'Yes.'
'Corporal Nobbs is not a werewolf, mister. In any way, shape or form. Whether he's human is another matter, but he ain't a lycr-- a lynco-- a lycantro-- a bloody werewolf, that's for sure!'
Then whose nose did I just drop a scent bomb in front of?' said William triumphantly.
There was silence. And then there was the sound of a thin trickle of water.
'Mr Bone?' said William.
'What kind of a scent bomb?' said the voice. It sounded rather strained.
'I think oil of scallatine was probably the most active ingredient.'
'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.