Thud!

whispered Nobby conversationally.
    “Er…is it?” Fred Colon closed his eyes again.
    “Oh, yes. It’s the Triple Corkscrew—”
    “Look, don’t the management object to you coming in here?” Fred managed, shifting even further down in his seat.
    “Oh, no. They like having a watchman in,” said Nobby, still watching the stage. “They say it makes people behave. Anyway, I only come in so’s I can walk Betty home.”
    “Betty being—?”
    “Tawneee’s actually only her pole name,” Nobby said. “She says no one would be interested in an exotic dancer with a name like Betty. She says it sounds like she’d be better with a bowl of cake mixture.”
    Colon shut his eyes, trying to banish a mental conjunction of the bronzed lithe figure on stage and a bowl of cake mixture.
    “I think I could do with a breath of fresh air,” he groaned.
    “Oh, not yet, Sarge. Broccolee’s on next. She can touch the back of her head with her foot, you know—”
    “I don’t believe that!” said Fred Colon.
    “She can, Sarge, I’ve seen—”
    “I don’t believe there’s a dancer called Broccoli!”
    “Well, she did used to be called Candi, Sarge, but then she heard that broccoli is better for you—”
    “Corporal Nobbs!”
    The sound appeared to be coming from under the table.
    Nobby stared at Fred Colon, and then looked down.
    “Yes?” he ventured, with caution.
    “This is Sergeant Angua,” said the floor.
    “Oh?” said Nobby.
    “What is this place?” the voice continued.
    “The Pink PussyCat Club, Sergeant,” said Nobby obediently.
    “Oh, gods.” There was some conversation down below, and then the voice said: “Are there women up there?”
    “Yes, Sergeant. Er…what are you doing down there, Sarge?”
    “Giving you orders, Nobby,” said the voice from below. “ Are there women up there?”
    “Yes, Sarge. Lots.”
    “Good. Please ask one to come down into the beer cellar. We’ll need a couple of buckets of warm water and some towels, got that?”
    Nobby was aware that the musicians had stopped playing and Tawneee had paused in mid–drop-and-split. Everyone was listening to the talking floor.
    “Yes, Sergeant,” said Nobby. “I’ve got it.”
    “And some clean clothes. And…” There was subterranean whispering “…make that several buckets of water. And a scrubbing brush. And a comb. And another comb. And more towels. Oh, and two pairs of shoes, size six and…four and a half? Really? Okay. And is Fred Colon with you, or is that a stupid question?”
    Fred cleared his throat.
    “I’m here, Sergeant,” he reported. “But I only came along to—”
    “Good. I want to borrow a set of your stripes. I’ve got a bad feeling about the next few hours and I don’t want anyone to forget I’m a sergeant. Got that, the pair of you?”
    “It’s full moon,” Fred whispered to Nobby, as one man to another, and then he said aloud: “Yes, Sergeant. This may take a while—”
    “No! It won’t. Because you’ve got a werewolf and a vampire down here, understand? I’m having a really bad hair day and she’s got a toothache! We come up in ten minutes looking human or we come up anyway! What?” There was more whispering. “Why a beetroot? Why in gods’ names is a girly show likely to contain a beetroot? What? Okay. Will an apple do? Nobby, Lance Constable von Humpeding needs an apple, urgently. Or something else that she can bite. Now, jump to it!”

C offee was only a way of stealing time that should by rights belong to your slightly older self. Vimes drank two cups, and had a wash and at least an attempt at a shave, which made him feel quite human if he ignored the sensation that parts of his head were stuffed with warm cotton wool. At last, deciding that he felt as good as he was going to, and could probably handle quite long questions, he was ushered into the Oblong Office of the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork.
    “Ah, Commander,” said Lord Vetinari, looking up after a considered interval and pushing aside some paperwork. “Thank you for coming. It seems that congratulations are in order. So I am told.”
    “And why’s that, sir?” said Vimes, putting on his special, blank, talking-to-Vetinari face.
    “Come now, Vimes. Yesterday it looked as if we would be having a species war right in the middle of the city, and suddenly we are not. Those gangs were quite fearsome, I gather.”
    “Most of ’em were asleep or squabbling among themselves by the time we arrived, sir. We