Vimes stopped mid-stair.

'Pessimal?' he said.

`The government inspector, sir?' said Cheery. `The one you told me about?'

Oh yes, thought Vimes. The second of our problems.

It was politics. Vimes could never get a handle on politics, which was full of traps for honest men. This one had been sprung last week, in Lord Vetinari's office, at the normal daily meeting ...

`Ah, Vimes,' said his lordship as Vimes entered. `So kind of you to

come. Isn't it a beautiful day?'

Up until now, Vimes thought, when he spotted the two other

people in the room.

`You wanted me, sir?' he said, turning to Vetinari again. `There's a Silicon Anti-Defamation League march in Water Street and I've got traffic backed up all the way to Least Gate-'

`I'm sure it can wait, commander.

'Yes, sir. That's the trouble, sir. That's what it's doing.'

Vetinari waved a languid hand. `But full carts congesting the street, Vimes, is a sign of progress,' he declared.

`Only in the figurative sense, sir,' said Vimes.

`Well, at any rate I'm sure your men can deal with it,' said Vetinari, nodding to an empty chair. `You have so many of them now. Such an expense. Do sit down, commander. Do you know Mr John Smith?'

The other man at the table took the pipe out of his mouth and gave Vimes a smile of manic friendliness.

`I don't believe wwwe have had the pleasure,' he said, extending a hand. It should not be possible to roll your double-yous, but John Smith managed it.

Shake hands with a vampire? Not bloody likely, Vimes thought, not even one wearing a badly handknitted pullover. He saluted instead.

`Pleased to meet you, sir,' he said crisply, standing to attention. It really was an awful garment, that pullover. It had a queasy zigzag pattern, in many strange, unhappy colours. It looked like something knitted as a present by a colour-blind aunt, the sort of thing you wouldn't dare throw away in case the rubbish collectors laughed at you and kicked your bins over.