"Zere is a problem..."
"He's got twitchy because he has run out of coffee?"
"Alas, if only it vas that simple." Otto looked awkward. "You have to understand that ven a vampire forgoes... the b-vord, there is a process that ve call transference? Ve force ourselves to desire something else? For me this vas not painful. I crave the perfection of light and shade. Pictures are my life! But your friend chose... coffee. And now he has none."
"Oh. I see."
"I vunder if you do. It probably seemed so sensible to him. It is a human craving, and no one minds if you say, as it might be, 'I am dying for a cup of coffee', or 'I'd kill for a cup of coffee'. But without coffee, he vill, I am afraid... revert. You understand, this is very difficult for me to talk about..." Otto trailed off.
"By revert you mean...?"
"First vill come mild delusions, I think. A psychic susceptibility to all kinds of influences from who knows vhere, and vampires can hallucinate so stronkly zat zey can be contagious. I zink zat is happening already. He vill become... erratic. This may last for several days. And then his conditioning vill break and he vill be, vunce again, a true vampire. No more Mr Nice Coffee Drinker Guy."
"Can't I do anything to help him?"
Otto reverentially laid his picture box in the back of the cart, and turned to her. "You can find him some coffee, or... you can keep a vooden stake and a big knife ready. You vould be doink him a favour, believe me."
"I can't do that!"
Otto shrugged. "Find someone who vill."
"He is amazing!" said de Worde, as the cart rocked back down through the trees. "I know the clacks is against your religion, but he seems to understand all about it."
"Like I said, sir, he assesses stuff," said Jackrum, beaming. "Mind like a razor."
"He was talking about clacks algorithms that the companies are only just now investigating," said de Worde. "That department he was talking about - "
"Ah, I can see nothing gets past you, sir," said Jackrum. "Very hush-hush. Can't talk about it."
"To be frank, sergeant, I'd always assumed that Borogravia was, well... backward."
Jackrum's smile was waxy and bright. "If we seem to be a long way back, sir, it's only so's we can get a good run-up."
"You know, sergeant, it's a great shame to see a mind like that wasted," said de Worde, as the cart lurched in a rut. "This is not an age of heroes and famous last stands and death-or-glory charges. Do your men a favour and try to tell him that, will you?"
"Wouldn't dream of it, sir," said Jackrum. "Here is your road, sir. Where will you be heading now?"
"To the Kneck valley, sergeant. This is a good story, sergeant. Thank you. Allow me to shake you by the hand."
"Glad to hear you think that, sir," said Jackrum, extending his hand. Polly heard the faint clink of coins in their passage from palm to palm. De Worde took the reins.
"But I must tell you, sergeant, that we'll probably send off our stuff by pigeon within the hour," he said. "We will have to say you have prisoners."
"Don't worry about that, sir," said Jackrum. "By the time their mates come out here to rescue those gallopers, we'll be halfway back to the mountains. Our mountains."
They parted. Jackrum watched them out of sight, and turned to Polly.
"Him with his airs and graces," he said. "Did you see that? He insulted me by giving me a tip!" He glanced at his palm. "Hmm, five Morpork dollars? Well, at least he's a man who knows how to insult you handsomely," he added, and the coins disappeared into his jacket with remarkable speed.
"I think he wants to help us, sarge," said Polly.
Jackrum ignored that. "I hate bloody Ankh-Morpork," he said. "Who're they to tell us what to do? Who cares what they think?"
"Do you think we can really join up with deserters, sarge?"
"Nope. They deserted once, what's to stop 'em a second time? They spat on the Duchess when they deserted, they can't kiss and make up now. You get one kiss, that's all."
"But Lieutenant Blouse - "