!' snapped Angua, wishing she could stop inhaling right now. Already she was sure her hair was a mess.

`But I thought the Watch was-'

`Look, it's nothing to do with what you ... what we are, okay?' said Angua. `If you were a dwarf it'd be a pair of platform soles or a stepladder or something, although that doesn't happen so much these days. Mostly they try it on everyone. It's a copper thing. And then they'll watch what you do, you see? No one cares if you're a troll or a gnome or a zombie or a vampire,' much, she added to herself, `but don't let them believe you're a whiner or a snitch. And actually the biscuits were pretty good, to tell you the truth- Ah, have you met Igor yet?'

`Many times,' said Sally. Angua forced a smile. In Uberwald, you met Igors all the time. Especially if you were a vampire. `The one here, though?' she said.

`I don't think so.'

Ah. Good. Angua normally avoided Igor's laboratory, because the smells that emanated therefrom were either painfully chemical or horribly, suggestively organic, but now she'd snuff them up with relief. She headed for the door with slightly more speed than politeness required, and knocked.

It creaked open. Any door opened by an Igor would creak. It was a knack.

`Hi, Igor,' said Sally cheerfully. `Gimme six!'

Angua left them chatting. Igors were naturally servile, vampires were naturally not. It was an ideal match. At least she could go and get some air now.

The door opened.

`Mr Pessimal, sir,' said Cheery, ushering a man not much taller than she was into Vimes's office. `And here's the office copy of the

Times. .

Mr Pessimal was neat. In fact, he went beyond neat. He was a folding kind of person. His suit was cheap but very clean, his little boots sparkled. His hair gleamed, too, even more than the boots. It had a centre parting and had been plastered down so severely that it looked as though it had been painted on his head.

All the city's departments got inspected from time to time,

Vetinari had said. There was no reason why the Watch should be passed over, was there? It was, after all, a major drain on the city coffers.

Vimes had pointed out that a drain was where things went to waste.

Nevertheless, Vetinari had said. Just nevertheless. You couldn't argue with `nevertheless.

And the outcome was Mr Pessimal, walking towards Vimes.

He twinkled as he walked. Vimes couldn't think of another way to describe it. Every move was ... well, neat. Shovel purse and spectacles on a ribbon, I'll bet, he thought.

Mr Pessimal folded himself on to the chair in front of Vimes's desk and opened the clasps of his briefcase with two little snaps of doom. With some ceremony he donned a pair of spectacles. They were on a black ribbon.

`My letter of accreditation from Lord Vetinari, your grace,' he said, handing over a sheet of paper.