‘Stand aside, sir,’ he said. ‘Stand aside, or by gods, ambassador or not, I’ll arrest you!’
Their eyes met. Then Vimes looked away.
‘Let’s let him through,’ he said. ‘The man’s decided he’s got a duty to do.’
Tantony nodded slightly and then marched on across the bridge until he was a few feet from the Baroness. He saluted.
‘Take these people away!’ she said.
‘Lady Serafine von Uberwald?’ said Tantony woodenly.
‘You know who I am, man!’
‘I wish to talk to you concerning certain charges made in my presence.’
Vimes closed his eyes. Oh, you poor dumb idiot … I didn’t mean you to actually
‘You what?’ said the Baroness.
‘It has been alleged, my lady, that a member or members of your family have been involved in a conspiracy to-‘
‘How darrre you!’ screamed Serafine.
And Wolfgang leapt, and the future became a series of flickering images.
In mid-air he changed into a wolf.
Vimes grabbed the bottom of Detritus’s bow and forced it upwards at the same time as the troll pulled the trigger.
Carrot was running before Wolfgang landed on Captain Tantony’s chest.
The sound of the bow echoed around the castle, above the noise of a thousand whirring fragments scything through the sky.
Carrot reached Wolfgang in a flat dive. He hit the wolf with his shoulder, and the two of them were bowled over.
Then, like some moving magic lantern show coming back up to speed, the scene exploded.
Carrot got to his feet and
It must be because we’re abroad, thought Vimes. He’s trying to do things properly.
He’d squared up to the werewolf, fists balled, a stance taken straight from Fig. l of The Noble Art of Fisticuffs, which looked impressive right up to the point when your opponent broke your nose with a quart mug.
Carrot had a punch like an iron bar, and he landed a couple of heavy blows on Wolfgang as he got up.
The werewolf seemed more puzzled than hurt. Then he changed shape, caught a fist in both hands and gripped it hard. To Vimes’s horror he stepped forward, without apparent effort, forcing Carrot back.
‘Don’t try anything, Angua,’ said Wolf, grinning happily. ‘Or else I’ll break his arm. Oh, perhaps I’ll break his arm anyway! Yes!’
Vimes even heard the crack. Carrot went white. Someone holding a broken arm has all the control they need. Another idiot, thought Vimes. When they’re down you don’t let them get back up! Damn the Marquis of Fantailler! Policing by consent was a good theory, but you had to get your opponent to lie still first.
‘Ah! And he has other bones!’ said Wolfgang, pushing Carrot away. He glanced towards Angua. ‘Get back, get back. Or I’ll hurt him some more! No, I shall hurt him some more anyway!’
Then Carrot kicked him in the stomach.
Wolfgang went over backwards, but turned this into a backflip and a mid-air spin. He landed lightly, leapt back at the astonished Carrot and punched him twice in the chest.
The blows sounded like shovels hitting wet concrete.
Wolfgang grabbed the falling man, lifted him over his head with one hand and hurled him down on to the bridge in front of Angua. ‘Civilized man!’ he shouted. ‘Here he is, sister!’
Vimes heard a sound down beside him. Gavin was watching intently, making urgent little noises in his throat. A tiny part of Vimes, the little rock-hard core of cynicism, thought: all right for you, then.
Steam was rising off Wolfgang. He shone in the torchlight. The blond hair across his shoulders gleamed like a slipped halo.
Angua knelt down by the body, face impassive. Vimes had been expecting a scream of rage.
He heard her crying.
Beside Vimes, Gavin whined. Vimes stared down at the wolf. He looked at Angua trying to lift Carrot, and then he looked at Wolfgang. And then back again.
‘Anyone else?’ said Wolfgang, dancing back and forth on the boards. ‘How about you, Civilized?’
‘Sam!’ hissed Sybil. ‘You can’t-‘
Vimes drew his sword. It wouldn’t make any difference now. Wolfgang wasn’t playing now, he wasn’t punching and running away. Those arms could push a fist through Vimes’s ribcage and out the other side
A blur went past at shoulder height. Gavin struck Wolfgang in the throat, knocking him over. They rolled across the bridge, Wolfgang changing back to wolf shape to lock jaw against jaw. They broke, circled, and went for one another again.
Dreamlike, Vimes heard a small voice say: ‘He wouldn’t last five minutes back home fightin’ like that. The silly bugger’s gonna get creamed, fightin’ like that! Stuff the Marquis of flamin’ Fantailler!’
Gaspode was sitting bolt upright, stubby tail vibrating.
‘The daftie! This is how you win a dogfight!’
As the wolves rolled over and over, Wolfgang tearing at Gavin’s belly, Gaspode arrived growling and yapping and launched himself in the general direction of the werewolf’s hindquarters.
There was a yip. Gaspode’s growls became somewhat muffled. Wolfgang leapt vertically. Gavin sprang. The three hit the parapet of the bridge together, knocked the crumbling stones aside, hung for a moment in a snarling ball, and then dropped down into the roaring whiteness of the river.
The whole of it, from the moment Tantony had crossed the bridge, had taken much less than a minute.
The Baroness was staring down into the gorge. Keeping his eye on her, Vimes spoke to Detritus.
‘Are you sure you’re werewolf-proof, sergeant?’
‘Pretty much, sir. Anyway, I got the bow wound up again.’
‘Go into the castle and fetch the resident Igor, then,’ said Vimes calmly. ‘If anyone even tries to stop you, shoot them. And shoot anyone standing near them.’
‘No problem about dat, sir.’
‘We’re not at home to Mister Reasonable, sergeant.’
‘I do not hear him knockin’, sir.’
‘Go to it, then. Sergeant Angua?’
She did not look up.
‘Sergeant Angua!’
Now she looked up.
‘How can you be so … so cool?’ she snarled. ‘He’s hurt.’
‘I know. Go and talk to those watchmen hanging around on the other end of the bridge. They look scared. I don’t want any accidents. We’re going to need them. Cheery, cover Carrot and the lad with something. Keep them warm.’
I wish there was something to keep me warm, he thought. The thoughts came slowly, like drips of freezing water. He felt that ice would crackle off him if he moved, that frost would sparkle in his footsteps, that his mind was full of crisp snow.
‘And now, madam,’ he said, turning back to the Baroness, ‘you will give me the Scone of Stone.’
‘He’ll be back!’ hissed the Baroness. ‘That fall was nothing! And he’ll find you.’
‘For the last time … the stone of the dwarfs.
The wolves are waiting out there. The dwarfs are waiting down in the city. Give me the stone, and we all might survive. This is diplomacy. Don’t let me try anything else.’
‘I have only to say the word-‘
Angua began to growl.
Sybil strode towards the Baroness and grabbed her. ‘You never answered a single letter! All those years I wrote to you!’
The Baroness stared at her in amazement, as people so often did when struck with Sybil’s sharp non sequiturs.
‘If you know we’ve got the Scone,’ she said to Vimes, ‘then you know it’s not the real one. And much good may it do the dwarfs!’
‘Yes, you had it made in AnkhMorpork. Made in AnkhMorpork! They should have stamped it on the bottom. But someone killed the man who did it. That’s murder. It’s against the law.’ Vimes nodded at the Baroness. ‘It’s a thing we have.’
Gaspode dragged himself out of the water and stood; shivering, on the shingle. Every single part of him felt bruised. There was a nasty ringing noise in his ears. Blood dripped down one leg.
The last few minutes had been a little hazy, but he did recall they’d involved a lot of water that had hit him like hammers.
He shook himself. His coat jangled where the water was already freezing.
Out of habit, he walked over to the nearest tree and, wincing, raised a leg.
EXCUSE ME.
A busy, reflective silence followed.
‘That was not a good thing you just did,’ said Gaspode.
I’M SORRY. PERHAPS THIS IS NOT THE RIGHT MOMENT.
‘Not for me, no. You may have caused some physical damage here.’
IT’S HARD TO KNOW WHAT TO SAY.
‘Trees don’t normally talk back, is my point.’ Gaspode sighed. ‘So what happens now?’
I BEG YOUR PARDON?
‘I’m dead, right?’
NO. NO ONE IS MORE SURPRISED THAN ME, I MAY SAY, BUT YOUR TIME DOES NOT APPEAR TO BE NOW.
Death pulled out an hourglass, held it up against the cold stars for a moment, and stalked away along the riverbank.
“scuse me, there’s no chance of a lift, is there?’ said Gaspode, struggling after him.
NONE WHATSOEVER.
‘Only, being a short dog in deep snow is not good for the of wossnames, if you get my-‘