Her patient struggles had brought her to the edge of the pit, and now she was finding that the brickwork was in very good repair, quite slippery, and offered no handholds. They're not accepting contracts on you at present." "The Guild council put it in abeyance, sir," said the patient swimmer. "Not a contract, sir," said Jocasta, still paddling. "You're a bit young to be sent on this contract, aren't you?" said Vimes. He asked to be remembered to you," said Jocasta. It wasn't entirely unexpected - the Assassins' Guild was aware that women were at least equal to their brothers when it came to inventive killing - but it nevertheless changed the situation somewhat. The voice was higher pitched that Vimes expected and he realized that, most unusually, the young man in the pit was in fact a young woman. "Good morning, Your Grace," said the industrious treadler. The fall from the shed roof had broken the crust. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to employ a naked flame any nearer to the pit. Vimes stood back a little way and lit a cigar. And in the old cesspit behind the gardener's shed, a young man was treading water. The sky was hazy though, and thunderheads on the horizon threatened rain later. Birds sang in the trees, bees buzzed in the blossom. Then he put his jacket on and strolled out into the wonderful late spring morning. Sam Vimes sighed when he heard the scream, but he finished shaving before he did anything about it.
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