Your son, Carrot.
Vimes knocked on the door.
An effort had been made to spruce up the Ramkin mansion, he noticed. The encroaching shrubbery had been pitilessly hacked back. An elderly workman atop a ladder was nailing the stucco back on the walls while another, with a spade, was rather arbitrarily defining the line where the lawn ended and the old flower beds had begun.
Vimes stuck his helmet under his arm, smoothed back his hair, and knocked. He'd considered asking Sergeant Colon to accompany him, but had brushed the idea aside quickly. He couldn't have tolerated the sniggering. Anyway, what was there to be afraid of? He'd stared into the jaws of death three times; four, if you included telling Lord Vetinari to shut up.
To his amazement the door was eventually opened by a butler so elderly that he might have been resurrected by the knocking.
'Yerss?' he said.
'Captain Vimes, City Watch,' said Vimes.
The man looked him up and down.
'Oh, yes,' he said. 'Her ladyship did say. I believe her ladyship is with her dragons,' he said. 'If you like to wait in 'ere, I will…'
'I know the way,' said Vimes, and set off around the overgrown path.
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