'We thought it would be best to leave it there,' said Cuddy, 'on account of it being Evidence. But you ought to see it.'
'It's going to upset everything,' said the troll, warming to the part.
'What was it?'
'If we tell you, you say, stupid ethnic people, you pulling my leg off,' said Detritus.
'So you'd better come and see,' said Cuddy.
Sergeant Colon looked at the rest of the Watch.
'All of us?' he said, nervously. 'Er. Shouldn't a couple of senior officers stay up here? In case anything happens?'
'Do you mean in case anything happens up here?' said Angua, tartly. 'Or in case anything happens down there?'
'I'll go with Lance-Constable Cuddy and Lance-Constable Detritus,' said Carrot. 'I don't think anyone else ought to come.'
'But it could be dangerous!' said Angua.
'If I find who's been shooting at Watchmen,' said Carrot, 'it will be.'
Samuel Vimes reached up with a big toe and turned on the hot tap.
There was a respectful knock at the door, and Willikins old-retainer'd in.
'Would sir be wanting anything?'
Vimes thought about it.
'Lady Ramkin said you wouldn't be wanting any alcohol,' said Willikins, as if reading his thoughts.
'Did she?'
'Emphatically, sir. But I have here a very fine cigar.'
He winced as Vimes bit the end off and spat it over the side of the bath, but produced some matches and lit it for him.
'Thank you, Willikins. What's your first name?'
'First name, sir?'
'I mean, what do people call you when they've got to know you better?'
'Willikins, sir.'
'Oh. Right, then. Well. You may go, Willikins.'
'Yes, sir.'
Vimes lay back in the warm water. The inner voice was still in there somewhere, but he tried not to pay any attention. About now, it was saying, you'd be proceeding along the Street of Small Gods, just by the bit of old city wall where you could stop and smoke a rollup out of the wind . . .
To drown it out, he started to sing at the top of his voice.
The cavernous sewers under the city echoed with human and near-human voices for the first time in millennia.
'Hi-ho—'
'—hi-ho—'