Mr Flannel drew his mind back to business.

'In the meantime, there's eighteen dollars of mine that I won't see again,' he said sharply.

'Oh, nil desperandum, Mr Flannel, nil desperandum,' said Carrot cheerfully. 'Come, Constable Angua. Let us proceed upon our inquiries.'

He proceeded off, with Flannel staring at them with his mouth open.

'Don't forget my twenty-five dollars,' he shouted.

'Aren't you going to chase the man?' said Angua, running to keep up.

'No point,' said Carrot, stepping sideways into an alley that was so narrow as to be barely visible. He strolled between the damp, moss-grown walls, in deep shadow.

'Interesting thing,' he said. 'I bet there's not many people know that you can get to Zephire Street from Broad Way. You ask anyone. They'll say you can't get out of the other end of Shirt Alley. But you can because, all you do, you go up Mormius Street, and then you can squeeze between these bollards here into Borborygmic Lane – good, aren't they, very good iron – and here we are in Whilom Alley—'

He wandered to the end of the alley and stood listening for a while.

'What are we waiting for?' said Angua.

There was the sound of running feet. Carrot leaned against the wall, and stuck out one arm into Zephire Street. There was a thud. Carrot's arm didn't move an inch. It must have been like running into a girder.

s going to stop being a guard.

He was going to be a gentleman of leisure.

He took off his copper badge and buffed it absent-mindedly on the edge of his cloak. Then he held it up so that the light glinted off the patina'd surface. AMCW No.177. He sometimes wondered how many other guards had had the badge before him.

Well, now someone was going to have it after him.

This is Ankh-Morpork, Citie of One Thousand Surprises (according to the Guild of Merchants' guidebook). What more need be said? A sprawling place, home to a million people, greatest of cities on the Discworld, located on either side of the river Ankh, a waterway so muddy that it looks as if it is flowing upside down.

And visitors say: how does such a big city exist? What keeps it going? Since it's got a river you can chew, where does the drinking water come from? What is, in fact, the basis of its civic economy? How come it, against all probability, works?

Actually, visitors don't often say this. They usually say things like 'Which way to the, you know, the . . . er . . . you know, the young ladies, right?'

But if they started thinking with their brains for a little while, that's what they'd be thinking.

The Patrician of Ankh-Morpork sat back on his austere chair with the sudden bright smile of a very busy person at the end of a crowded day who's suddenly found in his schedule a reminder saying: 7.00-7.05, Be Cheerful and Relaxed and a People Person.

'Well, of course I was very saddened to receive your letter, captain . . .'

'Yes, sir,' said Vimes, still as wooden as a furniture warehouse.

'Please sit down, captain.'

'Yes, sir.' Vimes remained standing. It was a matter of pride.

'But of course I quite understand. The Ramkin country estates are very extensive, I believe. I'm sure Lady Ramkin will appreciate your strong right hand.'

'Sir?' Captain Vimes, while in the presence of the ruler of the city, always concentrated his gaze on a point one foot above and six inches to the left of the man's head.

'And of course you will be quite a rich man, captain.'

'Yes, sir.'

'I hope you have thought about that. You will have new responsibilities:'

'Yes, sir.'

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