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do, force them to join the force?”
    “Wwwouldn’t they be offered officer rank?” said John Smith. There was sweat on his face, and his permanent smile was manic; rumor had it he was finding the pledge very hard going.
    “No. Everyone starts on the street,” said Vimes. That wasn’t entirely true, but the question had offended him. “And on the Night Watch, too. Good training. The best there is. A week of rainy nights with the mists coming up and the water trickling down your neck and odd noises in the shadows…well, that’s when we find out if we’ve got a real copper—”
    He knew it as soon as he said it. He’d walked right into it. They must have found a candidate!
    “Vell, zat is good news!” said Mrs. Winkings, leaning back.
    Vimes wanted to shake her and shout: You’re not a vampire, Doreen! You’re married to one, yes, but he didn’t become one until a time when it is beyond human imagining that he could possibly have wanted to bite you! All the real Black Ribboners try to act normal and unobtrusive! No flowing cloaks, no sucking, and definitely no ripping the underwired nightdresses off young ladies! Everyone knows John Not-A-Vampire-At-All Smith used to be Count Vargo St. Gruet von Vilinus! But now he smokes a pipe and wears those horrible woolen sweaters, and he collects bananas and makes models of human organs out of matchsticks, because he thinks hobbies make you more human! But you, Doreen? You were born in Cockbill Street! Your mum was a washerwoman! No one would ever rip your nightdress off, not without a crane! But you’re so… into this, right? It’s a damn hobby. You try to look more like vampires than vampires do! Incidentally, those fake pointy teeth rattle when you talk!
    “Vimes?”
    “Hmm?” Vimes became aware that people had been speaking.
    “Mr. Smith has some good news,” said Vetinari.
    “Indeed, yes,” said John Smith, beaming manically. “Wwwe have a recruit for you, Commander. A vampire wwho wwants to be in the Wwwatch!”
    “Ant, of course, zer night vill not prezent a problem,” said Doreen triumphantly. “Ve are zer night!”
    “Are you trying to tell me that I must —” Vimes began. Vetinari cut in quickly.
    “Oh, no, Commander. We all fully respect your autonomy as head of the Watch. Clearly, you must hire whomsoever you think fit. All I ask is that the candidate is interviewed, in a spirit of fairness.”
    Yeah, right, thought Vimes. And politics with Uberwald will become just that bit easier, won’t it, if you can say you even have a Black Ribboner in the Watch. And if I turn this man down, I’ll have to explain why. And “I just don’t like vampires, okay?” probably won’t do.
    “Of course,” he said. “Send him along.”
    “He is, in fact, she,” said Lord Vetinari. He glanced down at his paperwork. “Salacia Deloresista Amanita Trigestatra Zeldana Malifee…” He paused, turned over several pages, and said, “I think we can skip some of these, but they end ‘von Humpeding.’ She is fifty-one, but, ” he added quickly, before Vimes could seize on this revelation, “that is no age at all for a vampire. Oh, and she’d prefer to be known simply as Sally.”

 
    T he locker room wasn’t big enough. Nothing like big enough. Captain Angua tried not to inhale.
    A large hall, that was fine. The open air, even better. What she needed was room to breathe. More specifically, she needed room not to breathe vampire.
    Damn Cheery! But she couldn’t have refused, that would have looked bad. All she could do was grin and bear it and fight down a pressing desire to rip out the girl’s throat with her teeth.
    She must know she’s doing it, she thought. They must know that they exude this air of effortless ease, confident in any company, at home everywhere, making everyone else feel second-class and awkward. Oh, my. Call me Sally, indeed!
    “Sorry about this,” she said aloud, trying to force the hairs on the back of her neck not to rise.