Book: Guards! Guards!

Probably not, Vimes thought bitterly. Humans like them aren't stylish enough for gods. Try to find a god who will worry about the poor fellow, who is exhausted for the sake of a miserable handful of dollars a month. No, this is not for the gods. They descend from their peaks for the cunning rogue who roams the temples and steals all sorts of jewels, but not for the unimaginative hard worker who tramples the city pavements every night.

"It's safer this way," Nobbs answered honestly.

The City Guard prison could accommodate a maximum of six prisoners - and even then they had to be small and extremely frail - however, that's exactly what they turned out to be there.

- Evidence could be everywhere, sir.

Corporal Nobbs had a unique ability - in a moment of danger, he was instantly transferred from one place to another without a visible intersection of the space separating them. Even teleportation couldn't work that fast.

The guards, of course, weren't thrilled, but the obvious reality was that the thieves controlled crime far better than the City Watch had ever done. Now the guards had to go out of their way, working twice as hard to cut down on crime even a little, when all the Thieves Guild had to do was work a little less.

He said the Thieves Guild shouldn't worry you, All you have to do is walk the Streets at Night and yell Twelve O'Clock and All is Quiet. I asked, What if the street isn't quiet, and he said, You'd be smart as hell to find another street.

He said, Whoever volunteers to join the City Guard should check to see if he's all right in the head.

And still, even if the message was not written by the patrician himself, it was probably written by someone who works for this glorious man. Maybe even in the same building. At least the patrician is aware of this letter. In outline. In any case, he must have heard of the existence of such a thing as letters.

The shirt turned out to be from the wool of sheep sheep, it embodied all the softness and silkiness of the bristles of a seasoned boar. It was one of those legendary dwarven woolen vestments that, in critical cases, can replace a reliable door.

Pulling a sack out from under a chair, he rummaged in it for a while, then showed Carrot a piece of metal that looked more like a sword than a saw, but it never lost its resemblance to the latter.

The Nome King received this message with truly royal serenity. The next human frills - the king, he is the king, how else to call the person who manages everything? People are always coming up with something.

Gnomes live longer than humans

He never liked swords, you feel somehow insecure with them, but a carcass knife is another matter. It has weight. He has a purpose. The sword is fanned with a halo of nobility (unless, of course, it belongs to the same Nobbs - then there is more rust in it than anything else), but the carcass knife has great practical value - it cuts very quickly into small pieces.