“Congealed, I should think.”

“The Patrician said we had to have a bit of representation from the minority groups,” said Carrot.

“Minority groups!”

“Sorry. Anyway, he's only got a few more days—”

There was a splintering noise across the street. They turned as a figure sprinted out of a tavern and hared away up the street, closely followed—at least for a few steps—by a fat man in an apron.

“Stop! Stop! Unlicensed thief!”

“Ah,” said Carrot. He crossed the road, with Angua padding along behind him, as the fat man slowed to a waddle.

“'Morning, Mr Flannel,” he said. “Bit of trouble?”

“He took seven dollars and I never saw no Thief Licence!” said Mr Flannel. “What you going to do about it? I pay my taxes!”

“We shall be hotly in pursuit any moment,” said Carrot calmly, taking out his notebook. “Seven dollars, was it?”

“At least fourteen.”

Mr Flannel looked Angua up and down. Men seldom missed the opportunity.

“Why's she got a helmet on?” he said.

“She's a new recruit, Mr Flannel.”

Angua gave Mr Flannel a smile. He stepped back.

“But she's a—”

“Got to move with the times, Mr Flannel,” said Carrot, putting his notebook away.

Mr Flannel drew his mind back to business.

“In the meantime, there's eighteen dollars of mine that I won't see again,” he said sharply.

“Oh, nil desperandum, Mr Flannel, nil desperandum,” said Carrot cheerfully. “Come, Constable Angua. Let us proceed upon our inquiries.”

He proceeded off, with Flannel staring at them with his mouth open.

“Don't forget my twenty-five dollars,” he shouted.

“Aren't you going to chase the man?” said Angua, running to keep up.

“No point,” said Carrot, stepping sideways into an alley that was so narrow as to be barely visible. He strolled between the damp, moss-grown walls, in deep shadow.

“Interesting thing,” he said. “I bet there's not many people know that you can get to Zephire Street from Broad Way. You ask anyone. They'll say you can't get out of the other end of Shirt Alley. But you can because, all you do, you go up Mormius Street, and then you can squeeze between these bollards here into Borborygmic Lane—good, aren't they, very good iron—and here we are in Whilom Alley—”