Jingo

tilted upward.
    “Geroff,” it muttered, from somewhere in the thatch.
    “Now, now, Stoolie, let’s help one another, shall we? You help me, and I’ll help you.”
    “B’g’r’ ’ff, c’p’r.”
    “Well, you tell me things I want to know,” said Carrot, “and I won’t search your cart.”
    “I hate gnolls,” said Angua. “They smell awful .”
    “Oh, that’s hardly fair. The streets’d be a lot dirtier without you and yours, eh, Stoolie?” said Carrot, still speaking quite pleasantly. “You pick up this, you pick up that, maybe bash it against a wall until it stops struggling—”
    “’s a vile accur’cy,” said the gnoll. There was a bubbling noise that might have been a chuckle.
    “So I’m hearing you might know where Snowy Slopes is these days,” said Carrot.
    “D’nno n’thin’.”
    “Fine.” Carrot produced a three-tined garden fork and walked round to the cart, which dripped.
    “D’nno n’thin’ ab’t —” said the gnoll quickly.
    “Yes?” said Carrot, fork poised.
    “D’nno n’thin’ ab’t t’ sweetsh’p ’n M’ney Tr’p L’ne.”
    “The one with the Rooms To Let sign?”
    “R’t.”
    “Well done. Thank you for being a good citizen,” said Carrot. “Incidentally, we passed a dead seagull on the way here. It’s in Brewer Street. I bet if you hurried you could beat the rush.”
    “H’t d’gg’ty,” snuffled the gnoll. The cart started to judder forward. The watchmen watched it lurch and scrape around the corner.
    “They’re good fellows at heart,” said Carrot. “I think it says a lot for the spirit of tolerance in this city that even gnolls can call it home.”
    “They turn my stomach,” said Angua, as they set off again. “That one had plants growing on him!”
    “Mr. Vimes says we ought to do something for them,” said Carrot.
    “All heart, that man.”
    “With a flamethrower, he says.”
    “Wouldn’t work. Too soggy. Has anyone ever really found out what they eat?”
    “It’s better to think of them as…cleaners. You certainly don’t see as much rubbish and dead animals on the streets as you used to.”
    “Yes, but have you ever seen a gnoll with a brush and shovel?”
    “Well, that’s society for you, I’m afraid,” said Carrot. “Everything is dumped on the people below until you find someone who’s prepared to eat it. That’s what Mr. Vimes says.”
    “Yes,” said Angua. They walked in silence for a while, and then she said, “You care a lot about what Mr. Vimes says, don’t you…?”
    “He is a fine officer and an example to us all.”
    “And…you’ve never thought of getting a job in Quirm or somewhere, have you? The other cities are headhunting Ankh-Morpork watchmen now.”
    “What, leave Ankh-Morpork?” The tone of voice included the answer.
    “No…I suppose not,” said Angua sadly.
    “Anyway, I don’t know what Mr. Vimes would do without me running around all the time.”
    “It’s a point of view, certainly,” said Angua.
    It wasn’t far to Money Trap Lane. It was in a ghetto of what Lord Rust would probably call “skilled artisans,” the people too low down the social scale to be movers and shakers but slightly too high to be easily moved or shook. The sanders and polishers, generally. The people who hadn’t got very much but were proud even of that. There were little clues. Shiny house numbers, for a start. And, on the walls of houses that were effectively just one long continuous row, after centuries of building and inbuilding, very careful boundaries in the paint where people had brushed up to the very border of their property and not a gnat’s blink to each side. Carrot always said it showed the people were the kind who instinctively realized that civilization was based on a shared respect for ownership; Angua thought they were just tight little bastards who’d sell you the time of day.
    Carrot walked noiselessly down the alley beside the sweetshop. There was a rough wooden staircase going up to the first floor. He pointed silently to the midden below it.
    It seemed to consist almost entirely of bottles.
    “Big drinker?” Angua mouthed. Carrot shook his head.
    She crouched down and looked at the labels, but her nose was already giving her a hint. Dibbler’s Homoeopathic Shampoo. Mere and Stingbat’s Herbal Wash—with Herbs! Rinse ’n’ Run Scalp Tonic—with Extra Herbs !…
    There were others. Herbs, she thought. Chuck a handful of weeds in the pot and you’ve got