When Nobby awoke, he was just in time for his second greatest shock of the night. An enormous, snarling wolf stood over him in the darkness, bared fangs less than a foot away from his face.

"Arrgh . . . I . . . what . . . you . . ." he said weakly and tried to lift a hand to protect himself from the yellow set of incisors in front of him.

In spite of the fact that it was general knowledge in the Watch these days that Angua was a werewolf, it was one thing to know that she was able to change shape into a carnivorous animal, and quite another to have the aforementioned beast at arm's length, especially if it was looking as if it was ready to show you just what that the aforementioned term meant.

Nobby wet himself.

The wolf growled, clearly agitated, but then stood still over Nobby's prostrate figure, sniffing the air with a vehement look on its face. Then, apparently having reached a decision, it reached down and grabbed a large piece of silk from Nobby's already torn garment with its muzzle and tore off most of what remained of the skirt. After that it jumped off him, giving off a small yelp as it did so, as if in pain. It moved with an awkward gait, but disappeared rapidly into the shadows.

Nobby stared woozily after the she-wolf from his position in the gutter.

-----

A minute later, Angua appeared, wrapped in the remains of

Nobby's attire.

"Phew, Sarge, you didn't half scare me!" Nobby said weakly, "What did you have to go and do that for?"

"Sorry, Nobby," Angua offered, "I had to get to you as fast as I could, and then when I found you I tried to get scent of your attacker."

"Thanks, Sarge. Any luck?"

"I'm afraid not," said Angua, unable to keep a hint of defeat from creeping into her voice.

Her already battered sense of smell had been beaten by a combination of fatigue and the overpowering scents of several dozen kinds of perfumes, not least Nobby's own cloud, making it impossible for her to trace any individual.

Her head was throbbing and her side aching, but she had to keep going. They had never been this close, Angua knew. Not being able to use her nose properly made her want to scream in frustration, but there was nothing she could do about that now. She would have to make due with what she had.

"Are you all right?" she asked, helping Nobby to stand on unsteady legs and checking on the ugly bruises around his neck. "What happened?"

Nobby's hands were shaking like peas on a snare drum as he tried to locate any remaining nicotine behind his bruised ears.

"Dunno, Sarge" he said in a raspy voice. "One moment I'm walkin' down the road and next thing I know someone jumps me from behind, tryin' to strangle me for no reason!"

"And then what happened?"

"I . . . " Nobby scratched his head and winced as he came upon the lump. "I'm not too sure. We was fightin', and to tell you the truth, I dunno if I could've fought him off, 'cause he was really strong—"

Angua looked at Nobby's toothpick arms and toast-rack chest but said nothing.

"—but then just as I thought that I was gonna croak someone else must've joined the fight, 'cause he din't finish the job. Dunno who, though. I must've got hit over the head round 'bout then, 'cause I don't remember anythin' after that."

"Attacking a poor, defenceless woman like me," Nobby said, shaking his head. "And he was dressed in women's clothing, too," he added, his outrage audible.

Angua still didn't say anything. Clutching Nobby's garment around herself to protect her modesty, she bent down to pick up something that was half hidden in the gutter where Nobby had been lying. It was wet and limp and hung in her hand like a rope end.

She showed it to Nobby, who took one look at it and fainted.

It was a donkey tail.

-----

The sun was starting to come up again when Angua arrived back at her lodgings at Mrs Cake's after having taken care of Nobby over in the Yard.

Her whole body was aching by now. It may be true that nothing but silver could kill a werewolf, Angua thought, but that didn't mean that she couldn't get hurt. Her entire organism was shouting at her to get some rest.

She had waited for the other watchmen to catch up with them once more and had told them what had happened before helping the beat-up corporal back to the Watch's headquarters. The rest of them had stayed behind to search the surrounding area for any traces of the madman, but Angua felt no real hope that they would find him.

When they got back to the Yard, Constable Dorfl had met them in the doorway and had carried Nobby into Igor's rooms in the basement of the Watch house for an examination. Apart from a light concussion and some ugly, black bruises on his neck and back he was relatively okay, even though he was still very upset about the dressing habits of his attacker. Angua had changed into civilian clothes, taken some foul-smelling medicine that Igor had recommended and had limped upstairs to see her commanding officer.

Mister Vimes had told her precisely what the situation was like, that even if they were to find the Donkey they would be forced to let him go, and would most likely get into trouble, at that.

The game was up, so she would have to get what few possessions she had brought with her to the boarding house, pay up and go back to her normal life, if that was the word for it. She might as well get it over with as soon as possible.

Angua walked up to the door and was just about to open it, when Mrs. Cake opened it for her.

"No matter, I was going out to the market anyway," answered Mrs. Cake without so much as looking at the dirt and twigs in Angua's hair1.

"Oh, er . . . Thank you," Angua said, confused.

"Yes, you're right, sorry, I'll switch it off," offered the woman in the doorway.

Angua stared blankly at her landlady for several moments.

"Have you got your premonition on again as a precaution, Mrs. Cake?" she asked, carefully2.

The rotund woman inserted a finger in her ear and twiddled it around for a bit.

"That's better now," she said, smiling at Angua, "So today is the big day, is it?"

"Big day?" Angua was completely confused. She was too tired to think straight. She had been awake well for over twenty-four hours now, her feet were aching, her ribs were screaming murder and her brain felt like a helping of Sham Harga's special sludge porridge.

"Yes, dear, it's your big day today, isn't it?" said Mrs. Cake, "I can't say I really approve of it, but there are worse ways to make a living, I'm sure."

Not knowing what to say, Angua just looked at her.

"Oh, didn't I tell you? I found this under the door when I got the milk," Mrs Cake continued. "Well, I'm off to churches. Best of luck, now!"

With that, Mrs. Cake handed over an envelope to Angua, bustled down the stairs and was lost in the morning mists.

Angua looked at the folded paper in her hand. It bore the seal of the Guild of Seamstresses. She opened it, and only then did her tired mind catch up with events. Today was the date of her and Nobby's exam.

1 Evadne Cake's own daughter Ludmilla was a werewolf, and this had meant that Mrs. Cake had a rather more relaxed view on breaking curfews and coming home with your clothes in a state of array than did most parents of respectable daughters.

Ludmilla had married Lupine, a wereman, and together they ran the best-guarded chicken farm this side of Genua.

2 It always took Angua a little while to get used to Mrs. Cake's own form of conversation. The medium (bordering on small) often used her premonition without noticing herself, but was insistent that her conversation partners asked the questions she had already answered, since she claimed that she got terrible headaches otherwise.