‘Yeah, right,’ he said. ‘We-ell, you know how it is, families … All them kids picking you up, giving you biscuits and similar, people pattin’ you the whole time. Gets on yer nerves. So I sleeps up there quite often.’
‘Right.’
‘More often than not, point of fact.’
‘Really?’
Gaspode whimpered a little.
‘You want to be careful, you know. A young bitch like you can meet real trouble in this dog’s city.’
They had reached the wooden jetty behind Hammerhock’s workshop.
‘How d’you—’ Angua paused. There was a mixture of smells here, but the overpowering one was as sharp as a saw.
‘Fireworks?’
‘And fear,’ said Gaspode. ‘Lots of fear.’
He sniffed the planks. ‘Human fear, not dwarf. You can tell if it’s dwarfs. It’s the rat diet, see? Phew! Must have been real bad to stay this strong.’
‘I smell one male human, one dwarf,’ said Angua.
‘Yeah. One dead dwarf.’
Gaspode stuck his battered nose along the line of the door, and snuffled noisily.
‘There’s other stuff,’ he said, ‘but it’s a bugger what with the river so close and everything. There’s oil and … grease … and all sorts — hey, where’re you going?’
Gaspode trotted after her as Angua headed back to Rime Street, nose close to the ground.
‘Following the trail.’
‘What for? He won’t thank you, you know.’
‘Who won’t?’
‘Your young man.’
Angua stopped so suddenly that Gaspode ran into her.
‘You mean Corporal Carrot? He’s not my young man!’
‘Yeah? I’m a dog, right? It’s all in the nose, right? Smell can’t lie. Pheremonies. It’s the ole sexual alchemy stuff.’
‘I’ve only known him a couple of nights!’
‘Aha!’
‘What do you mean, aha?’
‘Nothing, nothing. Nothing wrong with it, anyway—’
‘There isn’t any it to be wrong!’
‘Right, right. Not that it would be,’ said Gaspode, adding hurriedly, ‘even if there was. Everyone likes Corporal Carrot.’
‘They do, don’t they,’ said Angua, her hackles settling down. ‘He’s very … likeable.’
‘Even Big Fido only bit his hand when Carrot tried to pat him.’
‘Who’s Big Fido?’
‘Chief Barker of the Dog Guild.’
‘Dogs have got a Guild? Dogs? Pull one of the other ones, it’s got bells on—’
‘No, straight up. Scavenging rights, sunbathing spots, night-time barking duty, breeding rights, howling rotas … the whole bone of rubber.’
‘Dog Guild,’ snarled Angua sarcastically. ‘Oh, yeah.’
‘Chase a rat up a pipe in the wrong street and call me a liar. ’S’good job for you I’m around, else you could get into big trouble. There’s big trouble for a dog in this town who ain’t a Guild member. It’s lucky for you,’ said Gaspode, ‘that you met me.’
‘I suppose you’re a big ma — dog in the Guild, yes?’
‘Ain’t a member,’ said Gaspode smugly.
‘How come you survive, then?’
‘I can think on my paws, me. Anyway, Big Fido leaves me alone. I got the Power.’
‘What power?’
‘Never you mind. Big Fido … he’s a friend o’ mine.’
‘Biting a man’s arm for patting you doesn’t sound very friendly.’
‘Yeah? Last man who tried to pat Big Fido, they only ever found his belt buckle.’
‘Yes?’
‘And that was in a tree.’
‘Where are we?’
‘Not even a tree near here. What?’
Gaspode sniffed the air. His nose could read the city in a way reminiscent of Captain Vimes’ educated soles.
‘Junction of Scoone Avenue and Prouts,’ he said.
‘Trail’s dying out. It’s mixed up with too much other stuff.’
Angua sniffed around for a while. Someone had come up here, but too many people had crossed the trail. The sharp smell was still there, but only as a suggestion in the welter of conflicting scents.
She was aware of an overwhelming smell of approaching soap. She’d noticed it before, but only as a woman and only as a faint whiff. As a quadruped, it seemed to fill the world.
Corporal Carrot was walking up the road, looking thoughtful. He wasn’t looking where he was going, however, but he didn’t need to. People stood aside for Corporal Carrot.
It was the first time she’d seen him through these eyes. Good grief. How did people not notice it? He walked through the city like a tiger through tall grass, or a hubland bear across the snow,{23} wearing the landscape like a skin—
Gaspode glanced sideways. Angua was sitting on her haunches, staring.
‘Yer tongue’s hanging out,’ he said.
‘What? … So? So what? That’s natural. I’m panting.’
‘Har, har.’
Carrot noticed them, and stopped.
‘Why, it’s the little mongrel dog,’ he said.
‘Woof, woof,’ said Gaspode, his traitor tail wagging.
‘I see you’ve got a lady friend, anyway,’ said Carrot, patting him on the head and then absent-mindedly wiping his hand on his tunic.
‘And, my word, what a splendid bitch,’ he said. ‘A Ramtop wolfhound, if I’m any judge.’ He stroked Angua in a vague friendly way. ‘Oh, well,’ he said. ‘This isn’t getting any work done, is it?’
‘Woof, whine, give the doggy a biscuit,’ said Gaspode.
Carrot stood up and patted his pockets. ‘I think I’ve got a piece of biscuit here — well, I could believe you understand every word I say …’
Gaspode begged, and caught the biscuit easily.
‘Woof, woof, fawn, fawn,’ he said.
Carrot gave Gaspode the slightly puzzled look that people always gave him when he said ‘woof’ instead of barking, nodded at Angua, and carried on towards Scoone Avenue and Lady Ramkin’s house.
‘There,’ said Gaspode, crunching the stale biscuit noisily, ‘goes a very nice boy. Simple, but nice.’
‘Yes, he is simple, isn’t he?’ said Angua. ‘That’s what I first noticed about him. He’s simple. And everything else here is complicated.’
‘He was making sheep’s eyes at you earlier,’ said Gaspode. ‘Not that I’ve got anything against sheep’s eyes, mind you. If they’re fresh.’
‘You’re disgusting.’
‘Yeah, but at least I stay the same shape all month, no offence meant.’
‘You’re asking for a bite.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ moaned Gaspode. ‘Yeah, you’ll bite me. Aaargh. Oh, yes, that’ll really worry me, that will. I mean, think about it. I’ve got so many dog diseases I’m only alive ’cos the little buggers are too busy fighting among ’emselves. I mean, I’ve even got Licky End, and you only get that if you’re a pregnant sheep. Go on. Bite me. Change my life. Every time there’s a full moon, suddenly I grow hair and yellow teeth and have to go around on all fours. Yes, I can see that making a big difference to my ongoing situation. Actually,’ he said, ‘I’m definitely on a losing streak in the hair department, so maybe a, you know, not the whole bite, maybe just a nibble—’
‘Shut up.’ At least you’ve got a lady friend, Carrot had said. As if there was something on his mind …
‘A quick lick, even—’
‘Shut up.’
‘This unrest is all Vetinari’s fault,’ said the Duke of Eorle.{24} ‘The man has no style! So now, of course, we have a city where grocers have as much influence as barons. He even let the plumbers form a Guild! That’s against nature, in my humble opinion.’
‘It wouldn’t be so bad if he set some kind of social example,’ said Lady Omnius.