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"What?"

"Your bonnet, Nobby. It"s got a rather fetching band of flowers around it."

"Oh... yeah..."

"It"s not that I"m complaining," said Angua, "but when we were assigned this job I thought it was me who was going to be the decoy and you who was going to be the back-up, Nobby."

"Yeah, but what with you bein"..." Nobby"s expression creased as he edged his way into unfamiliar linguistic territory, "... mor phor... log... is... ally gifted..."

"A werewolf, Nobby. I know the word."

"Right... well, obviously, you"d be a lot better at lurkin", an"... an" obviously it"s not right, women havin" to act as decoys in police work..."

Angua hesitated, as she so often did when attempting to talk to Nobby on difficult matters, and waved her hands in front of her as if trying to shape the invisible dough of her thoughts.

"It"s just that... I mean, people might..." she began. "I mean... well, you know what people call men who wear wigs and gowns, don"t you?"

"Yes, miss."

"You do?"

"Yes, miss. Lawyers, miss."

"Good. Yes. Good," said Angua slowly. "Now try another one..."

"Er... actors, miss?"

Angua gave up. "You look good in taffeta, Nobby," she said.

"You don"t think it makes me look too fat?"

Angua sniffed. "Oh, no..." she said quietly.

"I thought I"d better put scent on for verysillymitude," said Nobby quickly.

"What? Oh..." Angua shook her head, took another breath. "I can smell... some... thing... else..."

"That"s surprising, "cos this stuff"s a bit on the pungent side and frankly I don"t think lily of the valley is supposed to smell like this..."

"It"s not perfume."

"... but the lavender stuff they had you could clean brass with..."

"Can you get back to the Chitterling station by yourself, Nobby?" said Angua. Despite her rising panic, she mentally added: after all, what could happen? I mean, really?

"Yes, miss."

"There"s something I"d better... sort out."

Angua hurried away, the new scent filling her nostrils. It would have to be powerful to combat Eau de Nobbs, and it was. Oh, it was.

Not here, she thought. Not now.

Not him.

The running man swung along a branch wet with snow, and managed at last to lower himself on to a branch belonging to the next tree. That took him a long way from the stream. How good was their sense of smell? Pretty damn good, he knew. But this good?

He"d got out of the stream on to another overhanging branch. If they followed the banks, and they"d be bright enough to do that, they"d surely never know he"d left the stream.


Tags: Terry Pratchett Discworld Fantasy