It was better when the dragon came, thought Vimes After it'd killed someone it was at least still a dragon. It went somewhere else but you could say: that's a dragon, that is. It couldn't nip over a wall and become just another person. You always knew what you were fighting. You didn't have to—

“What's that in Cuddy's hand?” he said. He realized he'd been staring at it without seeing it for some time.

He tugged at it. It was a strip of black cloth.

“Assassins wear that,” said Colon blankly.

“So do lots of other people,” said Ridcully. “Black's black.”

“You're right,” said Vimes. “Taking any action on the basis of this would be premature. You know, it'd probably get me fired.”

He waved the cloth in front of Lord Vetinari.

“Assassins everywhere,” he said, “on guard. Seems they didn't notice anything, eh? You gave them the bloody gonne because you thought they were the best to guard it! You never thought of giving it to the guards!”

“Aren't we going to give chase, Corporal Carrot?” said Pyjama.

“Chase who? Chase where?” said Vimes. “He hit old Fred on the head and did a runner. He could trot around a corner, chuck the gonne over a wall, and who'd know? We don't know who we're looking for!”

“I do,” said Carrot.

He stood up, holding his shoulder.

“It's easy to run,” he said. “We've done a lot of running. But that's not how you hunt. You hunt by sitting still in the right place. Captain, I want the sergeant to go out there and tell people we've got the killer.”

“What?”

“His name is Edward d'Eath. Say we've got him in custody. Say he was caught and badly injured, but he's alive.”

“But we haven't—”

“He's an Assassin.”

“We haven't—”

“Yes, captain. I don't like telling lies. But it might be worth it. Anyway, it's not your problem, sir.”

“It isn't? Why not?”

“You're retiring in less than an hour.”

“I'm still captain right now, corporal. So you have to tell me what's going on. That's how things work.”

“We haven't got time, sir. Do it, Sergeant Colon.”

“Carrot, I still run the Watch! I'm the one supposed to give the orders.”

Carrot hung his head.

“Sorry, captain.”

“Right. So long as that's understood. Sergeant Colon?”

“Sir?”

“Put out the news that we've arrested Edward d'Eath. Whoever he is.”

“Yessir.”

“And your next move, Mr Carrot?” said Vimes.

Carrot looked at the assembled wizards.—

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Ook?”

“First, we need to get into the library—”

“First,” said Vimes, “someone can lend me a helmet. I don't feel I'm at work without a helmet. Thanks, Fred. Right… helmet… sword… badge. Now…”

There was sound under the city. It filtered down by all sorts of routes, but it was indistinct, a hive noise.

And there was the faintest of glows. The waters of the Ankh, to use the element in its broadest sense, had washed, to bend the definition to its limit, these tunnels for centuries.

Now there was an extra sound. Footsteps padded over the silt, barely perceptible unless ears had become accustomed to the background noise. And an indistinct shape moved through the gloom, paused at a circle of darkness leading to a smaller tunnel…

“How do you feel, your lordship?” said Corporal Nobbs the upwardly mobile.

“Who are you?”

“Corporal Nobbs, sir!” said Nobby, saluting.

“Do we employ you?”

“Yessir!”

“Ah. You're the dwarf, are you?”

“Nossir. That was the late Cuddy, sir! I'm one of the human beings, sir!”

“You're not employed as the result of any… special hiring procedures?”

“Nossir,” said Nobby, proudly.

“My word,” said the Patrician. He was feeling a little light-headed from loss of blood. The Archchancellor had also given him a long drink of something he said was a marvellous remedy, although he'd been unspecific as to what it cured. Verticality, apparently. It was wise to remain sitting upright, though. It was a good idea to be seen to be alive. A lot of inquisitive people were peering around the door. It was important to ensure that rumours of his death were greatly exaggerated.

Corporal self-proclaimed-human Nobbs and some other guards had closed in around the Patrician, on Captain Vimes' orders. Some of them were a lot bulkier than he rather muzzily remembered.

“You there, my man. Have you taken the King's Shilling?” he inquired of one.

“I never took nuffin.”

“Capital, well done.”

And then the crowds scattered. Something golden and vaguely dog-like burst through, growling, its nose close to the ground. And was gone again, covering the ground to the library in long, easy strides. The Patrician was aware of conversation.

“Fred?”

“Yes, Nobby?”

“Did that look a bit familiar to you?”

“I know what you mean.”

Nobby fidgeted awkwardly.

“You should've bawled her out for not being in uniform,” he said.

“Bit tricky, that.”

“If I'd run through here without me clothes on, you'd fine me a half a dollar for being improperly dressed—”

“Here's half a dollar, Nobby. Now shut up.”

Lord Vetinari beamed at them. Then there was the guard in the corner, another of the big lumpy ones—

“Still all right, your lordship?” said Nobby.

“Who's that gentleman?”

He followed the Patrician's gaze.

“That's Detritus the troll, sir.”

“Why is he sitting like that?”

“He's thinking, sir.”

“He hasn't moved for some time.”

“He thinks slow, sir.”

Detritus stood up. There was something about the way he did it, some hint of a mighty continent beginning a tectonic movement that would end in the fearsome creation of some unscalable mountain range, which made people stop and look. Not one of the watchers was familiar with the experience of watching mountain building, but now they had some vague idea of what it was like: it was like Detritus standing up, with Cuddy's twisted axe in his hand.

“But deep, sometimes,” said Nobby, eyeing various possible escape routes.

The troll stared at the crowd as if wondering what they were doing there. Then, arms swinging, he began to walk forward.

“Acting-Constable Detritus… er… as you were.” Colon ventured.

Detritus ignored him. He was moving quite fast now, in the deceptive way that lava does.

He reached the wall, and punched it out of the way.

“Has anyone been giving him sulphur?” said Nobby.

Colon looked around at the guard. “Lance-Constable Bauxite! Lance-Constable Coalface! Apprehend Acting-Constable Detritus!”

The two trolls looked first at the retreating form of Detritus, then at one another, and finally at Sergeant Colon.

Bauxite managed a salute.

“Permission for leave to attend grandmother's funeral, sir?”

“Why?”

“It her or me, sarge.”

“We get our goohuloog heads kicked in,” said Coalface, the less circuitous thinker.