There was a lot that Glenda wanted to say, but in some very definite way she sensed that the interview–or at least the part of it that involved her opening her mouth–was over. Nevertheless, she said, ‘Why aren’t you drunk?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You must weigh about half of what they do and all of ’em went home in wheelbarrows. You drank as much as them and you look fresh as a daisy. What is the trick? Did you get the wizards to magic the beer out of your stomach?’

She had stopped pushing her luck a long time ago. Now it was out of control, like a startled carthorse that can’t stop because of the huge load bouncing and rumbling along behind it.

Vetinari frowned. ‘My dear lady, anyone drunk enough to let wizards, who themselves had just been partaking copiously of the fruit of the vine, I might add, take anything out of him would already be so drunk as to be dead. To forestall your next comment, the hop is also, technically, a vine. I am, in fact, drunk. Is this not so, Drumknott?’

‘You did indeed consume some twelve pints of very strong malted beverage, sir. Technically, you must be drunk.’

‘Idiosyncratically put, Drumknott. Thank you.’

‘You don’t act drunk!’

‘No, but I do act sober quite well, don’t you think? And I must confess that this morning’s crossword was something of a tussle. Procatalepsis and pleonasm in one day? I had to use the dictionary! The woman is a fiend! Nevertheless, thank you for coming, Miss Sugarbean. I recall your grandmother’s bubble and squeak with great fondness. If she had been a sculptress, it would have been an exquisite statue, with no arms and an enigmatic smile. It is such a shame that some masterpieces are so transitory.’

The proud cook in Glenda rose unstoppably. ‘But she passed the recipe on to me.’

‘A legacy better than jewels,’ said Vetinari, nodding.

Actually a few jewels would not have gone amiss, Glenda reflected. But there was a secret of Bubble and Squeak, of course, right out there in the open where everyone could miss it. And as for the Truth of Salmagundi…

‘I believe this audience is at an end, Miss Sugarbean,’ said Vetinari. ‘I have so much to do and so have you, I am sure.’ He picked up his pen and turned his attention to the documents in front of him. ‘Goodbye, Miss Sugarbean.’

And that was it. Somehow, she was at the door, and it had almost closed behind her when a voice said, ‘And thank you for your kindnesses to Nutt.’

The door clicked shut, nearly hitting her in the face as she spun round.

‘Was that a wise thing for me to have said, do you think?’ said Vetinari, when she had gone.

‘Possibly not, sir, but she will merely assume it is her that we are watching,’ said Drumknott smoothly.

‘Possibly we should. That’s a Sugarbean woman for you, Drumknott, little domestic slaves until they think someone has been wronged and then they go to war like Queen Ynci of Lancre, with chariot wheels spinning and arms and legs all over the place.’

‘And no father,’ observed Drumknott. ‘Not very good for a child in those days.’

‘Only served to make her tougher. One can only hope she doesn’t take it into her head to enter politics.’

‘Is that not what she is doing now, sir?’

‘Well noted, Drumknott. Do I appear drunk?’

‘In my opinion no, sir, but you seem unusually… talkative.’

‘Coherently?’

‘To the minutest scruple, sir. The Postmaster is waiting, sir, and some of the guild leaders want to talk to you urgently.’

‘I suspect they want to play football?’

‘Yes, sir. They intend to form teams. I cannot for the life of me understand why.’

Vetinari put down his pen. ‘Drumknott, if you saw a ball lying invitingly on the ground, would you kick it?’

The secretary’s forehead wrinkled. ‘How would the invitation be couched, sir?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Would it be, for example, a written note attached to the ball by person or persons unknown?’

‘I was rather inclining to the idea that you might perhaps feel simply that the whole world was silently willing you to give said ball a hearty kick?’

‘No, sir. There are too many variables. Possibly an enemy or japester might have assumed that I would take some action of the kind and made the ball out of concrete or similar material, in the hope I might do myself a serious or humorous injury. So, I would check first.’

‘And then, if all was in order, you would kick the ball?’

‘To what purpose or profit, sir?’

‘Interesting question. I suppose for the joy of seeing it fly.’

Drumknott seemed to consider this for a while, and then shook his head. ‘I am sorry, sir, but you have lost me at this point.’

‘Ah, you are a pillar of rock in a world of changes, Drumknott. Well done.’

‘I was wondering if I could just add something, sir,’ said the secretary solemnly.

‘The floor is yours, Drumknott.’

‘I would not like it thought that I do not buy my own paperclips, sir. I enjoy owning my own paperclips. It means that they are mine. I thought it helpful I should tell you that in a measured and non-confrontational way.’

Vetinari looked at the ceiling for a few moments and then said: ‘Thank you for your frankness. I shall consider the record straightened and the matter closed.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Sator Square was where the city went when it was upset, baffled or fearful. People who had no real idea why they were doing so congregated to listen to other people who also did not know anything, on the basis that ignorance shared is ignorance doubled. There were clusters of people there this morning and several scratch teams, for it is written, or more probably scrawled on a wall somewhere, that wherever two or more are gathered together, at least one will have something to kick. Tin cans and tightly wound balls of rag were annoying adults on all sides, but as Glenda hurried nearer, the big doors of the university opened and Ponder Stibbons stepped out, somewhat inexpertly bouncing one of the wretched new leather balls. Gloing! Silence clanged, as rolling cans rattled on unheeded. All eyes were on the wizard and on the ball. He threw it down and there was a double gloing! as it bounced off the stones. And then he kicked it. It was a bit wussy as kicks went, that kick, but no one in the square had ever kicked anything even one tenth as far, and every male chased after it, propelled by ancient instinct.

They’ve won, Glenda thought glumly. A ball that goes gloing! when others go clunk… Well, where’s the contest?

She hurried on to the back entrance. In a world that was getting too complicated, where she could barge in on the black-hearted Tyrant and walk out unscathed, she needed a place to go that wasn’t spinning. The Night Kitchen was as familiar as her bedroom, her place, under her control. She could face anything there.

There was a figure lounging against the wall by the rubbish bins, and for some reason she identified it right away, despite the heavy cloak and the hat pulled down over the eyes; no one she had ever met could relax as perfectly as Pepe.

‘Wotcher, Glenda,’ said a voice from under the hat.

‘What are you doing here?’ she said.

‘Do you know how hard it is to find somebody in this city when you can’t tell anyone what they look like and aren’t really sure you can remember their name?’ said Pepe. ‘Where’s Jools?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen her since last night.’

‘It might be a good idea to find her before other people do,’ said Pepe.

‘What people?’ said Glenda.

Pepe shrugged. ‘Everybody,’ he said. ‘They’re mostly looking in the dwarf districts right now, but it can only be a matter of time. We can’t move down at the shop for them and it was all I could do to sneak out.’

‘What are they after her for?’ said Glenda, panic rising. ‘I saw in the paper that people were trying to find her, but she hasn’t done anything wrong!’