“Errol et 'em. It's the cheese, see, it goes all-”
“Goon.”
“Well,” said Colon awkwardly, “he kept on shivering, sort of thing, and groaning on about dragons and that. We felt sorry for him, to tell the truth. And then he jumps up and runs out of the door for no reason at all.”
Vimes glanced at the sergeant's big, open, dishonest face.
“No reason?” he prompted.
“Well, we decided to have a bite, so I sent Nobby out to the baker's, see, and, well, we fought the prisoner ought to have something to eat . . .”
“Yes?” said Vimes encouragingly.
“Well, when Nobby asked him if he wanted his figgin toasted, he just give a scream and ran off.”
“Just that?” said Vimes. “You didn't threaten him in any way?”
“Straight up, Captain. Bit of a mystery, if you ask me. He kept going on about someone called Supreme Grand Master.”
“Hmm.” Vimes glanced out of the window. Grey fog lagged the world with dim light. “What time is it?” he said.
“Five of the clock, sir.”
“Right. Well, before it gets dark-”
Colon gave a cough. “In the morning, sir. This is tomorrow, sir.”
“You let me sleep all day?”
“Didn't have the heart to wake you up, sir. No dragon activity, if that's what you're thinking. Dead quiet all round, in fact.”
o;In writing, I think.”
...
The Librarian swung on. It was slow progress, because there were things he wasn't keen on meeting. Creatures evolve to fill every niche in the environment, and some of those in the dusty immensity of L-space were best avoided. They were much more unusual than ordinary unusual creatures.
Usually he could forewarn himself by keeping a careful eye on the kickstool crabs that grazed harmlessly on the dust. When they were spooked, it was time to hide. Several times he had to flatten himself against the shelves as a thesaurus thundered by. He waited patiently as a herd of Critters crawled past, grazing on the contents of the choicer books and leaving behind them piles of small slim volumes of literary criticism. And there were other things, things which he hurried away from and tried not to look hard at ...
And you had to avoid cliches at all costs.
He finished the last of his peanuts atop a stepladder, which was browsing mindlessly off the high shelves.
The territory definitely had a familiar feel, or at least he got the feeling that it would eventually be familiar. Time had a different meaning in L-space.
There were shelves whose outline he felt he knew. The book titles, while still unreadable, held a tantalising hint of legibility. Even the musty air had a smell he thought he recognised.
He shambled quickly along a side passage, turned the corner and, with only the slightest twinge of disorientation, shuffled into that set of dimensions that people, because they don't know any better, think of as normal.
He just felt extremely hot and his fur stood straight out from his body as temporal energy gradually discharged.
He was in the dark.
He extended one arm and explored the spines of the books by his side. Ah. Now he knew where he was.
He was home.
He was home a week ago.