He uttered a bad word under his breath, but only just.

Otto Chriek, the Times iconographer, was standing near by, holding a sunshade and looking dejected. He caught Vimes's eye and trudged over.

`What's in this for you, Otto?' said Vimes. `Come to get a picture of a jolly good riot, have you?'

`It's news, commander,' said Otto, looking down at his very shiny shoes.

`Who tipped you off?'

`I just do zer pictures, commander,' said Otto, looking up with a hurt expression. 'Anyvay, I couldn't tell you even if I knew, because of zer Freedom of zer Press.'

`Freedom to pour oil on a flame, d'you mean?' Vimes demanded.

`That's freedom for you,' said Otto. `No vun said it vas nice.'

`But ... well, you're a vampire, too!' said Vimes, waving a hand towards the protesters. `Do you like what's been stirred up?'

`It's still news, commander,' said Otto meekly.

Vimes glared at the crowd again. It was mostly human. There was one troll, although admittedly the troll had probably joined in on general principles, simply because something was happening. A vampire would need a masonry drill and a lot of patience before it could put a troll to any trouble. Still, there was one good thing, if

you could call it that: this little sideshow took people's minds off Koom Valley.

`It's strange that they don't seem to mind you, Otto,' he said, calming down a little.

`yell, I'm not official,' said Otto. `I do not haf zer sword and zer badge. I do not threaten. I am just a vorking stiff. And I make zem laff.'

Vimes stared at the man. He'd never thought about that before. But yes ... Little fussy Otto, in his red-lined black opera cloak with pockets for all his gear, his shiny black shoes, his carefully cut widow's peak and, not least, his ridiculous accent that grew thicker or thinner depending on who he was talking to, did not look like a threat. He looked funny, a joke, a music-hall vampire. It had never previously occurred to Vimes that, just possibly, the joke was on other people. Make them laugh, and they're not afraid.