Lewton was in a rather maudlin state of mind, as usual. Of course, it was Ilsa's fault. Everything for the last eight years had been her fault, in his view, but this was, shall we say, particularly her fault. Because she was back in Ankh-Morpork, with her husband, no less, and he was walking the streets of Ankh-Morpork alone. Of course, even while his mind was given over to his melodramatic habit of wallowing in self-pity, his feet walked of their own accord and his eyes remained alert to anything. And he meant absolutely anything, because this, as he never, ever forgot, was Ankh-Morpork. But now his nose was alertas well. That was strange. Being a werewolf was strange.
He'd spoken to Carlotta again since the.. incident. She'd wanted to tell him one more thing. She said, "I'll let you in on a secret, Lewton. A werewolf can't turn just anybody. That's what people think can happen, and you, of course, know how stupid people are. And it's another reason to hate us. But if you or me were to just go around on a biting spree, we wouldn't have an epidemic of werewolves. In most people, it just doesn't... take. The beast has to be there. You can't give it to someone.. you can only give it shape. I did nothing but bring out what was already there."
He felt.. in tune. More so than usual. The docks and the Shades and the temples and most of all the Ankh were there in his mind as always, but now he could smell them. He felt like part of the city, and the night. He'd seen werewolves from Uberwald. They seemed contained, not quite at home, like animals out of their natural environment. But he was a city wolf. Cities had sharks and lions and vultures and bottom-feeders, so why not wolves?
Of course, it had been Vimes who'd first taught him to be alert. The Watch in general and Vimes in particular. But he wasn't going to think of Vimes. The song in Cafe Ankh had been blues, for Lewton, in more ways than one. The past was blues. He needed to stay in the present. He needed a drink. No.. he wasn't going to slip back in the alcohol haze of the last eight years. He was a whole new person. A whole new species. The animal in him knew you couldn't go back to what had burned you in the same way as before, but the doggedness of his mindset would never be able to leave it alone. Maybe if you got to it from behind, maybe if you did what it would never expect you to do, you would be alright. You could only try.
His feet, treading the same pathways as his mind, had taken him to Pseudopolis Yard.
Maybe now he knew what to do.