Is that my cow?

It goes, `Neigh!'

It is a horse! That's not my cow!

At this point the author had reached an agony of creation and was writing from the racked depths of their soul.

Where's my cow?

Is that my cow?

It goes, 'Hruuugh!'

It is a hippopotamus! That's not my cow!

This was a good evening. Young Sam was already grinning widely and crowing along with the plot.

Eventually, the cow would be found. It was that much of a pageturner. Of course, some suspense was lent by the fact that all other animals were presented in some way that could have confused a kitten, who perhaps had been raised in a darkened room. The horse was standing in front of a hatstand, as they so often did, and the hippo was eating at a trough against which was an upturned pitchfork. Seen from the wrong direction, the tableau might look for just one second like a cow ...

Young Sam loved it, anyway. It must have been the most cuddled book in the world.

Nevertheless, it bothered Vimes, even though he'd got really good at the noises and would go up against any man in his rendition of the 'Hruuugh!' But was this a book for a city kid? When would he ever hear these noises? In the city the only sound those animals would make was `sizzle' But the nursery was full of the conspiracy, with baa-lambs and teddy bears and fluffy ducklings everywhere he looked.

One evening, after a trying day, he'd tried the Vimes street version:

Where's my daddy?

Is that my daddy?

He goes, 'Bugrit! Millennium hand and shrimp!'

He is Foul Ole Ron! That's not my daddy!

It had been going really well when Vimes heard a meaningful little cough from the doorway, wherein stood Sybil. Next day, Young Sam, with a child's unerring instinct for this sort of thing, said 'Buglit!' to Purity. And that, 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 so very soft and woolly and fluffy, seemed to enfold them both. On the nursery clock, a little woolly 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 light 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 slowly down his shoulders 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, endeavouring by tone of 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 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 Ribboners 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 easy for me? At least she probably doesn't have to stash changes of clothes around the city! Okay, going cold bat can't be nice, but we get cold bat every month. And when do I ever rip out a throat? I hunt chickens! And I pay for them in advance. Does she suffer from PIT? I don't think so! Oh gods, and it's already well past Waxing Gibbous tonight. I can feel my hair growing! Bloody vampires! They make such a big thing about not being murderous bloodsuckers any more. They get all the sympathy! Even his!

All this flashed past in a second. She said, `Let's just get down there and get it done and get out, shall we?'

There was still a crowd hanging around near the entrance. Amongst them was Otto Chriek, who gave Carrot a little shrug.

There were still guards on duty, too, but it was clear that someone had been talking to them. They nodded to the squad when they arrived. One of them even opened the door, very politely.

Carrot beckoned the other watchmen closer.

`Everything we say will be overheard, understand?' he said. `Everything. So be careful. And remember - as far as they are concerned, you can't see in the dark.'

He led the way inside, to where Helmclever stood, beaming and edgy.

`Welcome, Head Banger,' said the dwarf.

`Er, if we are using Morporkian, I would prefer Captain Carrot,' said Carrot.

`As you wish, smelter,' said the dwarf. `The elevator awaits!'