Windle Poons wandered across the Brass Bridge. It was the time in Ankh-Morpork’s day when the night people were going to bed and the day people were waking up. For once, there weren’t many of either around.
Windle had felt moved to be here, at this place, on this night, now. It wasn’t exactly the feeling he’d had when he knew he was going to die. It was more the feeling that a cogwheel gets inside a clock—things turn, the spring unwinds, and this is where you’ve got to be…
He stopped, and leaned over. The dark water, or at least very runny mud, sucked at the stone supports. There was an old legend…what was it, now? If you threw a coin into the Ankh from the Brass Bridge you’d be sure to return? Or was it if you just threw up into the Ankh? Probably the former. Most of the citizens, if they dropped a coin into the river, would be sure to come back if only to look for the coin.
A figure loomed out of the mist. He tensed.
“Morning, Mr. Poons.”
Windle let himself relax.
“Oh. Sergeant Colon? I thought you were someone else.”
“Just me, your lordship,” said the watchman cheerfully. “Turning up like a bad copper.”
“I see the bridge has got through another night without being stolen, sergeant. Well done.”
“You can’t be too careful, I always say.”
“I’m sure we citizens can sleep safely in one another’s beds knowing that no one can make off with a five-thousand-ton bridge overnight,” said Windle.
Unlike Modo the dwarf, Sergeant Colon did know the meaning of the word “irony.” He thought it meant “sort of like iron.” He gave Windle a respectful grin.
“You have to think quick to keep ahead of today’s international criminal, Mr. Poons,” he said.
“Good man. Er. You haven’t, er, seen anyone else around, have you?”
“Dead quiet tonight,” said the sergeant. He remembered himself and added, “No offense meant.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll be moving along, then,” said the sergeant.
“Fine. Fine.”
“Are you all right, Mr. Poons?”
“Fine. Fine.”
“Not going to throw yourself in the river again?”
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Well. Good night, then.” He hesitated. “Forget my own head next,” he said. “Chap over there asked me to give this to you.” He held out a grubby envelope.
Windle peered into the mists.
“What chap?”
“That ch—oh, he’s gone. Tall chap. Bit odd-looking.”
Windle unfolded the scrap of paper, on which was written: OOoooEeeeOooEeeeOOOeee.
“Ah,” he said.
“Bad news?” said the sergeant.
“That depends,” said Windle, “on your point of view.”
“Oh. Right. Fine. Well…good night, then.”
“Goodbye.”
Sergeant Colon hesitated for a moment, and then shrugged and strolled on.
As he wandered away, the shadow behind him moved and grinned.
WINDLE POONS?
Windle didn’t look around.
“Yes?”
Out of the corner of his eye Windle saw a pair of bony arms rest themselves on the parapet. There was the faint sound of a figure trying to make itself comfortable, and then a restful silence.
“Ah,” said Windle. “I suppose you’ll want to be getting along?”
NO RUSH.
“I thought you were always so punctual.”
IN THE CIRCUMSTANCES, A FEW MINUTES MORE WILL NOT MAKE A LOT OF DIFFERENCE.
Windle nodded. They stood side by side in silence, while around them was the muted roar of the city.
“You know,” said Windle, “it’s a wonderful afterlife. Where were you?”
I WAS BUSY.
Windle wasn’t really listening. “I’ve met people I never even knew existed. I’ve done all sorts of things. I’ve really got to know who Windle Poons is.”
WHO IS HE, THEN?
“Windle Poons.”
I CAN SEE WHERE THAT MUST HAVE COME AS A SHOCK.
“Well, yes.”
ALL THESE YEARS AND YOU NEVER SUSPECTED.
Windle Poons did know exactly what irony meant, and he could spot sarcasm too.
“It’s all very well for you,” he mumbled.
PERHAPS.
Windle looked down at the river again.
“It’s been great,” he said. “After all this time. Being needed is important.”
YES. BUT WHY?
Windle looked surprised.
“I don’t know. How should I know? Because we’re all in this together, I suppose. Because we don’t leave our pe…