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moment and said, “Well, dear, it is a truth universally acknowledged that a man with a lot of wood must be in want of a wife who can handle a great big—”
    Lady Sybil interrupted sharply: “Sam Vimes, I believe that you intend to make an indelicate remark?”
    â€œI think you got there before me,” said Vimes, grinning. “You generally do, dear, admit it.”
    â€œYou may be right, dear,” she said, “but that is only to forestall you from saying it aloud. After all, you are the Duke of Ankh and widely regarded as Lord Vetinari’s right-hand man, and that means a certain amount of decorum would be advisable, don’t you think?”
    To a bachelor this would have appeared to be gentle advice; to an experienced husband it was a command, all the more powerful because it was made delicately.
    So, when Sir Samuel Vimes and Commander Vimes and His Grace the Duke of Ankh * walked out after breakfast, they were all on their best behavior. As it turned out, other people weren’t.
    There was a maid sweeping in the corridor outside the bedroom who took one frantic look at Vimes as he strolled toward her and turned her back on him, and remained staring fixedly at the wall. She appeared to be trembling with fear, and Vimes had learned that in these circumstances the last thing any man should do is ask a question or, above all, offer to lend a helping hand. Screaming could result. She was probably just shy, he told himself.
    But it seemed that shyness was catching: there were maids carrying trays or dusting or sweeping as he walked down through the building, and every time he came near one she turned her back crisply and stood staring at the wall as if her life depended on it.
    By the time he reached a long gallery lined with his wife’s ancestors, Vimes had had enough, and when a young lady carrying a tea tray spun around like the dancer on the top of a musical box he said, “Excuse me, miss, am I as ugly as all that?” Well, that was surely better than asking her why she was so rude, wasn’t it? So why in the name of any three gods did she start to run away, crockery rattling as she headed down the hall? Among the various Vimeses it was the Commander who took over; the Duke would be too forbidding and the Blackboard Monitor just wouldn’t do the trick. “Stop where you are! Put down your tray and turn around slowly!”
    She skidded, she actually skidded and, turning with perfect grace while still clutching the tray, slowed gently to a stop, where she stood shaking with anxiety as Vimes caught up with her and said, “What’s your name, miss?”
    She answered while keeping her face turned away. “Hodges, your grace, I’m very sorry, your grace.” The crockery was still rattling.
    â€œLook,” said Vimes, “I can’t think with all that rattling going on! Just put it down carefully, will you? Nothing bad is going to happen to you, but I’d like to see who I’m talking to, thank you very much.” The face turned reluctantly toward him.
    â€œThere,” he said. “Miss, er, Hodges, what is the matter? You don’t have to run away from me, surely?”
    â€œPlease, sir,” and with that the girl headed for the nearest grezen baize door and vanished through it. It was at this point that Vimes realized there was another maid only a little way behind him, practically camouflaged by her dark uniform and facing the wall and, indeed, trembling. She was surely a witness to all that had happened, so he walked carefully toward her and said, “I don’t want you to say anything. Just nod or shake your head when I ask you a question. Do you understand?” There was a barely perceptible nod. “Good, we make progress! Will you get into trouble if you say anything to me?”
    Another microscopic nod.
    â€œAnd is it likely that you’ll get into trouble because I’ve talked to you?” The