'Junction of Scoone Avenue and Prouts,' he said.
'Trail's dying out. It's mixed up with too much other stuff.'
Angua sniffed around for a while. Someone had come up here, but too many people had crossed the trail. The sharp smell was still there, but only as a suggestion in the welter of conflicting scents.
She was aware of an overwhelming smell of approaching soap. She'd noticed it before, but only as a woman and only as a faint whiff. As a quadruped, it seemed to fill the world.
Corporal Carrot was walking up the road, looking thoughtful. He wasn't looking where he was going, however, but he didn't need to. People stood aside for Corporal Carrot.
It was the first time she'd seen him through these eyes. Good grief. How did people not notice it? He walked through the city like a tiger through tall grass, or a hubland bear across the snow, wearing the landscape like a skin—
Gaspode glanced sideways. Angua was sitting on her haunches, staring.
'Yer tongue's hanging out,' he said.
'What? . . . So? So what? That's natural. I'm panting.'
'Har, har.'
Carrot noticed them, and stopped.
'Why, it's the little mongrel dog,' he said.
'Woof, woof,' said Gaspode, his traitor tail wagging.
'I see you've got a lady friend, anyway,' said Carrot, patting him on the head and then absent-mindedly wiping his hand on his tunic.
'And, my word, what a splendid bitch,' he said. 'A Ramtop wolfhound, if I'm any judge.' He stroked Angua in a vague friendly way. 'Oh, well,' he said. 'This isn't getting any work done, is it?'
'Woof, whine, give the doggy a biscuit,' said Gaspode.
Carrot stood up and patted his pockets. 'I think I've got a piece of biscuit here – well, I could believe you understand every word I say . . .'
Gaspode begged, and caught the biscuit easily.
'Woof, woof, fawn, fawn,' he said.
Carrot gave Gaspode the slightly puzzled look that people always gave him when he said 'woof instead of barking, nodded at Angua, and carried on towards Scoone Avenue and Lady Ramkin's house.
'There,' said Gaspode, crunching the stale biscuit noisily, 'goes a very nice boy. Simple, but nice.'
'Yes, he is simple, isn't he?' said Angua. 'That's what I first noticed about him. He's simple. And everything else here is complicated.'
'He was making sheep's eyes at you earlier,' said Gaspode. 'Not that I've got anything against sheep's eyes, mind you. If they're fresh.'
'You're disgusting.'
'Yeah, but at least I stay the same shape all month, no offence meant.'
'You're asking for a bite.'
'Oh, yeah,' moaned Gaspode. 'Yeah, you'll bite me. Aaargh. Oh, yes, that'll really worry me, that will. I mean, think about it. I've got so many dog diseases I'm only alive 'cos the little buggers are too busy fighting among 'emselves. I mean, I've even got Licky End, and you only get that if you're a pregnant sheep. Go on. Bite me. Change my life. Every time there's a full moon, suddenly I grow hair and yellow teeth and have to go around on all fours. Yes, I can see that making a big difference to my ongoing situation. Actually,' he said, 'I'm definitely on a losing streak in the hair department, so maybe a, you know, not the whole bite, maybe just a nibble—'
'Shut up.' At least you've got a lady friend, Carrot had said. As if there was something on his mind . . .
'A quick lick, even—'
'Shut up.'