'You and me, eh? We could make it. Fate has thrown us together, style of fing.'
'Go away.'
'Sorry?' said Carrot.
'Not you. That dog.'
Carrot turned.
'Him? Is he bothering you now? He's a nice little chap.'
'Woof, woof, biscuit.'
Carrot automatically patted his pocket.
'See?' said Gaspode. 'This boy is Mister Simple, am I right?'
'Do they let dogs in dwarf shops?' said Angua.
'No,' said Carrot.
'On a hook,' said Gaspode.
'Really? Sounds good to me,' said Angua. 'Let's go.'
'Vegetarian?' mumbled Gaspode, limping after them. 'Oh, my.'
'Shut up.'
'Sorry?' said Carrot.
'I was just thinking aloud.'
Vimes' pillow was cold and hard. He felt it gingerly. It was cold and hard because it was not a pillow but a table. His cheek appeared to be stuck to it, and he was not interested in speculating what with.
He hadn't even managed to take his armour off.
But he did manage to unstick one eye.
He'd been writing in his notebook. Trying to make sense of it all. And then he'd gone to sleep.
What time was it? No time to look back.
He traced out:
Stolen from Afsafsins' Guild: gonne – > Hammerhock killed.
Smell of fireworks. Lump of lead. Alchemical Symbols. 2nd body in river. A clown. Where was his red nose? Gonne.
He stared at the scrawled notes.
I'm on the path, he thought. I don't have to know where it leads. I just have to follow. There's always a crime, if you look hard enough. And the Assassins are in this somewhere.
Follow every lead. Check every detail. Chip, chip away.
I'm hungry.
He staggered to his feet and looked at his face in the cracked mirror over the basin.