Thud!

although Sybil never raised the subject even when they were alone, was that. From then on Sam stuck rigidly to the authorized version.
    He recited it tonight, while wind rattled the windows, and this little nursery world, with its pink-and-blue peace, its creatures who were ever so very soft and wooly and fluffy, seemed to enfold them both. On the nursery clock, a little wooly lamb rocked the seconds away.
    When he not quite awoke, in twilight, with ragged strands of dark sleep filling his mind, Vimes stared in incomprehension at the room. Panic filled him. What was this place? Why were there all these grinning animals? What was lying on his foot? Who was this doing the asking, and why was he wrapped in a blue shawl with ducks on it?
    Blessed recollection flowed in. Young Sam was fast asleep, with Vimes’s helmet clutched like a teddy bear, and Dribble, always on the lookout for somewhere warm to slump, had rested his head on Vimes’s boot. Already the leather was covered with goo.
    Vimes carefully retrieved his helmet, gathered the shawl around him, and wandered down into the big front hall. He could see a light on under the door of the library, and so, still slightly muzzy, he pushed his way in.
    Two watchmen stood up. Sybil turned in her chair by the fire. Vimes felt the ducks slither down his shoulders, slowly, and end up in a heap on the floor.
    “I let you sleep, Sam,” said Lady Sybil. “You didn’t get in this morning until after three.”
    “Everyone’s double-shifting, dear,” said Sam, daring Carrot and Sally to even think about telling anyone they’d seen the boss wearing a blue shawl covered in ducks. “I’ve got to set a good example.”
    “I’m sure you intend to, Sam, but you look like a horrible warning,” said Sybil. “When did you last eat?”
    “I had a lettuce, tomato, and bacon sandwich, dear,” he said, endeavoring by tone of his voice to suggest that the bacon had been a mere condiment rather than a slab barely covered by the bread.
    “I expect you jolly well did,” said Sybil, rather more accurately conveying the fact that she didn’t believe a word of it. “Captain Carrot has something to tell you. Now, you sit down and I’m going to see what’s happened to dinner.”
    When she bustled out in the direction of the kitchens, Vimes turned to the watchmen and debated for a moment whether to give that sheepish little grin and eye-roll that between men means “Women, eh?” and decided not to, on the basis that the watchmen consisted of Lance Constable von Humpeding, who’d think he was a fool, and Captain Carrot, who wouldn’t know what it meant.
    He settled instead on “Well?”
    “We did the best we could, sir,” said Carrot. “I was right. That mine is a very unhappy place.”
    “Murder scenes usually are, yes.”
    “Actually, I don’t think we found the murder scene, sir.”
    “Didn’t you see the body?”
    “Yes, sir. I think. Really, sir, you had to be there—”

“I don’t think I can go through with this,” Angua had hissed as she headed along Treacle Street again.
    “What’s wrong?” said Carrot. Angua jerked a thumb over her shoulder.
    “Her! Vampires and werewolves: not good company!”
    “But she’s a Black Ribboner,” Carrot protested mildly. “She doesn’t—”
    “She doesn’t have to do anything! She just is! For one of us, being around a vampire is like the worst bad hair day you can imagine. And believe me, a werewolf knows what a real bad hair day is!”
    “Is it the smell?” said Carrot.
    “Well, that’s not good, but it’s more than that. They’re so…poised. So perfect. I get near her and I feel…hairy. I can’t help it, it goes back thousands of years! It’s the image. Vampires are always so…cool, so in control, but werewolves are, well, shambling animals. Underdogs.”
    “But that’s not true. A lot of Black Ribbboners are totally neurotic, and you’re so sleek and—”
    “Not when I’m around vampires! They trigger off something! Look, stop trying to be logical about it, will you? I hate it when you get logical on me. Why didn’t Mister Vimes hold out? All right, all right, I’m on top of it. But it’s hard, that’s all.”
    “I’m sure it’s not easy for her, either—” Carrot began.
    Angua gave him a Look. But that’s him, she thought. He really does think like that. It’s just that he doesn’t know when saying something like that is a really bad idea. Not easy for her? When was it ever