Thud!

which was always wise in Biers. Now Angua was staring at yet another cocktail menu, painted on a board above the bar, in a very shaky script, by Igor. *
    He’s done his best to flow with the zeitgeist, or would have done if he’d known what the word meant, but had totally failed to grasp the subtleties of the modern cocktail bar, so that the drinks on offer included

    HAVIN YOU TEEF SMASHED IN BY A BIG STINKY FIST
HEAD NAILED TO THE DOOR
KICK INNA FORK
LIKE BIG LUMP OF STEEL HAMMER FRU YOU EARS
NECK BOLT

    Actually, the Neck Bolt wasn’t too bad, Angua had to admit.
    “’S’cuse me,” said Cheery, teetering on a bar stool, “but what was all that about Tawneee? I could see you and Sally nodding to each other!”
    “That? Oh, it’s the jerk syndrome.” Angua remembered who she was talking to, and added: “Er…dwarfs probably don’t have that. It means…sometimes a woman is so beautiful that any man with half a brain isn’t going to think of asking her out, okay? Because it’s obvious that she’s far too grand for the likes of him. Are you with me?”
    “I think so.”
    “Well, that’s Tawneee. And, for the purposes of this explanation, Nobby has not got half a brain. He’s so used to women saying no when he asks them out that he’s not afraid of being blown off. So he asks her, because he figures, why not? And she , who by now thinks there’s something wrong with her, is so grateful she says okay.”
    “But she likes him.”
    “I know. That’s where it all gets strange.”
    “It’s much simpler for dwarfs,” said Cheery.
    “I expect it is.”
    “But probably not as much fun,” said Cheery, looking crestfallen.
    Tawneee was returning. Angua ordered three Neck Bolts while Cheery hopefully negotiated for a Screaming Orgasm. * And then, with occasional assistance from Sally, Angua explained to Tawneee the facts of…well… everything.
    It took some while. You had to keep changing the shape of sentences to get them to fit into the currently available space in Tawneee’s brain. Angua clung to the idea, though, that the girl couldn’t be that stupid. She worked in a strip club, didn’t she?
    “I mean, why do you think men pay to watch you onstage?” she asked.
    “Because I’m very good,” said Tawneee promptly. “When I was ten, I got the Dancer of the Year Award in Miss Deviante’s ballet and tap class.”
    “Tap-dancing?” said Sally, grinning. “Hey, why don’t you try that onstage?”
    Angua closed her mind to the image of Tawneee tap-dancing. The club would probably burn to the ground.
    “Er…let me try this another way…” she said. “And I’m telling you this as another woma—female…”
    Tawneee listened intently, and even the way in which she looked puzzled was unfair to the rest of her sex.
    When Angua had finished, she watched the angelic expression hopefully.
    “So what you’re saying, right,” said Tawneee, “is that walking out with Nobby is like going into a big posh restaurant and only eating the bread roll?”
    “Exactly!” said Angua. “You’ve got it!”
    “But I never really meet men. Granny told me not to act like a floozy.”
    “And you don’t think that working at—” Angua began, but Sally cut in.
    “Sometimes you need to flooze regularly,” she said. “Haven’t you ever just gone into a bar and had a drink with a man?”
    “No.”
    “Right,” said Sally. She drained her glass. “I don’t like these Neck Bolts. Let’s go somewhere else and…” she paused, “open your mind to poshibiliteesh.”

I t was odd, having Sybil in Pseudopolis Yard. It had been one of the Ramkin family homes before she’d given it to the Watch. She’d been a girl there. It had been her home.
    Some apprehension of this crept into the chipped and stained souls of the watchmen. Men not known for the elegance of their manners found themselves automatically wiping their feet as they came in, and respectfully removing their helmets.
    They spoke differently, too, slowly and hesitantly, anxiously scanning the sentence ahead for expletives to delete. Someone even found a broom and swept up, or at least moved the dirt to a less obvious place.
    Upstairs, in what had been up until then the cash office, Young Sam slept peacefully in a makeshift bed. One day, Vimes hoped, he would be able to tell him that on one special night he’d been guarded by four troll watchmen. They’d been off duty but volunteered to come in for this, and were just itching for