'You all right, sir?' said Carrot. 'I know you've been overdoing it a bit these last few days - '
'I've been underdoing it!' said Vimes. 'I've been running around looking for damn Clues instead of just thinking for five minutes! What is it I'm always telling you?'
'Er ... er ... Never trust anybody, sir?'
'No, not that.'
'Er ... er ... Everyone's guilty of something, sir?'
'Not that, either.'
'Er ... er ... Just because someone's a member of an ethnic minority doesn't mean they're not a nasty small-minded little jerk, sir?'
'N - When did I say that?'
'Last week, sir. After we'd had that visit from the Campaign for Equal Heights, sir.'
Well, not that. I mean... I'm pretty sure I'm always saying something else that's very relevant here. Something pithy about police work.'
'Can't remember anything right now, sir.'
'Well, I'll damn well make up something and start saying it a lot from now on.'
'Jolly good, sir.' Carrot beamed. 'It's good to see you're your old self again, sir. Looking forward to kicking ar - to prodding buttock, sir. Er... What have we found, sir?'
'You'll see! We're going to the palace. Fetch Angua. We might need her. And bring the search warrant.'
'You mean the sledgehammer, sir?'
'Yes. And Sergeant Colon, too.'
'He hasn't signed in again yet, sir,' said Cheery. 'He should have gone off-duty an hour ago.'
'Probably hanging around somewhere, staying out of trouble,' said Vimes.
Wee Mad Arthur peered over the edge of the wall. Somewhere below Colon, two red eyes stared up at him.
'Heavy, is it?'
S!'
'Kick it with your other foot!'
There was a sucking sound. Colon winced. Then there was a plop, a moment of silence, and a loud crash of pottery down in the street. had been left alone for a moment while the party buzzed around him, so he'd elbowed some waiters away from the buffet and was currently scraping out a bowl with his knife.
'Ah, Lord de Nobbes,' said a voice behind him.
He turned. 'Wotcha,' he said, licking the knife and wiping it on the tablecloth.
'Are you busy, my lord?'
'Just making meself this meat-paste sandwich,' said Nobby.
That's pate de foie gras, my lord.'
S that what it's called? It doesn't have the kick of Clammer's Beefymite Spread, I know that. Want a quail's egg? They're a bit small.'
'No, thank you - '