Guards! Guards! (Discworld 8)

The other two entered the room. Vimes gave his men his usual look of resigned dismay. “My squad,” he mumbled.

“Fine body of men,” said Lady Ramkin. “The good old rank and file, eh?”

“The rank, anyway,” said Vimes.

Lady Ramkin beamed encouragingly. This led to a strange shuffling among the men. Sergeant Colon, by dint of some effort, managed to make his chest stick out more than his stomach. Carrot straightened up from his habitual stoop. Nobby vibrated with soldierly bearing, hands thrust straight down by his sides, thumbs pointing sharply forward, pigeon chest inflated so much that his feet were in danger of leaving the ground.

' 'I always think we can all sleep safer in my bed knowing that these brave men are watching over us,“ said Lady Ramkin, walking sedately along the rank, like a treasure galleon running ahead of a mild breeze. ”And who is this?"

It is difficult for an orangutan to stand to attention. Its body can master the general idea, but its skin can't. The Librarian was doing his best, however, standing in a sort of respectful heap at the end of the line and maintaining the kind of complex salute you can only achieve with a four-foot arm.

“ 'E's plain clothes, ma'am,” said Nobby smartly. “Special Ape Services.”

“Very enterprising. Very enterprising indeed,” said Lady Ramkin. “How long have you been an ape, my man?”

“Oook.”

“Well done.” She turned to Vimes, who was definitely looking incredulous.

“A credit to you,” she said. “A fine body of men-”

“Oook.”

“-anthropoids,” corrected Lady Ramkin, with barely a break in the flow.

For a moment the rank felt as though they had just returned from single-handedly conquering a distant province. They felt, in fact, tremendously bucked-up, which was how Lady Ramkin would almost certainly have put it and which was definitely several letters of the alphabet away from how they normally felt. Even the Librarian felt favoured, and for once had let the phrase 'my man' pass without comment.

A trickling noise and a strong chemical smell prompted them to look around.

Goodboy Bindle Featherstone was squatting with an air of sheepish innocence alongside what was not so much a stain on the carpet as a hole in the floor. A few wisps of smoke were curling up from the edges.

Lady Ramkin sighed.

“Don't you worry, ma'am,” volunteered Nobby cheerfully. “Soon have that cleaned up.”

“I'm afraid they're often like that when they're excited,” she said.

“Fine specimen you got there, ma'am,” Nobby went on, revelling in the new-found experience of social intercourse.

“It's not mine,” she said. “It belongs to the captain now. Or all of you, perhaps. A sort of mascot. His name is Goodboy Bindle Featherstone.”

Goodboy Bindle Featherstone bore up stoically under the weight of the name, and sniffed a table leg.

“He looks more like my brother Errol,” said Nobby, playing the cheeky chirpy lovable city sparrow card for all it was worth. “Got the same pointed nose, excuse me for saying so, milady.”

Vimes looked at the creature, which was investigating its new environment, and knew that it was now, irrevocably, an Errol. The little dragon took an experimental bite out of the table, chewed it for a few seconds, spat it out, curled up and went to sleep.

“He ain't going to set fire to anything, is he?” said the sergeant anxiously.

“I don't think so. He doesn't seem to have worked out what his flame ducts are for yet,” said Lady Ramkin.

“You can't teach him anything about relaxing, though,” said Vimes. “Anyway, men ...”

“Oook.”

“I wasn't talking to you, sir. What's this doing here?”

“Er,” said Sergeant Colon hurriedly, “I, er . . . with you being away and all, and us likely to be short-handed . . . Carrot here says it's all according to the law and that ... I swore him in, sir. The ape, sir.”