Men at Arms

wanting to see the museum—”
    “I did want to see it. A good copper should always be open to new experiences,” said Carrot.
    They made it to the gate. No vengeful pies floated out of the darkness.
    Angua leaned against the wall outside. The air smelled sweeter here, which was an unusual thing to say about Ankh-Morpork air. But at least out here people could laugh without getting paid for it.
    “You didn’t show me what frightened him,” she said.
    “I showed him a murderer,” said Carrot. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think he’d take it like that. I suppose they’re all a bit wound up right now. And it’s like dwarfs and tools. Everyone thinks in their own ways.”
    “You found the murderer’s face in there?”
    “Yes.”
    Carrot opened his hand.
    It contained a bare egg.
    “He looks like this,” he said.
    “He didn’t have a face ?”
    “No, you’re thinking like a clown. I am very simple,” said Carrot, “but I think what happened was this. Someone in the Assassins wanted a way of getting in and out without being seen. He realized there’s only a thin wall between the two Guilds. He had a room. All he had to do was find out who lived on the other side. Later he killed Beano, and he took his wig and his nose. His real nose. That’s how clowns think. Make-up wouldn’t have been hard. You can get that anywhere. He walked into the Guild made up to look like Beano. He cut through the wall. Then he strolled down to the quad outside the museum, only this time he was dressed as an Assassin. He got the…the gonne and came back here. He went through the wall again, dressed up as Beano, and strolled away. And then someone killed him .”
    “Boffo said Beano looked worried,” said Angua.
    “And I thought: that’s odd, because you’d have to see a clown right up close to know what his real expression was. But you might notice if the make-up wasn’t on quite right. Like, maybe, if it was put on by someone who wasn’t too used to it. But the important thing is that if another clown sees Beano’s face go out of the door, he’s seen the person leave. They can’t think about someone else wearing that face. It’s not how they think. A clown and his make-up are the same thing. Without his make-up a clown doesn’t exist. A clown wouldn’t wear another clown’s face in the same way a dwarf wouldn’t use another dwarf’s tools.”
    “Sounds risky, though,” said Angua.
    “It was. It was very risky.”
    “Carrot? What are you going to do now?”
    “I think it might be a good idea to find out whose room was on the other side of the hole, don’t you? I think it might belong to Beano’s little friend.”
    “In the Assassins’ Guild? Just us?”
    “Um. You’ve got a point.”
    Carrot looked so crestfallen that Angua gave in.
    “What time is it?” she said.
    Carrot very carefully took Captain Vimes’ presentation watch out of its cloth case.
    “It’s—”
    — abing, abing, abong, bong…bing…bing …
    They waited patiently until it had finished.
    “A quarter to seven,” said Carrot. “Absolutely accurate, too. I put it right by the big sundial in the University.”
    Angua glanced at the sky.
    “OK,” she said. “I can find out, I think. Leave it to me.”
    “How?”
    “Er…I…well, I could get out of uniform, couldn’t I, and, oh, talk my way in as a kitchen maid’s sister or something…”
    Carrot looked doubtful.
    “You think that’ll work?”
    “Can you think of anything better?”
    “Not right now.”
    “Well, then. I’ll…er…look…you go back to the rest of the men and…I’ll find somewhere to change into something more suitable.”
    She didn’t have to look around to recognize where the snigger came from. Gaspode had a way of turning up silently like a small puff of methane in a crowded room, and with the latter’s distressing ability to fill up all available space.
    “Where can you get a change of clothes around here?” said Carrot.
    “A good Watchman is always ready to improvise,” said Angua.
    “That little dog is awfully wheezy,” said Carrot. “Why does he always follow us around?”
    “I really couldn’t say.”
    “He’s got a present for you.”
    Angua risked a glance. Gaspode was holding, but only just, a very large bone in his mouth. It was wider than he was long, and might have belonged to something that died in a tar pit. It was green and furry in places.
    “How nice,” she said, coldly. “Look, you go on. Let me see what I