'Right in front of a werewolf's nose?'
'More or less, yes.'
'Mister Vimes is going to go round the twist,' said the' voice of Deep Bone. 'He's going to go totally Librarian-poo. He's going to invent new ways of being angry just so's he can try them out on you--'
Then I'd better get hold of Lord Vetinari's ,dog as soon as possible,' said William. He produced his chequebook. 'I can give you a cheque for fifty dollars, and that's all I can afford.'
'What's one of them, then?'
'It's like a legal IOU.'
'Oh, great,' said Deep Bone. 'Not much good to me when you're locked up, though.'
'Right now, Mr Bone, there's a couple of very nasty men hunting down every terrier in the city, by the sound of it--'
Terriers?' said Deep Bone. 'All terriers?'
'Yes, and while I don't expect you to--'
'Like... pedigree terriers, or just people who might happen to look a bit terrier-like?'
They didn't look like they were inspecting any paperwork. Anyway, what do you mean, "people who look like terriers"?'
Deep Bone went silent again.
William said, 'Fifty dollars, Mr Bone.'
At length the sacks of straw said, 'All right. Tonight. On the Misbegot Bridge. Just you. Er... I won't be there but there will be... a messenger.'
'Who shall I make the cheque to?' said William.
There was no answer. He waited a while and then eased himself into a position where he could peer around the sacks. There was a rustling from them. Probably rats, he thought, because certainly none of them could hold a man.
Deep Bone was a very tricky customer.
Some time after William had gone, looking surreptitiously into the shadows, one of the grooms turned up with a trolley and began to load up the sacks.
One of them said: Tut me down, mister.'
The man dropped the sack and then opened it cautiously.
A small terrier-like dog struggled out, shaking itself free of clinging wisps.
Mr Hobson did not encourage independence of thought and an enquiring mind, and at 50 pence a day plus all the oats you could steal he didn't get them. The groom looked owlishly at the dog.
'Did you just say that?' he said.
"course not,' said the dog. 'Dogs can't talk. Are you stupid or somethin'? Someone's playin' a trick on you. Gottle o' geer, gottle o' geer, vig viano.'
'You mean, like, throwing their voice? I saw a man do that down at the music hall.'
That's the ticket. Hold on to that thought.'
The groom looked around. 'Is that you playin' a trick, Tom?' he said.
That's right, it's me, Tom,' said the dog. 'I got the trick out of a book. Throwin' my voice into this harmless little dog what cannot talk at all.'
'What? You never told me you were learnin' to read!'