'Nope. The house was flogged off recently. Family debts. Haven't seen him around.'
'You're certainly a mine of information,' she said.
'I gets around. No-one notices dogs.' Gaspode wrinkled his nose. It looked like a withered truffle. 'Blimey. Stinks of gonne, doesn't it.'
'Yes. Something odd about that,' said Angua.
'What?'
'Something not right.'
There were other smells. Unwashed socks, other dogs, Dr Whiteface's greasepaint, yesterday's dinner – the scents filled the air. But the firework smell of what Angua was now automatically thinking of as the gonne wound around everything else, acrid as acid.
'What's not right?'
'Don't know . . . maybe it's the gonne smell . . .'
'Nah. That started off here. The gonne was kept here for years.'
'Right. OK. Well, we've got a name. It might mean something to Carrot—'
Angua trotted down the stairs.
' 'Scuse me . . .' said Gaspode.
'Yes?'
'How can you turn back into a woman again?'
'I just get out of the moonlight and . . . concentrate. That's how it works.'
'Cor. That's all?'
'If it's technically full moon I can Change even during the day if I want to. I only have to Change when I'm in the moonlight.'
'Get away? What about wolfbane?'
'Wolfbane? It's a plant. A type of aconite, I think. What about it?'
'Don't it kill you?'
'Look, you don't have to believe everything you hear about werewolves. We're human, just like everyone else. Most of the time,' she added.
By now they were outside the Guild and heading for the alley, which indeed they reached, but it lacked certain important features that it had included when they were last there. Most notable of these was Angua's uniform, but there was also a world shortage of Foul Ole Ron.
'Damn.'
They looked at the empty patch of mud.
'Got any other clothes?' said Gaspode.
'Yes, but only back in Elm Street. This is my only uniform.'
'You have to put some clothes on when you're human ?'
'Yes.'
'Why? I would have thought a nude woman would be at home in any company, no offence meant.'