Men at Arms (Discworld 15)

There was an old man sitting on a stool at the road junction, with his hat over his eyes. He pushed it up.

Afternoon, Mr Carrot. You'll be wanting to see the triumphal arch, will you?'

'Yes, please.' Carrot turned back to Angua. 'Unfortunately, the actual practical design was turned over to Bloody Stupid Johnson.'

The old man eventually produced a small cardboard box from a pocket, and reverentially took off the lid.

'Where is it?'

'Just there,' said Carrot. 'Behind that little bit of cotton wool.'

'Oh.'

'I'm afraid that for Mr Johnson accurate measurements were something that happened to other people.'

Mr Scant dosed the lid.

'He also did the Quirm Memorial, the Hanging Gardens of Ankh, and the Colossus of Morpork,' said Carrot.

'The Colossus of Morpork?' said Angua.

Mr Scant held up a skinny finger. Ah,' he said. 'Don't go away.' He started to pat his pockets. 'Got 'im 'ere somewhere.'

'Didn't the man ever design anything useful?'

'Well, he did design an ornamental cruet set for Mad Lord Snapcase,' said Carrot, as they strolled away.

'He got that right?'

'Not exactly. But here's an interesting fact, four families live in a salt shaker and we use the pepper pot for storing grain.'

Angua smiled. Interesting facts. Carrot was full of interesting facts about Ankh-Morpork. Angua felt she was floating uneasily on a sea of them. Walking along a street with Carrot was like having three guided tours rolled into one.

'Now here,' said Carrot, 'is the Beggars' Guild. They're the oldest of the Guilds. Not many people know that.'

'Is that so?'

'People think it'd be the Fools or the Assassins. Ask anyone. They'll say “the oldest Guild in Ankh-Morpork is certainly the Fools' Guild or the Assassins' Guild”. But they aren't. They're quite recent. But there's been a Beggars' Guild for centuries.'

'Really?' said Angua, weakly. In the last hour she'd learned more about Ankh-Morpork than any reasonable person wanted to know. She vaguely suspected that Carrot was trying to court her. But, instead of the usual flowers or chocolate, he seemed to be trying to gift-wrap a city.

And, despite all her better instincts, she was feeling jealous. Of a city! Ye gods, I've known him a couple of days!

It was the way he wore the place. You expected him any moment to break into the kind of song that has suspicious rhymes and phrases like 'my kind of town' and 'I wanna be a part of it' in it; the kind of song where people dance in the street and give the singer apples and join in and a dozen lowly matchgirls suddenly show amazing choreo-graphical ability and everyone acts like cheery lovable citizens instead of the murderous, evil-minded, self-centred individuals they suspect themselves to be. But the point was that if Carrot had erupted into a song and dance, people would have joined in. Carrot could have jollied a circle of standing stones to form up behind him and do a rumba.

'There's some very interesting old statuary in the main courtyard,' he said. 'Including a very good one of Jimi, the God of Beggars. I'll show you. They won't mind.'

He rapped on the door.

'You don't have to,' said Angua.

'It's no trouble—'

The door opened.

Angua's nostrils flared. There was a smell . . .

A beggar looked Carrot up and down. His mouth dropped open.