'Yes. Something odd about that,' said Angua.
'What?'
'Something not right.'
There were other smells. Unwashed socks, other dogs, Dr Whiteface's greasepaint, yesterday's dinner – the scents filled the air. But the firework smell of what Angua was now automatically thinking of as the gonne wound around everything else, acrid as acid.
'What's not right?'
'Don't know . . . maybe it's the gonne smell . . .'
'Nah. That started off here. The gonne was kept here for years.'
'Right. OK. Well, we've got a name. It might mean something to Carrot—'
Angua trotted down the stairs.
' 'Scuse me . . .' said Gaspode.
'Yes?'
'How can you turn back into a woman again?'
'I just get out of the moonlight and . . . concentrate. That's how it works.'
'Cor. That's all?'
'If it's technically full moon I can Change even during the day if I want to. I only have to Change when I'm in the moonlight.'
'Get away? What about wolfbane?'
'Wolfbane? It's a plant. A type of aconite, I think. What about it?'
'Don't it kill you?'
'Look, you don't have to believe everything you hear about werewolves. We're human, just like everyone else. Most of the time,' she added.
By now they were outside the Guild and heading for the alley, which indeed they reached, but it lacked certain important features that it had included when they were last there. Most notable of these was Angua's uniform, but there was also a world shortage of Foul Ole Ron.
'Damn.'
They looked at the empty patch of mud.
'Got any other clothes?' said Gaspode.
ally couldn't say.'
'He's got a present for you.'
Angua risked a glance. Gaspode was holding, but only just, a very large bone in his mouth. It was wider than he was long, and might have belonged to something that died in a tar pit. It was green and furry in places.
'How nice,' she said, coldly. 'Look, you go on. Let me see what I can do . . .'
'If you're sure . . .' Carrot began, in a reluctant tone of voice.
'Yes.'
When he'd gone Angua headed for the nearest alley. There were only a few minutes to moonrise.