“Right! And poor young Sid’s only an apprentice and didn’t deserve what it done to him!” “Oh, dear,” said Carrot. “Er . . . I think I’ve got an ointment that might be—” “Will it help with the apple?” the man demanded. “It shoved an apple in his mouth?” “Wrong!” Vimes winced. “Ouch . . .” “What’s going to be done, eh?” said the butcher, his face a few inches from Vimes’s. “Well, if you can get a grip on the stem—”
