The farmer nodded wordlessly. A dollar a chicken wasn"t chickenfeed. You didn"t turn up your nose at an offer like that. But most importantly, you didn"t disobey a man with that faint little smile on his face. It didn"t seem to move or change. As smiles went, you wanted this one to go as far away as possible.
He hurried off to the yard that held his best fowls, reached down to select the fattest... and paused. A man who was mad enough to pay a dollar for a ,good chicken might be quite content with just a reasonable chicken, after all. He stood up.
"Only the best, mister."
He spun around. There was no one except the little scruffy dog, which had followed him and was now raising a cloud of dust as it scratched itself.
"Woof?" it said.
He threw a stone at it and it trotted off. Then he selected three of the very best chickens.
Carrot was lying down under a tree, trying to make his head comfortable on a saddlebag.
"Did you see where she"d almost rubbed out her footprints in the dust?" said Gaspode.
"Yes," said Carrot, closing his eyes.
"Does she always pay for chickens?"
"Yes."
,Whys,
Carrot turned over. "Because animals don"t."
Gaspode looked at the back of Carrot"s head. On the whole he enjoyed the unusual gift of speech, but something about the reddening of Carrot"s ears told him that this was the time to employ the even rarer gift of silence.
He settled down in the pose he almost unconsciously categorized as Faithful Companion Keeping Watch, got bored, scratched himself absentmindedly, curled up in the pose known as Faithful Companion Curled Up With His Nose Pressed On His Bottom , and fell asleep.
He awoke shortly afterwards to the sound of voices. There was also a faint smell of roast chicken coming from the direction of the farmhouse.
Gaspode rolled over and saw the farmer talking to another man on a cart. He listened for a moment and then sat up, locked in a metaphysical conundrum.
Finally he woke Carrot by licking his ear.
"Fzwl... What?"
"You got to promise to collect the roast chicken first, all right?" said Gaspode urgently.
"What?" Carrot sat up.
"Get the chickens and then we gotta go, right? You gotta promise."
"All right, all right, I promise. What"s happening?"
"You ever heard of a town called Scant Cullot?"
"I think it"s about ten miles from here."
"One of Mister Farmer"s neighbours has just told him that they"ve caught a wolf there."
"Killed it?"
"No, no, no, but the wolf-hunters... there"s wolf-hunters in these parts, see, "cos of the sheep up on the hills and...they have to train their dogs first remember you promised about the chickens!"
At precisely eleven o"clock there was a smart rap on Lord Vetinari"s door. The Patrician gave the woodwork a puzzled frown. At last he said: "Come."
Fred Colon entered with difficulty. Vetinari watched him for a few moments until pity overcame even him.