Thud! (Discworld 34)

"Not likely" said Angua. "Certain. F"r instance, I used to find dog collars and bone-shaped biscuits in mine."

"Didn"t you complain?"

"What? No! You don"t complain!" snapped Angua, wishing she could stop inhaling right now. Already she was sure her hair was a mess.

"But I thought the Watch was-"

"Look, it"s nothing to do with what you ... what we are, okay?" said Angua. "If you were a dwarf it"d be a pair of platform soles or a stepladder or something, although that doesn"t happen so much these days. Mostly they try it on everyone. It"s a copper thing. And then they"ll watch what you do, you see? No one cares if you"re a troll or a gnome or a zombie or a vampire," much, she added to herself, "but don"t let them believe you"re a whiner or a snitch. And actually the biscuits were pretty good, to tell you the truth- Ah, have you met Igor yet?"

"Many times," said Sally. Angua forced a smile. In Uberwald, you met Igors all the time. Especially if you were a vampire. "The one here, though?" she said.

"I don"t think so."

Ah. Good. Angua normally avoided Igor"s laboratory, because the smells that emanated therefrom were either painfully chemical or horribly, suggestively organic, but now she"d snuff them up with relief. She headed for the door with slightly more speed than politeness required, and knocked.

It creaked open. Any door opened by an Igor would creak. It was a knack.

"Hi, Igor," said Sally cheerfully. "Gimme six!"

Angua left them chatting. Igors were naturally servile, vampires were naturally not. It was an ideal match. At least she could go and get some air now.

The door opened.

"Mr Pessimal, sir," said Cheery, ushering a man not much taller than she was into Vimes"s office. "And here"s the office copy of the

Times. .

Mr Pessimal was neat. In fact, he went beyond neat. He was a folding kind of person. His suit was cheap but very clean, his little boots sparkled. His hair gleamed, too, even more than the boots. It had a centre parting and had been plastered down so severely that it looked as though it had been painted on his head.

All the city"s departments got inspected from time to time,

Vetinari had said. There was no reason why the Watch should be passed over, was there? It was, after all, a major drain on the city coffers.

Vimes had pointed out that a drain was where things went to waste.

Nevertheless, Vetinari had said. Just nevertheless. You couldn"t argue with "nevertheless.

And the outcome was Mr Pessimal, walking towards Vimes.

He twinkled as he walked. Vimes couldn"t think of another way to describe it. Every move was ... well, neat. Shovel purse and spectacles on a ribbon, I"ll bet, he thought.

Mr Pessimal folded himself on to the chair in front of Vimes"s desk and opened the clasps of his briefcase with two little snaps of doom. With some ceremony he donned a pair of spectacles. They were on a black ribbon.

"My letter of accreditation from Lord Vetinari, your grace," he said, handing over a sheet of paper.

"Thank you, Mr ... A. E. Pessimal," said Vimes, glancing at it and putting it on one side. "And how can we help you? It"s Commander Vimes when I"m at work, by the way."

"I will need an office, your grace. And an oversight of all your paperwork. As you know, I am tasked to give his lordship a complete overview and cost/benefit analysis of the Watch, with any suggestions for improvement in every aspect of its activities. Your co-operation is appreciated but not essential."

"Suggestions for improvement, eh?" said Vimes cheerfully, while behind A. E. Pessimal"s chair Sergeant Littlebottom shut her eyes in dread. "Jolly good. I"ve always been known for my co-operative attitude. I did mention about the Duke thing, did I?"

"Yes, your grace," said A. E. Pessimal primly. "Nevertheless, you are the Duke of Ankh and it would be inappropriate to address you in any other way. I would feel disrespectful."

"I see. And how should I address you, Mr Pessimal?" said Vimes.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a floorboard on the other side of the room lift almost imperceptibly.

"A. E. Pessimal will be quite acceptable, your grace," said the inspector.