I suppose I could say that my work is to Pratchett's as Mocha is to Cappuccino. A little less sophisticated, but with chocolate. He owns the coffee shop. I just work here.

I realize that one of the things I failed to convey in Leonard's character is his failure to recognize political worries even if they bite him on the bum.

***

Apply Liberally felt strange running down the streets of this city again. She saw humans in such a different way now. They weren't just big dumb things to run away from. And now she carried her official sword and badge of a City Watch. Of course, no humans here would recognize them, but they reminded her that some humans thought of her as an equal. Some were even subordinate to her, now that she was a corporal. That was the strangest feeling. In Bad Blintz, size only mattered when the need arose to crawl around in small holes and run across clotheslines. A Watchbeing was a Watchbeing.

She was running through a cellar, and she thought she could dimly remember it from years before. That had been another life, when her mind was full of mush, and instinctive primal fear was her only reason for anything. That had been before she'd looked at the letters on a bottle of something-or-other on the rubbish pile in back of the University, and realized they were meant to make noises. And they said, apply liberally. She thought, those are nice sounds. I should tell them to other rats. That can be something that they know me by.

That had also been before Maurice, the mangy, sneaking alleycat, had started talking to them. They had made many enemies by falling in with him. She wondered whether the people of this city had heard of their infamous trickery. They never tried it on Ankh-Morpork. It would be difficult to give this city more of a plague of rats than it already had.

She was lost in thought, when out of the gloom came the scent of a dirty little gnome. She remembered something else about this old city. Arthur. She put her paw on her sword. She saw the gnome, like a tiny little human, coming at her, yelling. He could kill a rat with just a kick. She drew her sword and stabbed him in the leg.

"Yeouch!" he cried. "What is that thing? Horrible rat!"

"It's a sword, and I am a Watchrat, so you'd better be careful what else you call me!" She was a little bit taken aback by his tone, a little more by seeing the familiar shapes and sizes of people mixed up.

Wee Mad Arthur was glaring at her, and clutching his leg. "So you're one of them, are you? Talking rats! Why don't you bloody well stay in the palace? You know this is my territory! And what do you mean, Watchrat? There's no such thing!"

Corporal Liberally stood up straight on her back paws. "In Bad Blintz there is. Now, I am Corporal Apply Liberally, and I am on a mission to collect information about the rats in this city. You say there are some changelings in the palace? What palace is that?"

***

"Have you run out of paper already, Leonard?" asked Vetinari, as he noticed that the man was drawing on one of the plaster walls of his room.

Leonard of Quirm looked up from his sketch. "What? Oh, no. I just wanted to paint a life-size picture of some people eating supper."

"Mmm. And I don't suppose you have any idea why?"

"Why?" said Leonard. "No. I suppose not. If I went around asking myself why all the time, I would never actually do anything."

"I sincerely hope that not too many people think that way, Leonard. Very few people have such completely benign intentions as you."

"Yes, the world is full of frighteningly insane people. I just can't understand how they can use so many of their good, useful ideas for actually injuring people. They should pay more attention to the beautiful way in which water droplets fall into puddles, for example. I am quite happy staying in here trying to get my automatical tea engine to work properly." He began to sketch a man pouring tea. He held his own teacup, and examined his hand. He took a sip absently.

"The city is indeed terribly complex," said Vetinari. "Sometimes even I am at a loss to understand what the signs mean, and what is brewing in its depths."

The automatical tea engine exploded again, spattering the wall with light brown spots. "Oh dear," said Leonard.

***

The man didn't sneak across the courtyard of the Thieves' Guild. He walked as if he was an old family friend, dropping in to see the occupants, and he would go and surprise them and it would be jolly good fun so it's best not to interrupt. How he managed to convey all this in the way he walked, not to mention through the concealing folds of his clothing and the pitch-black night, was a closely-guarded secret of the Assassins' Guild. Mantis was particularly good at it.

Mantis was good at everything he did. That was why he was a master assassin, only one degree below Lord Downey himself. He taught classes in the secret arts of mental invisibility. Mantis was just another part of the night. While other assassins preferred to project an image, wearing colors in the spectrum of colors that are beyond black, and moving like patches of utter nothingness between the fog, he was as solid as the fog. In a city where rains of shellfish are routine, this can actually be quite difficult. He actually wore a color just this side of black, and in the street people did not create a wake and make room for him as he passed, the way they did other assassins. He also found that an idiotic smile usually served him well. He might have been just another human being.

The other thing about Mantis was that he didn't need to project an image. His name, and his reputation, begat terror. He was known as the most insidious, deadly assassin in the city. He had never failed to eradicate the subject of a contract. And there had been many. Even some of his clients were terrified of contacting him. They sent money by messenger to the Guild, and he would send back a receipt. They never saw each other. The wonders of modern society, he often thought. When you can mail-order death.

But when he was introduced to his clients, things were usually a bit different. He would walk into the room, and the nobleman behind the desk would not look up. Mantis would clear his throat, and say, "Good morning, my lord."

The man would eventually look up, and go, "Eh? Who are you?"

"Mantis," he would say.

"Hah, well, you're an amusing fellow, anyway. But now, really, what is your name, my good man, and your business here?"

"I am Mantis, master assassin. I am here to accept a contract, containing terms of life and death."

"Hohah, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! You can't be Mantis, he's terrible and insidious and..."

The man trailed off as Mantis got out his dagger. The hand holding the dagger did not appear threatening, but the dagger held in the hand did.

"My lord," he said, "Do you know the original meaning of the word 'mortify'?"

The man nodded his head mutely.

"As you can see, I am excellent at both."