'Ceno was a rather liberal god, sir. Not big on commandments.'
'Sounds almost decent, as gods go.'
Visit looked disapproving. The Cenotines died through five hundred years of waging some of the bloodiest wars on the continent, sir.'
'Spare the thunderbolts and spoil the congregation, eh?' said Vimes.
'Pardon, sir?'
'Oh, nothing. Well thank you, Constable. I'll, er, see that Captain Carrot is informed and, thank you once again, don't let me keep you from - '
Vimes's desperately accelerating voice was too late to prevent Visit pulling a roll of paper out of his breastplate.
'I've brought you the latest Unadorned Facts magazine, sir, and also this month's Battle Call, which contains many articles that I'm sure will be of interest to you, including Pastor Nasal Pedlers' exhortation to the congregation to rise up and speak to people sincerely through their letterboxes, sir.'
'Er, thank you.'
'I can't help noticing that the pamphlets and magazines I gave you last week are still on your desk where I left them, sir.'
'Oh, yes, well, sorry, you know how it is, the amount of work these days, makes it so hard to find the time to - '
'It's never too soon to contemplate eternal damnation, sir.'
'I think about it all the time, Constable. Thank you.'
Unfair, thought Vimes, when Visit had gone. A note is left at the scene of a crime in my town and does it have the decency to be a death-threat? No.
The last dying scrawl of a man determined to name his murderer? No. It's a bit of religious doggerel. What's the good of Clues that are more mysterious than the mystery?
He scribbled a note on Visit's translation and chucked it into his In Tray.
Too late, Angua remembered why she avoided the slaughterhouse district at this time of the month.
She could change at will at any time. That's what people forgot about werewolves. But they remembered the important thing. Full moonlight was the irresistible trigger: the lunar rays reached down into the centre of her morphic memory and flipped all the switches, whether she wanted them switched or not. Full moon was only a couple of days away. And the delicious smell of the penned animals and the blood from the slaughterhouses was chiming against her strict vegetarianism. The clash was bringing on her PLT.
She glared at the shadowy building in front of her. 'I think we'll go round the back,' she said. 'And you can knock.'
'Me? They won't take any notice of me!' said Cheery.
'You show them your badge and tell them you're the Watch.'
They'll ignore me! They'll laugh at me!'
'You're going to have to do it sooner or later. Go on.'
The door was opened by a stout man in a bloody apron. He was shocked to have his belt grabbed by one dwarf hand, while another dwarf hand was thrust in front of his face, holding a badge, and a dwarf voice in the region of his navel said, 'We're the Watch, right? Oh, yes! And if you don't let us in we'll have your guts for starters!'
'Good try,' murmured Angua. She lifted Cheery out of the way and smiled brightly at the butcher.
'Mr Sock? We'd like to speak to an employee of yours. Mr Dorfl.'
The man hadn't quite got over Cheery, but he managed to rally. 'Mr Dorfl? What's he done now?'
'We'd just like to talk to him. May we come in?'
Mr Sock looked at Cheery, who was trembling with nerves and excitement. 'I have a choice?' he said.
'Let's say - you have a kind of choice,' said Angua.