Moist went down the main stairs like a maddened tapdancer and ran out through the big double doors. In one crowded moment, as he hurried towards the coach, the meal, table, cloth and chair were stowed in some unnoticeable compartment, and the man was standing by the invitingly open door.

'Look, what is this about?' Moist demanded, panting for breath. 'I don't have all—'

'All, Mr Lipwig,' said Lord Vetinari's voice from within, 'do step inside. Thank you, Houseman, Mrs Lavish will be waiting. Hurry up, Mr Lipwig, I am not going to eat you. I have just had an acceptable cheese sandwich.'

What harm can it do to find out? It's a question that has left bruises down the centuries, even more than 'It can't hurt if I only take one' and 'It's all right if you only do it standing up'.

Moist climbed into the shadows. The door clicked behind him, and he turned suddenly.

'Oh, really,' said Lord Vetinari. 'It's just shut, it isn't locked, Mr Lipwig. Do compose yourself!' Beside him, Drumknott sat primly with a large leather satchel on his lap.

'What is it you want?' said Moist.

Lord Vetinari raised an eyebrow. 'I? Nothing. What do you want?'

'What?'

'Well, you got into my coach, Mr Lipwig.'

'Yes, but I was told it was outside!'

'And if you had been told it was black, would you have found it necessary to do anything about it? There is the door, Mr Lipwig.'

'But you've been parked out here all morning!'

'It is a public street, sir,' said Lord Vetinari. 'Now sit down. Good.'

The coach jerked into motion.

'You are restless, Mr Lipwig,' said Vetinari. 'You are careless of your safety. Life has lost its flavour, has it not?'