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Vimes
had
grown
accustomed
to
it
.
It
seemed
like
part
of
life
.
He
stared
at
the
flickering
play
of
light
on
the
crumbling
plaster
for
a
while
,
and
then
raised
one
sandalled
foot
and
thumped
heavily
on
the
floorboards
,
twice
.
After
a
few
minutes
a
distant
wheezing
indicated
that
Sergeant
Colon
was
climbing
the
stairs
.
Vimes
counted
silently
.
Colon
always
paused
for
six
seconds
at
the
top
of
the
flight
to
get
some
of
his
breath
back
.
On
the
seventh
second
the
door
opened
.
The
sergeant
’
s
face
appeared
around
it
like
a
harvest
moon
.
You
could
describe
Sergeant
Colon
like
this
:
he
was
the
sort
of
man
who
,
if
he
took
up
a
military
career
,
would
automatically
gravitate
to
the
post
of
sergeant
.
You
couldn
’
t
imagine
him
ever
being
a
corporal
.
Or
,
for
that
matter
,
a
captain
.
If
he
didn
’
t
take
up
a
military
career
,
then
he
looked
cut
out
for
something
like
,
perhaps
,
a
sausage
butcher
;
some
job
where
a
big
red
face
and
a
tendency
to
sweat
even
in
frosty
weather
were
practically
part
of
the
specification
.
He
saluted
and
,
with
considerable
care
,
placed
a
scruffy
piece
of
paper
on
Vimes
’
s
desk
and
smoothed
it
out
.
"
Evenin
’
,
Captain
,
"
he
said
.
"
Yesterday
’
s
incident
reports
,
and
that
.
Also
,
you
owe
fourpence
to
the
Tea
Club
.
"
"
What
’
s
this
about
a
dwarf
,
Sergeant
?
"
said
Vimes
abruptly
.
Colon
’
s
brow
wrinkled
.
"
What
dwarf
?
"
