He poked his head out from under the blanket. Snow stung his eyes. Running alongside the sled, only a few feet away from Carrot and glowing silver in the moonlight, was Gavin.

This is me, thought Gaspode; stuck between the humans and the wolves. It's a dog's life.

This is the life, thought Acting Captain Colon. Hardly any paperwork was coming up here now, and by dint of much effort he'd entirely cleared the backlog. It was a lot quieter, too.

When Vimes was here—and Fred Colon suddenly found himself thinking the word 'Vimes' without prefixing it with 'Mister'—the main office was full of so much noise and bustle you could hardly hear yourself speak. Completely inefficient, that was. How could anyone hope to get anything done?

He counted the sugar again. Twenty-nine. But he'd had two in his tea, so that was all right. Toughness was paying off.

Colon went and opened his door a fraction so that he could just see down into the office. It was amazing how you could catch them out that way.

Quiet. And neat, too. Every desk was clear. Much better than the mess you used to get.

He went back to the desk and counted the sugar lumps. There were twenty-seven.

Ah-ha! Someone was trying to drive him mad. Well, two could play at that game.

He counted the lumps again. There were twenty-six, and there was a knock at the door.

This caused it to swing inwards, and Colon to jump up in evil triumph.

'Ah-ha! Burst in on me, eh? Oh...'

The 'oh' was because the knocker was Constable Dorfl, the golem. He was taller than the doorway and strong enough to tear a troll in half; he'd never done this, since he was an intensely moral being, but not even Colon was going to pick an argument with someone who had glowing red holes where his eyes should be. Ordinary golems would riot harm a human because they had magic words in their head that ordered them not to. Dorfl had no magic words but he didn't harm people because he'd decided that it wasn't moral. This left the worrying possibility that, given enough provocation, he might think again.

Beside the golem was Constable Shoe, saluting smartly.

'We've come to pick up the wages chitty, sir,' he said.

'The what?'

'The wages chitty, sir. The monthly chitty, sir. And then we take it to the Palace and bring back the wages, sir.'

'I don't know anything about that!'

'I put it on your desk yesterday, sir. Signed by Lord Vetinari, sir.'

Colon couldn't hide the flicker in his eyes. The black ash in the fireplace was, by now, overflowing.

Shoe followed his gaze.

'I haven't seen any such thing,' said Colon, while the colour drained from his face like a sucked ice-lolly.

'I'm sure I did, sir,' said Constable Shoe. 'I wouldn't forget a thing like that, sir. In fact, I distinctly remember saying to Constable Visit, "Washpot, I'm just going to take this—" '

'Look, you can see I'm a busy man!' snapped Colon. 'Get one of the sergeants to sort it out!'

'There's no sergeants left except Sergeant Flint, sir, and he spends all his time going round asking people what he should be doing,' said Constable Shoe. 'Anyway, sir, it's the senior officer who must sign the chitty—'

Colon stood up, leaning on his knuckles, and shouted, 'Oh, I "must", must I? That's a nerve and no mistake! "Must", eh? Most of you lot are lucky anyone even gives you a job! Bunch of zombies and loonies and lawn ornaments and rocks! I've had it up to here with you!'

Shoe leaned back out of range of the spittle. 'Then I'm afraid I must take this up with the Guild of Watchmen, sir,' he said.

'Guild of Watchmen? Hah! And since when has there been a Guild of Watchmen?'

'Dunno. What's the time now?' said Corporal Nobbs, ambling into the room. 'Got to be a couple of hours, at least. Morning, captain.'

'What are you doing here, Nobby?'

'That's Mister Nobbs to you, captain. And I'm President of the Guild of Watchmen, since you ask.'

'There's no such bloody thing!'

'All legit, captain. Registered at the Palace and everything. Amazin' how people rushed to join, too.' He pulled out his grubby notebook. 'Got a few matters to take up with you, if you have a moment. Well, I say a few—'

'I'm not putting up with this!' bellowed Colon, his face crimson. 'This is high treason! You're all sacked! You're all—'

'We're all on strike,' said Nobby calmly.

'You can't go on strike while I'm sacking you!'

'Our strike headquarters are in the back room of the Bucket in Gleam Street,' said Nobby.

'Here, that's my boozer! I forbid you to go on strike in my own pub!'

'We'll be there when you wish to talk terms. Come, brothers. We are now officially in a dispute situation.'

They marched out.

'Don't bother to come back!' Colon shouted after them.

Bonk wasn't what Vimes had expected. In fact he'd find it hard to say what he had expected, except that this wasn't it.

It occupied a narrow valley with a white-water river winding through it. There were city walls. They were not like those of Ankh-Morpork, which had become at first a barrier to expansion and then a source of masonry for it. These had an inside and an outside. There were castles on the hills. There were castles on most hills in these parts. And there were high gates across the road.

Detritus thumped on the side of the coach. Vimes stuck his head out.

'Dere's guys in der road,' said the troll. 'Dey got halibuts.'

Vimes looked out of the windows. There were half a dozen guards, and they did indeed have halberds.

'What are they after?' he said.

'I expect they'll also want to see our papers and make a search of the coaches,' said Inigo.

'Papers are one thing,' said Vimes, getting out of the coach, 'but no one is rummaging in our stuff. I know that trick. They're not looking for anything, they just want to show us who's boss. You come along and do the translating.' He added, 'Don't worry, I'll be diplomatic.'

The two men barring the way did have helmets and they were holding weapons, but their uniforms did not conform to normal uniformity. No guards, Vimes thought, should be dressed in red, blue and yellow. People would be able to see them coming. Vimes liked a uniform you could lurk in.

He pulled out his badge and held it up, advancing with an ingratiating smile.

'Just repeat this, Mister Skimmer.' Vimes raised his voice. 'Hello, fellow officer, as you can see I am Commander V—'

A blade swung around. If Vimes hadn't stopped he'd have walked into it.

Inigo stepped forward, leather case already open, one hand holding several impressive pieces of paper, mouth already framing some suitable sentences. A guard took one of the pieces of paper and stared at it.

'This is a studied insult,' said Inigo, contriving to speak out of the corner of his mouth while maintaining a smile. 'Someone wishes to .see how you react, mmph, mmhm.'

'Them?'

'No. We're being watched.'

The paper was handed back. There was a terse conversation.

'The captain of the guard says there are special circumstances and he will search the coaches,' said Inigo.

'No,' said Vimes, taking in the expression on the captain's white face. 'I know when people are playing silly buggers, 'cos I've done it myself.'

He pointed to the door of his coach. 'See this?' he said. 'Tell him this is an Ankh-Morpork crest. And this is an Ankh-Morpork coach, property of Ankh-Morpork. If they lay hands on it, that will constitute an act of war against Ankh-Morpork. Tell him that.'

He saw the man lick his lips nervously as Inigo translated. Poor sod, he thought. He didn't ask for this. He was probably expecting a quiet day on the gate. But someone gave him some orders.