'I beg your pardon?'
'You must weigh about half of what they do and all of 'em went home in wheelbarrows. You drank as much as them and you look fresh as a daisy. What is the trick? Did you get the wizards to magic the beer out of your stomach?'
She had stopped pushing her luck a long time ago. Now it was out of control, like a startled carthorse that can't stop because of the huge load bouncing and rumbling along behind it.
Vetinari frowned. 'My dear lady, anyone drunk enough to let wizards, who themselves had just been partaking copiously of the fruit of the vine, I might add, take anything out of him would already be so drunk as to be dead. To forestall your next comment, the hop is also, technically, a vine. I am, in fact, drunk. Is this not so, Drumknott?'
'You did indeed consume some twelve pints of very strong malted beverage, sir. Technically, you must be drunk.'
'Idiosyncratically put, Drumknott. Thank you.'
'You don't act drunk!'
'No, but I do act sober quite well, don't you think? And I must confess that this morning's crossword was something of a tussle. Procatalepsis and pleonasm in one day? I had to use the dictionary! The woman is a fiend! Nevertheless, thank you for coming, Miss Sugarbean. I recall your grandmother's bubble and squeak with great fondness. If she had been a sculptress, it would have been an exquisite statue, with no arms and an enigmatic smile. It is such a shame that some masterpieces are so transitory.'
The proud cook in Glenda rose unstoppably. 'But she passed the recipe on to me.'
'A legacy better than jewels,' said Vetinari, nodding.
Actually a few jewels would not have gone amiss, Glenda reflected. But there was a secret of Bubble and Squeak, of course, right out there in the open where everyone could miss it. And as for the Truth of Salmagundi...
'I believe this audience is at an end, Miss Sugarbean,' said Vetinari. 'I have so much to do and so have you, I am sure.' He picked up his pen and turned his attention to the documents in front of him. 'Goodbye, Miss Sugarbean.'
And that was it. Somehow, she was at the door, and it had almost closed behind her when a voice said, 'And thank you for your kindnesses to Nutt.'
The door clicked shut, nearly hitting her in the face as she spun round.
'Was that a wise thing for me to have said, do you think?' said Vetinari, when she had gone.
'Possibly not, sir, but she will merely assume it is her that we are watching,' said Drumknott smoothly.
'Possibly we should. That's a Sugarbean woman for you, Drumknott, little domestic slaves until they think someone has been wronged and then they go to war like Queen Ynci of Lancre, with chariot wheels spinning and arms and legs all over the place.'
'And no father,' observed Drumknott. 'Not very good for a child in those days.'
'Only served to make her tougher. One can only hope she doesn't take it into her head to enter politics.'
'Is that not what she is doing now, sir?'
'Well noted, Drumknott. Do I appear drunk?'
'In my opinion no, sir, but you seem unusually... talkative.'
'Coherently?'
'To the minutest scruple, sir. The Postmaster is waiting, sir, and some of the guild leaders want to talk to you urgently.'
'I suspect they want to play football?'
'Yes, sir. They intend to form teams. I cannot for the life of me understand why.'
Vetinari put down his pen. 'Drumknott, if you saw a ball lying invitingly on the ground, would you kick it?'
The secretary's forehead wrinkled. 'How would the invitation be couched, sir?'
'I'm sorry?'
'Would it be, for example, a written note attached to the ball by person or persons unknown?'