"Of course people tried to copy it," said the curator, accepting a cup. "Oh dear, they hwere terrible! A painting fifty feet long and ten feet deep is really quite impossible to copy with any kind of accuraceah-"
"Not if you lay it out on the ballroom floor and get a man to make you a pantograph," said Sybil, pouring tea. "This teapot really is a disgrace, Sam. Worse than the urn. Doesn"t anyone ever clean it out?"
She looked up at their faces. "Did I say something wrong?" she said.
"You made a copy of the Rascal?" said Sir Reynold.
"Oh, yes. The whole thing, to a scale of one in five," said Sybil. "When I was fourteen. It was a school project. We were doing dwarf history, you see, and, well, since we owned that painting it was too good to miss. You know what a pantograph is, don"t you? It"s a very simple way of making larger or smaller copies of a painting, using geometry, some wooden levers and a sharp pencil. Actually I did it as five panels ten feet square, that"s full size, to make sure I got all the detail, and then I did the one-fifth scale version to display it as poor Mr Rascal wanted it displayed. I got full marks from Miss Turpitude. She was our maths teacher, you know, she wore her hair in a bun with a pair of compasses and a ruler stuck in it? She used to say that a girl who knew how to use a set square and protractor would go a long way in life."
"What a shame you no longer have it!" said Sir Reynold.
"Why should you say that, Sir Reynold?" said Sybil. "I"m sure I"ve still got it somewhere. I had it hanging up from the ceiling of my room for some time. Let me think ... Did we take it with us when we moved? I"m sure-" She looked up brightly. "Ah, yes. Have you ever been up into the attics here, Sam?"
"No!" said Vimes.
"Now"s the time, then."
"I"ve never been on a Girls" Night Out before," said Cheery, as they walked, a little uncertainly, through the night-time city. "Was that last bit supposed to happen?"
"What bit was that?" said Sally.
"The bit where the bar was set on fire."
"Not usually," said Angua.
"I"ve never seen men fight over a woman before," Cheery went on.
"Yeah, that was something, wasn"t it?" said Sally. They"d dropped Tawneee off at her home. She"d been in quite a thoughtful frame of mind.
"And all she did was smile at a man," said Cheery.
"Yes," said Angua. She was trying to concentrate on walking.
"It"d be a bit of a shame for Nobby if she lets that go to her head, though," said Cheery.
Save me from talkative druks ... drinks ... drunks, Angua thought. She said, "Yes, but what about Miss Pushpram? She"s thrown some quite expensive fish at Nobby over the years."
"We"ve struck a blow for ugly womanhood," Sally declared loudly. "Shoes, men, coffins ... never accept the first one you see."
"Oh, shoes," said Cheery, "I can talk about shoes. Has anyone seen the new Yan Rockhammer solid copper slingbacks?"
"Er, we don"t go to a metalworker for our footwear, dear," said Sally. "Oh ... I think I"m going to be sick..."
"Serves you right for drinking ... vine," said Angua maliciously.
"Oh, ha ha," said the vampire from the shadows. "I"m perfectly fine with sarcastic pause "vine"; thank you! What I shouldn"t have drunk was sticky drinks with names made up by people with less sense of humour than, uh, excuse me ... oh, noooo . .
"Are you all right?" said Cheery.
"I"ve just thrown up a small, hilarious, paper umbrella...Oh dear."
"And a sparkler. .."
"Is that you, Sergeant Angua?" said a voice in the gloom. A lantern was opened, and lit the approaching face of Constable Visit. As he drew near, she could just make out the thick wad of pamphlets under his other arm.
"Hello, Washpot," she said. "What"s up?"
"... looks like a twist of lemon ..: said a damp voice from the shadows.