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'How many fingers am I holding up?'
'Mm?'
'How many hands, then?'
'Fo'?'
'Blimey, I haven't seen him like this for years,' said Colon. 'Here, let me try something. Want another drink, captain?'
'He certainly doesn't need a—'
'Shut up, I know what I'm doing. Another drink, Captain Vimes?'
'Mm?'
'I've never known him not be able to give a loud clear "yes!",' said Colon, standing back. 'I think we'd better get him up to his room.'
.
'This is where he lives?' said Angua. 'Good grief.'
'What did you expect?'
'I don't know. Anything. Something. Not nothing.'
There was a joyless iron bedstead. The springs and mattress had sagged so that they formed a sort of mould, forcing anyone who got into it to instantly fold into a sleeping position. There was a washstan'I'll take him, poor chap,' said Carrot. He lifted Vimes easily, and slung him over his shoulder.'I hate to see him like this,' said Angua, following him into the hallway and up the stairs.'He only drinks when he gets depressed,' said Carrot.'Why does he get depressed?''Sometimes it's because he hasn't had a drink.'The house in Pseudopolis Yard had originally been a Ramkin family residence. Now the first floor was occupied by the guards on an ad hoc basis. Carrot had a room. Nobby had rooms consecutively, four so far, moving out when the floor became hard to find. And Vimes had a room.More or less. It was hard to tell. Even a prisoner in a cell manages to stamp his personality on it somewhere, but Angua had never seen such an unlived-in room