‘Why should I listen to you? How do I know you are not dangerous?’ he said.

‘Oh, I am,’ said Igor, ‘believe me. And Uberwald containth thingth that I would not want to meet.’

‘I am not gonna listen to you,’ said Trev. ‘And you are pretty hard to understand in any case.’

‘Ith he thubject to thtrange moodth?’ Igor ploughed on. ‘Doth he get into a rage? Do you know anything about hith eating habitth?’

‘Yes, he likes apple pies,’ said Trev. ‘What’re you on about?’

‘I can thee you are great friendth,’ said Igor. ‘I am thorry that I have trethpathed on your time.’ ‘Trethpathed’ hanging in the air considerably added to the water drops hanging in the fog. ‘I will give you thome advith. When you need me, jutht thcream. I regret that you will find it very eathy to thcream.’ The figure turned and instantly vanished into the mist.

And Igors moved about oddly, Trev remembered. And you never saw one at a football game…

He noticed that last thought go past. What had he tried to tell himself? That someone who did not watch football was not a real person? He couldn’t think of a proper answer. He was amazed that he had even asked the question. Things were changing.

Glenda arrived in the Night Kitchen with Juliet sworn to silence, and beneficently gave Mildred and Mrs Hedges the rest of the night off. That suited them both very well, as it always does, and a little favour had been done there that she could call upon when necessary.

She took her coat off and rolled up her sleeves. She felt at home in the Night Kitchen, in charge, in control. Behind black iron ranges she could defy the world.

‘All right,’ she said to the subdued Juliet. ‘We weren’t there today. Today did not happen. You were here helping me clean the ovens. I’ll see you get some overtime so your dad won’t suspect. Okay? Have you got that?’

‘Yes, Glenda.’

‘And while we’re here we’ll make a start on the pies for tomorrow night. It’ll be nice to get ahead of ourselves, right?’

Juliet said nothing.

‘Say “Yes, Glenda”,’ Glenda prompted.

‘Yes, Glenda.’

‘Go and chop some pork, then. Being busy takes your mind off things, that’s what I always say.’

‘Yes, Glenda, that’s what you always say,’ said Juliet.

An inflection caught Glenda’s ear, and worried her a little. ‘Do I always say that? When?’

‘Every day when you come in and put your apron on, Glenda.’

‘Mother used to say that,’ said Glenda, and tried to shake the thought out of her head. ‘And she was right, of course! Hard work never hurt anybody!’ And she tried to unthink the treacherous thought: except her. Pies, she thought. You can rely on pies. Pies don’t give you grief.

‘I fink that Trev likes me,’ Juliet muttered. ‘He don’t give me funny looks like the other boys. He looks like a little puppy.’

‘You want to watch out for that look, my girl.’

‘I fink I luvim, Glendy.’

Wild boar, thought Glenda, and apricots. There’s some left in the cool room. And we’ve got mutton pies with a choice of tracklements… always popular. So… pork pies, I think, and there’s some decent oysters in the pump room, so they’ll do for the wet pie. I’ll do Sea Pie and the anchovies look good, so there’s always room for a Stargazey or two, even though I feel sorry for the little fishes, but right now I’ll bake some blind pastries so that—‘What did you say?’

‘I luvim.’

‘You can’t!’

‘He saved my life!’

‘That’s no basis for a relationship! A polite thank you would have sufficed!’

‘I’ve got a feelin’ about him!’

‘That’s just silly!’

‘Well? Silly’s not bad, is it?’

‘Now you listen to me, young—Oh, hello, Mister Ottomy.’

It is in the way of the Ottomies all around the worlds to look as if they have been built out of the worst parts of two men and to be annoyingly hushen-footed on thick red rubber soles, all the better to peep and pry. And they always assume that a free cup of tea is theirs by right.

‘What a day, miss, what a day! Were you at the match?’ he enquired, glancing from Glenda to Juliet.

‘Been cleaning the ovens,’ said Glenda briskly.

‘Yes, today didn’t happen,’ Juliet added, and giggled. Glenda hated giggling.

Ottomy looked around slowly and without embarrassment, noting the absence of dirt, discarded gloves, cloths—

‘And we’ve only just finished getting everything all neat and tidy,’ Glenda snarled. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Mister Ottomy? And then you can tell us all about the game.’

It has been said that crowds are stupid, but mostly they are simply confused, since as an eyewitness the average person is as reliable as a meringue lifejacket. It became obvious, as Ottomy went on, that nobody had any clear idea about anything other than that some bloke threw a goal from halfway down the street, and even then only maybe.

‘But, funny thing,’ Ottomy went on, as Glenda metaphorically let out a breath, ‘while we was in the Shove, I could’ve sworn I saw your lovely assistant here chatting to a lad in the Dimmer strip… ’

‘No law against that!’ Glenda said. ‘Anyway, she was here, cleaning the ovens.’ It was clumsy, but she hated people like him, who lived for the exercise of third-hand authority and loved every little bit of power they could grab. He’d seen more than he’d told her, that was certain, and wanted her to wriggle. And out of the corner of her mind, she could feel him looking at their coats. Their wet coats.

‘I thought you didn’t go to the football, Mister Ottomy?’

‘Ah, well, there you have it. The pointies wanted to go and watch a game, and me and Mister Nobbs had to go with them in case they got breathed on by ordinary people. Blimey, you wouldn’t believe it! Tutting and complaining and taking notes, like they owned the street. They’re up to something, you mark my words.’

Glenda didn’t like the word ‘pointies’, although it was a good description. Coming from Ottomy, though, it was an invitation to greasy conspiracy. But however you baked it, wizards were nobs, people who mattered, the movers and the shakers: and when people like that got interested in the doings of people who by definition did not matter, little people were about to be shaken, and shook.

‘Vetinari doesn’t like football,’ she said.

‘Well, o’course, they’re all in it together,’ said Ottomy, tapping his nose. This caused a small lump of dried matter to shoot from his other nostril into his tea. Glenda had a brief struggle with her conscience over whether to point this out, but won.

‘I thought you should know this, on account of how people up in the Sisters look up to you,’ said Ottomy. ‘I remember your mum. She was a saint, that woman. Always had a helping hand for everyone.’ Yes, and didn’t they grab, said Glenda to herself. She was lucky to die with all her fingers.

Ottomy drained his mug and plonked it on the table with a sigh. ‘Can’t stand around here all day, eh?’

‘Yes, I’m sure you’ve got lots of other places to stand.’

Ottomy paused at the entrance arch, and turned to grin at Juliet.

‘A girl the spit and image of you, I’d swear it. With a Dimmer boy. Amazing. You must have one of those double gangers. Well, it’ll have to remain a mystery, as the man said when he found something that would have to remain a mystery. Toodle-oo—’

He stopped dead rather than walk into the silvery knife that Glenda was holding in a not totally threatening way quite close to his throat. She had the satisfaction of seeing his Adam’s apple pop back up and down again like a sick yoyo.

‘Sorry about that,’ she said, lowering it. ‘I’ve always got a knife in my hand these days. We’ve been doing the pork. Very much like human flesh, pork, or so they say.’ She put her spare hand across his shoulders and said, ‘Probably not a good idea, spreading silly rumours, Mister Ottomy. You know how people can be so funny about that sort of thing. Nice of you to drop by and if you happen to be going past tomorrow I’ll see that you get a pie. Do excuse us. I have a lot of chopping up to do.’