'And do you think he'd mind if we eat his cake?' said Carrot wistfully. 'It'd be a shame to let it go stale.'
Colon shrugged.
The older men sat in miserable silence as Carrot macerated his way through the cake like a bucket-wheel rockcrusher in a chalk pit. Even if it had been the lightest of souffles they wouldn't have had any appetite.
They were contemplating life without the captain. It was going to be bleak, even without dragons. Say what you liked about Captain Vimes, he'd had style. It was a cynical, black-nailed style, but he'd had it and they didn't. He could read long words and add up. Even that was style, of a sort. He even got drunk in style.
They'd been trying to drag the minutes out, trying to stretch out the time. But the night had come.
There was no hope for them.
They were going to have to go out on the streets.
It was six of the clock. And all wasn't well.
'I miss Errol, too,' said Carrot
'He was the captain's, really,' said Nobby. 'Anyway, Lady Ramkin'll know how to look after him.'
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