'It certainly frightened off those people,' said William.
'It was the axes that did that,' said Goodmountain firmly.
'No, it was the feeling that the top of your head has been opened and icicles have been pounded into your brain,' said William.
Goodmountain blinked. 'Yeah, okay, that too,' he said, mopping his forehead. 'You've got a way with words, right enough...'
A shadow appeared in the doorway. Goodmountain grabbed his axe.
William groaned. It was Vimes. Worse, he was smiling, in a humourless predatory way.
'Ah, Mr de Worde,' he said, stepping inside. There are several thousand dogs stampeding through the city at the moment. This is an interesting fact, isn't it?'
He leaned against the wall and produced a cigar. 'Well, I say dogs,' he said, striking a match on Goodmountain's helmet. 'Mostly dogs, perhaps I should say. Some cats. More cats now, in fact, 'cos, hah, there's nothing like a, yes, a tidal wave of dogs, fighting and biting and howling, to sort of, how can I put it, give a city a certain... busyness. Especially underfoot, because - did I mention it? -they're very nervous dogs too. Oh, and did I mention cattle?' he went on, conversationally. 'You know how it is, market day and so on, people are driving the cows and, my goodness, around the corner comes a wall of wailing dogs... Oh, and I forgot about the sheep. And the chickens, although I imagine there's not much left of the chickens now
He stared at William. 'Anything you feel you want to tell me?' he said.
'Uh... we had a bit of a problem...'
'Never! Really? Do tell!'
'The dogs took fright when Mr Chriek took a picture of them,' said William. This was absolutely true. Dark light was frightening enough even if you knew what was happening.
Vimes glared at Otto, who looked miserably at his feet.
'Well now,' said Vimes. 'Shall I tell you something? They're electing a new Patrician today--'
'Who?' said William.
',' don't know,' said Vimes.
Sacharissa blew her nose and said: 'It'll be Mr Scrope, of the Shoemakers and Leatherworkers.'
Vimes gave William a suspicious look. 'How do you know that?' he said.
'Everyone knows,' said Sacharissa. 'That's what the young man in the bakery said this morning.'
'Oh, where would we be without rumour?' said Vimes. 'So this is not a day, Mr de Worde, for... things to go wrong. My men are talking to some of the people who brought dogs along. Not many of them, I have to admit. Most of them don't want to talk to the Watch. Can't think why, we're very good listeners. Now is there anything you want to tell me?' Vimes looked around the room and back to William. 'Everyone's staring at you, I notice.'
The Times does not need any help from the Watch,' said William.
'Helping wasn't what I had in mind.'
'We haven't done anything wrong.'
'I'll decide that.'
'Really? That's an interesting point of view.'
Vimes glanced down. William had taken his notebook out of his pocket. 'Oh,' he said. 'I see.' He reached down to his own belt and pulled out a blunt, dark length of wood.
'You know what this is?' he said.
'It's a truncheon,' said William. 'A big stick.'
'Always the last resort, eh?' said Vimes evenly. 'Rosewood and Llamedos silver, a lovely piece of work. And it says on this little plate here that I'm supposed to keep the peace, and you, Mr de Worde, don't look like part of that right now.'
They locked gazes.