'That was Doughnut Jimmy, sir. He used to be a jockey on a very fat horse.'
'A racehorse?'
'Apparently, sir '
'A fat racehorse? Surely that could never win a race?'
'I don't believe it ever did, sir. But Jimmy made a lot of money by not winning races.'
'Ah. He gave me milk and some sort of sticky potion.' Vetinari concentrated. 'I was heartily sick.'
'So I understand, sir.'
'Funny phrase, that. Heartily sick. I wonder why it's a cliche? Sounds... jolly. Rather cheerful, really.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Feel like I've got a bad dose of 'flu, Vimes. Head not working properly.'
'Really, sir?'
The Patrician thought for a while. There was obviously something else on his mind. 'Why did he still smell of horses, Vimes?' he said at last.
'He's a horse doctor, sir. A damn good one. I heard last month he treated Dire Fortune and it didn't fall over until the last furlong.'
'Doesn't sound helpful, Vimes.'
'Oh, I don't know, sir. The horse had dropped dead coming up to the starting line.'
'Ah. I see. Well, well, well. What a nasty suspicious mind you have, Vimes.'
'Thank you, sir.'
The Patrician raised himself on his elbows. 'Should toenails throb, Vimes?'
'Couldn't say, sir.'
*Now, I think I should like to read for a while. Life goes on, eh?'
Vimes went to the window. There was a nightmarish figure crouched on the edge of the balcony outside, staring into the thickening fog.
'Everything all right, Constable Downspout?'
'Eff, fir,' said the apparition.
'I'll shut the window now. The fog is coming in.'
'Fight oo are, fir.'
Vimes closed the window, trapping a few tendrils which gradually faded away. 'What was that?' said Lord Vetinari. 'Constable Downspout's a gargoyle, sir. He's no good on parade and bloody useless on the street, but when it conies to staying in one place, sir, you can't beat him. He's world champion at not moving. If you want the winner of the 100 Metres Standing Still, that's him. He spent three days on a roof in the rain when we caught the Park Lane Knobbler. Nothing'll get past him. And there's Corporal Gimletsson patrolling the corridor and Constable Glodsnephew on the floor below and Constables Flint and Moraine in the rooms on either side of you, and Sergeant Detritus will be around constantly so that if anyone nods off he'll kick arse, sir, and you'll know when he does that 'cos the poor bugger'll come right through the wall.'
'Well done, Vimes. Am I right in thinking that all my guards are non-human? They all seem to be dwarfs and trolls.' 'Safest way, sir.'
'You've thought of everything, Vimes.' 'Hope so, sir.'
'Thank you, Vimes.' Vetinari sat up and took a mass of papers off the bedside table. 'And now, don't let me detain you.' Vimes's mouth dropped open. Vetinari looked up. 'Was there anything else, Commander?'
'Well ... I suppose not, sir. I suppose I'd just better run along, eh?'