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cheek.
    “Er…right,…that’s it, then, thank you,” said Sergeant Colon, after a while.
    “— pro-tect the in-no-cent com-ma —”
    “In your own time, Lance-Constable Detritus.”
    The sergeant cleared his throat and consulted the clipboard again.
    “Now, Grabber Hoskins has been let out of jail again, so be on the look out, you know what he’s like when he’s had his celebratory drink, and bloody Coalface the troll beat up four men last night—”
    “— in the cause of said du-ty com-ma —”
    “Where’s Captain Vimes?” demanded Nobby. “He should be doing this.”
    “Captain Vimes is…sorting things out,” said Sergeant Colon. “’S’not easy, learning civilianing. Right.” He glanced at his clipboard again, and back to the guardsmen. Men…hah.
    His lips moved as he counted. There, sitting between Nobby and Constable Cuddy, was a very small, raggedy man, whose beard and hair were so overgrown and matted together that he looked like a ferret peering out of a bush.
    “— me brack-et af-ore-said de-it-y brack-et full stop .”
    “Oh, no,” he said. “What’re you doing here, Here’n’now? Thank you, Detritus— don’t salute —you can sit down now.”
    “Mr. Carrot brings me in,” said Here’n’now.
    “Protective custody, sarge,” said Carrot.
    “ Again? ” Colon unhooked the cell keys from their nail over the desk and tossed them to the thief. “All right. Cell Three. Take the keys in with you, we’ll holler if we need ’em back.”
    “You’re a toff, Mr. Colon,” said Here’n’now, wandering down the steps to the cells.
    Colon shook his head.
    “Worst thief in the world,” he said.
    “He doesn’t look that good,” said Angua.
    “No, I mean the worst ,” said Colon. “As in ‘not good at it.’”
    “Remember when he was going to go all the way up to Dunmanifestin to steal the Secret of Fire from the gods?” said Nobby.
    “And I said ‘but we’ve got it, Here’n’now, we’ve had it for thousands of years,’” said Carrot. “And he said, ‘that’s right, so it has antique value.’” *
    “Poor old chap,” said Sergeant Colon. “OK. What else have we got…yes, Carrot?”
    “Now, they’ve got to take the King’s Shilling,” said Carrot.
    “Right. Yes. OK.” Colon fished in his pocket, and took out three sequin-sized Ankh-Morpork dollars, which had about the gold content of seawater. He tossed them one at a time to the recruits.
    “This is called the King’s Shilling,” he said, glancing at Carrot. “Dunno why. You gotta get give it when you join. Regulations, see. Shows you’ve joined.” He looked embarrassed for a moment, and then coughed. “Right. Oh, yeah. Loada roc—some trolls,” he corrected himself, “got some kind of march down Short Street. Lance-Constable Detritus— don’t let him salute! Right. What’s this about, then?”
    “It Troll New Year,” said Detritus.
    “Is it? S’pose we got to learn about this sort of thing now. And says here there’s this gritsuc—this dwarf rally or something—”
    “Battle of Koom Valley Day,” said Constable Cuddy. “Famous victory over the trolls.” He looked smug, insofar as anything could be seen behind the beard.
    “Yeah? From ambush,” grunted Detritus, glowering at the dwarf.
    “What? It was the trolls—” Cuddy began.
    “Shut up,” said Colon. “Look, it says here…says here they’re marching…says here they’re marching up Short Street.” He turned the paper over. “Is this right?”
    “Trolls going one way, dwarfs going the other?” said Carrot.
    “Now there’s a parade you don’t want to miss,” said Nobby.
    “What’s wrong?” said Angua.
    Carrot waved his hands vaguely in the air. “Oh, dear. It’s going to be dreadful. We must do something.”
    “Dwarfs and trolls get along like a house on fire,” said Nobby. “Ever been in a burning house, miss?”
    Sergeant Colon’s normally red face had gone pale pink. He buckled on his sword belt