He opened his eyes. A faint purple light just above him illuminated the form of the Lady Margolotta. She was sitting on empty space.
‘Can I give you a lift?’ she said.
Vimes shook his head muzzily.
‘If it makes you feel any better, I really don’t like doing this,’ said the vampire. ‘It’s so … expected of vun. Oh dear. That rotten old log doesn’t look very-‘
The log snapped. Vimes landed spreadeagled on the turn below, but only for a moment. Several stairs broke and dropped him a further flight. This time he caught hold of one and was, once again, dangling.
Lady Margolotta descended regally.
Far below, the broken wood boomed.
‘Now, in theory this might be an almost survivable vay of getting back down,’ said the vampire. ‘Unfortunately, I fear that the descending logs have smashed many of the vuns below.’
Vimes shifted. His handhold seemed secure. It
might just be possible to pull himself up …
‘I knew you were behind this,’ he muttered, trying to will some life into his shoulder muscles.
‘No, you didn’t. You knew that the Scone wasn’t stolen, though.’
Vimes stared at the serenely floating shape. ‘The dwarfs wouldn’t think that-‘ he began. The log under him gave the little nasty movement that announces to any luckless passengers that it is about to land.
Lady Margolotta drifted closer. ‘I know you hate vampires,’ she said. ‘It’s quite usual, for your personality type. It’s the … penetrative aspect. But if I vas you, right now, I’d ask myself … do I hate them with all my life?’
She held out a hand.
‘Just one bite’ll end all my troubles, eh?’ Vimes snarled.
‘Vun bite vould be vun too many, Sam Vimes.’
The wood cracked. She grabbed his wrist.
If he’d thought about it at all, Vimes would have expected to be dangling from a vampire now. Instead, he was simply floating.
‘Don’t think of letting go,’ said Margolotta as they rose gently up the shaft.
‘One bite would be one too many?’ said Vimes. He recognized -the mangled mantra. ‘You’re a … a teetotaller?’
‘Almost four years now.’
‘No blood at all?’
‘Oh, yes. Animal. It’s rather kinder to them than slaughter, don’t you think? Of course, it makes them docile, but frankly a cow is unlikely ever to vin the Thinker of the Year avard. I’m on a vagon, Mister Vimes.’
‘The wagon. We call it the wagon,’ said Vimes weakly. ‘And … that replaces human blood?’
‘Like lemonade replaces whisky. Believe me. However, the intelligent mind can find a … substitute.’ The sides of the shaft dropped away and they were in clear, freezing air, which knifed through Vimes’s shirt. They drifted sideways a little, and then Vimes was dropped into kneedeep snow.
‘Vun of the better things about our dwarfs is that they don’t often try something new and they never let go of anything old,’ said the vampire, hovering over the snow. ‘You weren’t hard to find.’
‘Where am I?’ Vimes looked around at rocks and trees mounded in snow.
‘In the mountains, quite a long way viddershins of the town, Mister Vimes. Goodbye.’
‘You’re going to leave me here?’
‘I’m sorry? You were the one who escaped. I am certainly not here. Me, a vampire, interfering in the affairs of the dwarfs? Unthinkable! But let us just say … I like people to have an even chance.’
‘It’s freezing! I haven’t even got a coat! What is it you want?’
‘You have freedom, Mister Vimes. Isn’t that what everyvun wants? Isn’t it supposed to give you a lovely warm glow?’
Lady Margolotta disappeared into the snow.
Vimes shivered. He hadn’t realized how warm it had been underground. Or what time it was. There was a dim, a very dim light. Was this just after sunset? Was it almost dawn?
The flakes were piling up on his damp clothes, driven by the wind.
Freedom could get you killed.
Shelter … that was essential. The time of day and a precise location were no use to the dead. They always knew what time it was and where they were.
He moved away from the open shaft and staggered into the trees, where the snow was less deep. It gave off a light, fainter than a sick beetle, as if snow somehow absorbed it from the air as it fell.
Vimes wasn’t good at forests. They were things you saw on the horizon. If he’d thought about them at all he’d imagined a lot of trees, standing like poles, brown at the bottom, bushy and green at the top.
Here there were humps, and bumps, and dark branches weighted and creaking under the snow. It fell around him with a hiss. Occasionally lumps of the stuff would slide from somewhere above, and there would be another shower of frigid crystals as a branch sprang back.
There was a track of sorts, or at least a wider, smoother expanse of snow. Vimes followed it, on the basis that there was no more sensible choice. The warm glow of freedom lasted only so long.
Vimes had city eyes. He’d watched coppers develop them. A trainee copper who glanced once at a street was just learning, and if he didn’t learn quicker he’d become highly experienced at dying. One who’d been on the streets for a while paid attention, took in details, noted shadows, saw background and foreground and the people who were trying not to be in either. Angua looked at streets like that. She worked at it.
The long-term coppers, like even Nobby when he was on a good day, glanced once at a street and that was enough, because they’d seen everything.
Maybe there were .. . country eyes. Forest eyes. Vimes saw trees, mounds, snow and not much else.
The wind was getting up. It began to howl among the trees. Now the snow stung.
Trees. Branches. Snow.
Vimes kicked a mound beside the track. Snow slid off dark pine needles. He dropped to his hands and knees and pushed forward.
Ah…
It was still cold, and there was some snow on the dead needles, but the weighted branches had spread around the trunk like a tent. He pulled himself in, congratulating himself. It was windless here and, contrary to all common sense, the blanket of snow above him seemed to make it warmer. It even smelled warm … sort of … animal …
Three wolves, lying lazily around the trunk of the tree, were watching him with interest.
Vimes added metaphorical freezing to the other sort. The animals didn’t seem frightened.
Wolves l
And that was about it. It made as much sense to say: snow! Or: wind! Right now, those were more certain killers.
He had heard somewhere that wolves wouldn’t attack you if you faced them down.
The trouble was that he was going to sleep soon. He could feel it creeping over him. He wasn’t thinking right, and every muscle ached.
Outside, the wind moaned. And His Grace the Duke of Ankh fell asleep.
He awoke with a snort and, to his surprise, all his arms and legs as well. A drop of chilled water, melted from the roof just above by the heat of his body, ran down his neck. His muscles didn’t hurt any more. He couldn’t feel most of them.
And the wolves had gone. There was trampled snow at the far end of the makeshift lair, and light so bright that he groaned.
It turned out to be daylight, from a bright sky bluer than any Vimes had seen, so blue that it seemed to shade into purple at the zenith. He stepped out into a sugar-frosted world, crunchy and glittering.
Wolf tracks led away between the trees. It occurred to Vimes that following them would not be a life-enhancing move; perhaps last night had been understood as time out, but today was a new day and probably the search was on for breakfast.
The sun felt warm, the air was cold, his breath hung in front of him.
There should be people around, shouldn’t there? Vimes was hazy on rural issues, but weren’t there supposed to be charcoal burners, woodcutters and … he tried to think … little girls taking goodies to granny? The stories Vimes had learned as a kid suggested that all forests were full of bustle, activity and the occasional scream. But this place was silent.
He set off in a direction that appeared to head downwards, on general principles. Food was the important thing. He’d still got a couple of matches and he could probably make a fire if he had to be out here mother night, but it was a long time since the canapes at the reception.
This is AnkhMorpork, trudging over and through the snow …
After half an hour he reached the bottom of a shallow valley, where a stream splashed between encroaching banks of ice. It steamed.
The water was warm to the touch.