“Well, of course I was very saddened to receive your letter, captain…”

“Yes, sir,” said Vimes, still as wooden as a furniture warehouse.

“Please sit down, captain.”

“Yes, sir.” Vimes remained standing. It was a matter of pride.

“But of course I quite understand. The Ramkin country estates are very extensive, I believe. I'm sure Lady Ramkin will appreciate your strong right hand.”

“Sir?” Captain Vimes, while in the presence of the ruler of the city, always concentrated his gaze on a point one foot above and six inches to the left of the man's head.

“And of course you will be quite a rich man, captain.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I hope you have thought about that. You will have new responsibilities:”

“Yes, sir.”

It dawned on the Patrician that he was working on both ends of this conversation. He shuffled through the papers on his desk.

“And of course I shall have to promote a new chief officer for the Night Watch,” said the Patrician. “Have you any suggestions, captain?”

Vimes appeared to descend from whatever cloud his mind had been occupying. This was guard work.

“Well, not Fred Colon… He's one of Nature's sergeants…”

Sergeant Colon, Ankh-Morpork City Guard (Night Watch) surveyed the bright faces of the new recruits.

He sighed. He remembered his first day. Old Sergeant Wimbler. What a tartar! Tongue like a whiplash! If the old boy had lived to see this…

What was it called? Oh, yeah. Affirmative action hirin' procedure, or something. Silicon Anti-Defamation League had been going on at the Patrician, and now—

“Try it one more time, Lance-Constable Detritus,” he said. “The trick is, you stops your hand just above your ear. Now, just get up off the floor and try salutin' one more time. Now, then… Lance-Constable Cuddy?”

“Here!”

“Where?”

“In front of you, sergeant.”

Colon looked down and took a step back. The swelling curve of his more than adequate stomach moved aside to reveal the upturned face of Lance-Constable Cuddy, with its helpful intelligent expression and one glass eye.