Thud!

Again.”
    “Yes, Vimes, it is,” said Vetinari. “And, yes, it is again . Shall we all be seated? Vimes?”
    There was no escape, Vimes knew, as he sagged resentfully into a chair. And this time he was going to lose. Vetinari had cornered him.
    Vimes knew all the arguments for having different species in the Watch. They were good arguments. Some of the arguments against them were bad arguments. There were trolls in the Watch, plenty of dwarfs, one werewolf, three golems, an Igor, and, not least, Corporal Nobbs, * so why not a vampire? And the League of Temperance was a fact. Vampires wearing the League’s Black Ribbon (‘Not One Drop!’) were a fact, too. Admittedly, vampires who had sworn off blood could be a bit weird, but they were intelligent and clever and, as such, a potential asset to society. And the Watch was the most visible arm of government in the city. Why not set an example?
    Because, said Vimes’s battered but still functional soul, you hate bloody vampires. No messing about, no dissembling, no weasel words about “the public won’t stand for it” or “it’s not the right time.” You hate bloody vampires, and it’s your bloody Watch.
    The other three were staring at him.
    “Mr. Vimes,” said Mrs. Winkings. “Ve cannot help but notice that you still haf not employed any of our members in the Vatch…”
    Say “Watch,” why don’t you? Vimes thought. I know you can. Let the twenty-third letter of the alphabet enter your life. Ask Mr. Smith for some, he’s got more than enough. Anyway, I have a new argument. It’s copper-bottomed.
    “Mrs. Winkings,” he said aloud, “no vampire has applied to join the Watch. They’re just not mentally suited to a copper’s way of life. And it’s Commander Vimes, thank you.”
    Mrs. Winkings’s little eyes gleamed with righteous malice.
    “Oh, are you sayink vampires are…stupid?” she said.
    “No, Mrs. Winkings, I’m saying they’re intelligent. And there’s your problem, right there. Why would a clever person want to risk getting their nadg—their head kicked in on a daily basis for thirty-eight dollars a month plus allowances? Vampires have got class, education, a von in front of their name. There’s a hundred better things for them to be doing than walking the streets as a cop. What do you want me to do, force them to join the force?”
    “Wwwouldn’t they be offered officer rank?” said John Smith. There was sweat on his face, and his permanent smile was manic; rumor had it he was finding the pledge very hard going.
    “No. Everyone starts on the street,” said Vimes. That wasn’t entirely true, but the question had offended him. “And on the Night Watch, too. Good training. The best there is. A week of rainy nights with the mists coming up and the water trickling down your neck and odd noises in the shadows…well, that’s when we find out if we’ve got a real copper—”
    He knew it as soon as he said it. He’d walked right into it. They must have found a candidate!
    “Vell, zat is good news!” said Mrs. Winkings, leaning back.
    Vimes wanted to shake her and shout: You’re not a vampire, Doreen! You’re married to one, yes, but he didn’t become one until a time when it is beyond human imagining that he could possibly have wanted to bite you! All the real Black Ribboners try to act normal and unobtrusive! No flowing cloaks, no sucking, and definitely no ripping the underwired nightdresses off young ladies! Everyone knows John Not-A-Vampire-At-All Smith used to be Count Vargo St. Gruet von Vilinus! But now he smokes a pipe and wears those horrible woolen sweaters, and he collects bananas and makes models of human organs out of matchsticks, because he thinks hobbies make you more human! But you, Doreen? You were born in Cockbill Street! Your mum was a washerwoman! No one would ever rip your nightdress off, not without a crane! But you’re so… into this, right? It’s a damn hobby. You try to look more like vampires than vampires do! Incidentally, those fake pointy teeth rattle when you talk!
    “Vimes?”
    “Hmm?” Vimes became aware that people had been speaking.
    “Mr. Smith has some good news,” said Vetinari.
    “Indeed, yes,” said John Smith, beaming manically. “Wwwe have a recruit for you, Commander. A vampire wwho wwants to be in the Wwwatch!”
    “Ant, of course, zer night vill not prezent a problem,” said Doreen triumphantly. “Ve are zer night!”
    “Are you trying to tell me that I must