'What? How can ... ?' Angua stopped. 'What are you talking about, Carrot?'

'The Dwarf Bread Museum. I promised Mr Hopkinson's sister that I'd tidy it up. You know, get it sorted out. She's not very well off and I thought it could raise some money. Just between you and me, there's several exhibits in there that could be better-presented, but I'm afraid Mr Hopkinson was rather set in his ways. I'm sure there's a lot of dwarfs in the city that'd flock there if they knew about it, and of course there's a lot of youngsters that ought to learn more about their proud heritage. A good dusting and a lick of paint would make all the difference, I'm sure, especially on the older loaves. I don't mind giving up a few days off. I just thought it might cheer you up, but I appreciate that bread isn't everyone's cup of tea.'

Angua stared at him. It was the stare that Carrot so often attracted. It roamed every feature of his face, looking for the tiniest clue that he was making some kind of joke. Some long, deep joke at the expense of everyone else. Every sinew in her body knew that he must be, but there was not a clue, not a twitch to prove it.

'Yes,' she said weakly, still searching his face, 'I expect it could be a little goldmine.'

'Museums have got to be a whole lot more interesting these days. And, you know, there's a whole guerrilla crumpet assortment he hasn't even catalogued,' said Carrot. 'And some early examples of defensive bagels.'

'Gosh,' said Angua. 'Hey, why don't we paint a big sign saying something like The Dwarf Bread Experience ?'

'That probably wouldn't work for dwarfs,' said Carrot, oblivious to sarcasm. 'A dwarf bread experience tends to be short. But I can see it's certainly caught your imagination!'

I'll have to go, Angua thought as they strolled on down the street. Sooner or later he'll see that it can't really work out. Werewolves and humans... we've both got too much to lose. Sooner or later I'll have to leave him.

But, for one day at a time, let it be tomorrow.

'Want the dresses back?' said Cheri, behind her.

'Maybe one or two,' said Angua.

THE END ;Fog's lifted, sir,' he said. There's a bit of cloud but you can see all the way across the Brass Bridge - '

'What will you use the golem for?'

'Not use, sir. Employ. I thought he might be useful for to keep the peace, sir.'

'A watchman?'

'Yes, sir,' said Vimes. 'Haven't you heard, sir? Golems do all the mucky jobs.'

Vetinari watched him go, and sighed. 'He does so like a dramatic exit,' he said.

'Yes, my lord,' said Drumknott, who had appeared noiselessly at his shoulder.

'Ah, Drumknott.' The Patrician took a length of candle out of his pocket and handed it to his secretary. 'Dispose of this somewhere safely, will you?'

'Yes, my lord?'

'It's the candle from the other night.'

'It's not burned down, my lord? But I saw the candle end in the holder...'

'Oh, of course I cut off enough to make a stub and let the wick burn for a moment. I couldn't let our gallant policeman know I'd worked it out for myself, could I? Not when he was making such an effort and having so much fun being... well, being Vimes. I'm not completely heartless, you know.'

'But, my lord, you could have sorted it out diplomatically! Instead he went around upsetting things and making a lot of people very angry and afraid - '

'Yes. Dear me. Tsk, tsk.'

'Ah,' said Drumknott.

'Quite so,' said the Patrician.

'Do you wish me to have the table in the Rats Chamber repaired?'

'No, Drumknott, leave the axe where it is. It will make a good... conversation piece, I think.'

'May I make an observation, my lord?'

Tags: Terry Pratchett Discworld Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net