Samuel always felt uneasy in the presence of Wonse. Come to that, he felt uneasy in the presence of Havelock, the Patrician - but that was different, that was down to breeding. And ordinary fear, of course.

Wonse was a strange looking thing. He wasn’t dissimilar to the Patrician in build, perhaps not quite as slender, but he had that same kind of long, thin face. His fur was white - pure, brilliant white - and his mane - so sleek, some said it was painted on - an unfathomable black. His eyes, to contrast all this, were red. As far as disposition went, he was a cunning piece of work. He wouldn’t have become the Patrician’s head clerk any other way. He had a mind that ran like clockwork, that looked at a problem and solved it as quickly as it could; this was what Samuel didn’t like.

The fact was that both Wonse and Sam had grown up in Ankh-Morpork’s most disreputable area - The Shades - so there was still a bit of a childhood competition ongoing between them. At the moment, Wonse was in the lead - he’d seemed to have gone clearly up in the world, whilst Samuel… well, he liked to think that he’d gone along. He was head of the Watch. It was something. It surely wasn’t down.

One thing Sam could at least savour was that Wonse had never been popular as a cub. Even so, the weedy little critter had still had his necessary place in the order of things. He had been the one who made all the plans work, who plotted the mischief, and enlightened the denser leaders of the pack. He was the pale, clever one, and no one liked smart alecks.

Sam still didn’t like him. He unnerved him. There was something in those eyes that wasn’t stable. Now the Patrician, too, had the most unsettling eyes, but things in his eyes knew what they were doing - in Wonse’s, they were still umming and erring and making their mind up. Sam would never trust him.