Jingo

herbs…
    Carrot was starting up the stairs when she put her hand on his shoulder. There was another smell. It was one that drove through all the other scents of the streets like a spear. It was one that a werewolf’s nose is particularly attuned to.
    He nodded and went carefully to the door. Then he pointed down. There was a stain under the gap.
    Carrot drew his sword and kicked the door open.
    Daceyville Slopes hadn’t taken his condition lightly. Bottles of all shapes and colors occupied most flat surfaces, giving testimony to the alchemist’s art and humanity’s optimism.
    The suds of his latest experiment were still in a bowl on the table, and his body on the floor had a towel around his neck. The watchmen looked down at it. Snowy had cleaned, washed and gone.
    “I think we can say life is extinct,” said Carrot.
    “Yuk,” said Angua. She grabbed the open shampoo bottle and sniffed deeply. The sickly scent of marinated herbs assailed her sinuses, but anything was better than the sharp, beguiling smell of blood.
    “I wonder where his head is at?” said Carrot, in a determinedly matter-of-fact voice. “Oh, it’s rolled over there…What’s the horrible smell?”
    “This!” Angua flourished the shampoo. “Four dollars a bottle, it says. Sheesh!”
    Angua took another deep sniff at the herbal goo, to drown out the call of the wolf.
    “Doesn’t look as if they stole anything,” said Carrot. “Unless they were very neat—What’s the matter?”
    “Don’t ask!”
    She managed to get a window open and sucked down great draughts of comparatively fresh air, while Carrot went through the corpse’s pockets.
    “Er…you can’t tell if there’s a clove around, can you?” he said.
    “Carrot! Please! This is a room with blood all over the floor! Have you any idea ? Excuse me…”
    She rushed out and down the steps. The alley had the generic smell of all alleys everywhere, overlaid on the basic all-embracing smell of the city. But at least it didn’t make your hair grow and your teeth try to lengthen. She leaned against the wall and fought for control. Shampoo? She could have saved Snowy a hell of a lot of money with just one careful bite. Then he’d know all about a really bad hair day…
    Carrot came down a couple of minutes later, locking the door behind him.
    “Are you feeling better?”
    “A bit…”
    “There was something else,” said Carrot, looking thoughtful. “I think he wrote a note before he died. But it’s all rather odd.” He waved in the air what looked like a cheap notepad. “This needs careful looking at.” He shook his head. “Poor old Snowy.”
    “He was a killer!”
    “Yes, but that’s a nasty way to die.”
    “Decapitation? With a very sharp sword, by the look of it. I can think of worse.”
    “Yes, but I can’t help thinking that if only the chap had better hair or had found the right shampoo at an early age he’d have led a different life…”
    “Well, at least he won’t have to worry about dandruff any more.”
    “That was a little tasteless.”
    “Sorry, but you know how blood makes me tense.”
    “ Your hair always looks amazing,” said Carrot, changing the subject with, Angua thought, unusual tact. “I don’t know what you use, but it’s a shame he never tried it.”
    “I doubt if he went to the right shop,” said Angua. “It says ‘For a Glossy Coat’ on the bottles I usually buy—What’s the matter?”

“Can you smell smoke?” said Carrot.
    “Carrot, it’s going to be five minutes before I can smell anything except—”
    But he was staring past her, at the big red glow in the sky.

    Vimes coughed. And then coughed some more. And eventually opened his streaming eyes in the confident expectation of seeing his own lungs in front of him.
    “Glass of water, Mr. Vimes?”
    Vimes peered through the tears at the shifting shape of Fred Colon.
    “Thanks, Fred. What’s the horrible burning smell?”
    “It’s you, sir.”
    Vimes was sitting on a low wall outside the wreck of the embassy. Cool air washed around him. He felt like underdone beef. The heat was radiating off him.
    “You was passed on for a while there, sir,” said Sergeant Colon helpfully. “But everyone saw you swing in that window, sir! And you threw that woman out for Detritus to catch! That’ll be a feather in your cap and no mistake, sir! I bet the ragh—I bet the Klatchians’ll be giving you the Order of the Camel or something for this night’s work, sir!”