`Odder than "You are not a chicken"?' said Fred.

`Yes,' said Sir Reynold. `Oh, there is stuff about voices, omens, ghosts ... He also hwrote his journal on random pieces of paper, you know, and never gave any indication as to the date or hwhere

he hwas staying, in case the chicken found him. And he used very guarded language, because he didn't hwant the chicken to find out.'

`Sorry, I thought you said he thought he was the chick-' Colon began.

'hWho can fathom the thought processes of the sadleah disturbed, sergeant?' said Sir Reynold wearily.

'Er ... and does the painting talk?' said Nobby Nobbs. `Stranger things have happened, right?'

`Ahah, no,' said Sir Reynold. `At least, not in my time. Ever since that book was reprinted there's been a guard in here during visiting hours and he says it has never uttered a word. Certainly it has always fascinated people and there have always been stories about hidden treasure there. That is hwhy the book has been republished. People love a mystereah, don't they?'

`Not us,' said Fred Colon.

`I don't even know what a mister rear is,' said Nobby, leafing through the Codex. `Here, I heard about this book. My friend Dave who runs the stamp shop says there's this story about a dwarf, right, who turned up in this town near Koom Valley, more'n two weeks after the battle, an' he was all injured 'cos he'd been ambushed by trolls, an' starvin, right, an' no one knew much dwarfish but it was like he wanted them to follow him and he kept sayin' this word over and over again which turned out, right, to be dwarfish for "treasure"; right, only when they followed him back to the valley, right, he died on the way an' they never found nothin, an' then this artist bloke found some ... thing in Koom Valley and hid the place where he'd found it in this painting, but it drove him bananas. Like it was haunted, Dave said. He said the government hushed it up.,

'Yeah, but your mate Dave says the government always hushes

things up, Nobby,' said Fred. `Well, they do.'

`Except he always gets to hear about 'em, and he never gets hushed up,' said Fred.

`I know you like to point the finger of scoff, sarge, but there's a lot goes on that we don't know about.'

`Like what, exactly?' Colon retorted. `Name me one thing that's going on that you don't know about. There - you can't, can you?'

Sir Reynold cleared his throat. `That is certainly one of the theoreahs,' he said, speaking carefully as people tended to after hearing the Colon-Nobbs Brains Trust crossing purposes. `Regrettably, Methodia Rascal's notes support just about any theoreah one may prefer. The current populariteah of the painting is, I suspect, because the book does indeed revisit the old story that there's some huge secret hidden in the painting.'

`Oh?' said Fred Colon, perking up. `What kind of secret?

'I have no idea. The landscape hwas painted in great detail. A pointer to a secret cave, perhaps? Something about the positioning of some of the combatants? There are all kinds of theoreahs. Rather strange people come along with tape measures and rather hworryingly intent expressions, but I don't think they ever find anything.'

`Perhaps one of them pinched it?' Nobby suggested.

`I doubt it. They tend to be rather furtive individuals who bring sandwiches and a flask and stay here all day. The sort of people who love anagrams and secret signs and have little theoreahs and pimples. Probably quite harmless except to one another. Besides, hwhy steal it? We like people to take an interest in it. I don't think that kind of person would want to take it home, because it would be too large to fit under the bed. Did you know that Rascal wrote that sometimes in the night he heard screams? The noise of battle, one is forced to assume. So sad:

`Not something you'd want over the fireplace, then,' said Fred Colon.

`Precisely, sergeant. Even if it hwere possible to have a fireplace fifty feet long.'

`Thank you, sir. One other thing, though. How many doors are there into this place?'

`Three,' said Sir Reynold promptly. `But two are always locked.' `But if the troll-'

`-or the dwarfs,' said Nobby.

`Or, as my junior colleague points out, the dwarfs tried to get it out-'

`Gargoyles,' said Sir Reynold proudly. `Two hwatch the main door constantleah from the building opposite, and there's one each on the other doors. And there are staff on during the day, of course.'

`This may sound a silly question, sir, but have you looked everywhere?'

`I've had the staff searching all morning, sergeant. It would be a very big and very heavy roll. This place is full of odd corners, but it would be very obvious.

Colon saluted. `Thank you, sir. We'll just have a look around, if you don't mind:

`Yes - for urns,' said Nobby Nobbs.

Vimes eased himself into his chair and looked at the damned vampire. She could have passed for sixteen; it was certainly hard to believe that she was not a lot younger than Vimes. She had short hair, which Vimes had never seen on a vampire before, and looked, if not like a boy, then like a girl who wouldn't mind passing for one.

`Sorry about the ... remark down there,' he said. `It's not been a good week and it's getting worse by the hour.'

`You don't have to be frightened,' said Sally. `If it's any help, I don't like this any more than you do.'

`I am not frightened,' said Vimes sharply.

`Sorry, Mister Vimes. You smell frightened. Not badly,' Sally

added. `But just a bit. And your heart is beating faster. I am sorry if I have offended. I was just trying to put you at your ease.'

Vimes leaned back. `Don't try to put me at my ease, Miss von Humpeding,' he said. `It makes me nervous when people do that. It's not as though I have any ease to be put at. And do not comment on my smell either, thank you. Oh, and it's Commander Vimes or sir, understand? Not Mister Vimes.'

`And I would prefer to be called Sally' said the vampire.

They looked at each other, both aware that this was not going well, both uncertain that they could make it go any better.

`So ... Sally ... you want to be a copper?' said Vimes.

`A policeman? Yes.'

`Any history of policing in your family?' said Vimes. It was a standard opening question. It always helped if they'd inherited some idea about coppering.

`No, just the throat-biting,' said Sally.

There was another pause.

Vimes sighed.

`Look, I just want to know one thing,' he said. `Did John Not-A-Vampire-At-All Smith and Doreen Winkings put you up to this?'

`No!' said Sally. `I approached them. And if it's any help to you, I didn't think there'd be all this fuss, either.'

Vimes looked surprised.

`But you applied to join,' he said.

`Yes, but I don't see why there has to be all this ... interest!'

`Don't blame me. That was your League of Temperance.'

`Really? Your Lord Vetinari was quoted in the newspaper,' said Sally. `All that stuff about the lack of species discrimination being in the finest traditions of the Watch.'

'Hah!' said Vimes. `Well, it's true that a copper's a copper as far as I'm concerned, but the fine traditions of the Watch, Miss von Humpeding, largely consist of finding somewhere out of the rain,

mumping for free beer round the backs of pubs, and always keeping two notebooks!'

`You don't want me, then?' said Sally. `I thought you needed all the recruits you could get. Look, I'm probably stronger than anyone on your payroll who isn't a troll, I'm quite clever, I don't mind hard work and I've got excellent night vision. I can be useful. I want to be useful:

`Can you turn into a bat?'

She looked shocked. `What? What kind of question is that to ask me?'

`Probably amongst the less tricky ones,' said Vimes. `Besides, it might be useful. Can you?'