'Yes, your grace. Nine times. The Guild has set your fee at $600,000. The last time an approach was made no Guild member volunteered. Mhm, mhm.'
'Hah!'
'Incidentally, and very informally of course, we would appreciate knowing the whereabouts of the body of the Honourable Eustace BassinglyGore, mhm, mhm.'
Vimes scratched his nose. 'Was he the one who tried to poison my shaving cream?'
'Yes, your grace.'
'Well, unless his body is an extremely strong swimmer, it's still on a ship bound for Ghat via Cape Terror,' said Vimes. 'I paid the captain a thousand dollars not to take the chains off before Zambingo, too. That'll give it a nice long walk home through the jungles of Klatch where I'm sure its knowledge of rare poisons will come in very handy, although not as handy perhaps as a knowledge of antidotes.'
'A thousand dollars!'
'Well, he had twelve hundred dollars on him. I donated the rest to the Sunshine Sanctuary for Sick Dragons. I got a receipt, by the way. You chaps are keen on receipts, I think.'
'You stole his money? Mhm, mhm.'
Vimes took a deep breath. His voice, when it emerged, was flat calm. 'I wasn't going to waste any of my own. And he had just tried to kill me. Think of it as an investment, for the good of his health. Of course, if in due course he cares to come and see me, I shall make sure he gets what's coming to him.'
'I'm... astounded, your grace. Mhm, mhm. Bassingly-Gore was an extremely competent swordsman.'
'Really? I generally never wait to find out about that sort of thing.'
Inigo smiled his thin little smile. 'And two months ago Sir Richard Liddleley was found tied to a fountain in Sator Square, painted pink and with a flag stuck—'
'I was feeling generous,' said Vimes. 'I'm sorry, I don't play your games.'
'Assassination is not a game, your grace.'
'It is the way you people play it.'
'There have to be rules. Otherwise there would just be anarchy. Mhm, mhm. You have your code and we have ours.'
'And you've been sent here to protect me?'
'I have other skills, but... yes.'
'What makes you think I'll need you?'
'Well, your grace, here they don't have rules. Mhm, mhm.'
'I've spent most of my life dealing with people who don't have rules!'
'Yes, of course. But when you kill them, they don't get up again.'
'I've never killed anyone!' said Vimes.
'You shot that bandit in the throat.'
'I was aiming for the shoulder.'
'Yes, the thing does pull to the left,' said Inigo. 'You mean that you have never tried to kill anyone. I have, on the other hand. And here hesitation may not be an option. Mmph.'
'I didn't hesitate!'
Inigo sighed. 'In the Guild, your grace, we don't... grandstand.'
'Grandstand?'
'That business with the cigar...'
'You mean, when I shut my eyes and they had to look at a flame in the darkness?'
'Ah...' Inigo hesitated. 'But they might have shot you there and then.'
'No. I wasn't a threat. And you heard his voice. I hear that sort of voice a lot. He's not going to shoot people too soon and spoil the fun. I can assume that you have not got a contract on me?'
'That is correct.'
'And you'd still swear to that?'
'On my honour as an assassin.'
'Yes,' said Vimes. 'That's where I hit a difficulty, of course. And, I don't know how to put this, Inigo, but you don't act like a typical assassin. Lord this, Sir that... The Guild is the school for gentlemen but you - and gods know I don't mean any offence here - are not exactly—'
Inigo touched his forelock. 'Scholarship boy, sir,' he said.
My gods yes, thought Vimes. You can find your average, amateur killers on every street. They're mostly deranged or drunk or some poor woman who's had a hard day and the husband has raised his hand once too often and suddenly twenty years of frustration takes over. Killing a stranger without malice or satisfaction, other than the craftsman's pride in a job well done, is such a rare talent that armies spend months trying to instil it into their young soldiers. Most people will shy away from killing people they haven't been introduced to.
The Guild had to have one or two people like Inigo. Didn't some philosophical bastard once say that a government needed butchers as well as shepherds? He indicated the little crossbow. 'All right, take it,' he said. 'But you can put the word about that if I ever, ever see one on the street the owner will find it put where the sun does not shine.'
'Ah,' said Inigo, 'that's the amusingly named place in Lancre, isn't it? It's only about fifty miles from here, I believe. Mhm, mhm.'
'Rest assured that I can find a short-cut.'
Gaspode tried blowing in Carrot's ear again.
'Time to wake up,' he growled.
Carrot opened his eyes, blinked the snow out of them, and then tried to move.
'You just lie still, right?' said Gaspode. 'If it helps, try thinking of them as a very heavy eiderdown.'
Carrot struggled feebly. The wolves piled on top of him shifted position.
'Warming you up a treat,' said Gaspode, grinning nervously. 'A wolf blanket, see? O'course, you're going to be a bit whiffy for a while, but better to be itchy than dead, eh?' He scratched an ear industriously with a hind leg. One of the wolves growled at him. 'Sorry. Grub'll be up in a moment.'
'Food?' muttered Carrot.
Angua appeared in Carrot's vision, dressed in a leather shirt and leggings. She stood looking down at him, hands on her hips. To Gaspode's amazement, Carrot actually managed to push himself up on his elbows, dislodging several wolves.
'You were tracking us?' he said.
'No, they were,' said Angua. 'They thought you were a bloody fool. I heard it on the howl. And they were right! You haven't eaten anything for three days! And up here winter doesn't drop a few hints over a month or so. It turns up in one night! Why were you so stupid?'
Gaspode looked around the clearing. Angua had rekindled the fire. Gaspode wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it, but actual wolves had dragged in actual fallen wood for her. And then another had turned up with a small deer, still fat after the autumn. He dribbled at the smell of it roasting.
Something human and complicated was going on between Carrot and Angua. It sounded like an argument but it didn't smell like one. Anyway, recent events all made perfect sense to Gaspode. The female ran away and the male chased her. That's how it went. Actually, it was usually about twenty males of all sizes, but obviously, Gaspode conceded, things were a bit different for humans. Pretty soon, he reckoned, Carrot would notice the big male wolf sitting by the fire. And then the fur would fly. Humans, eh?
Gaspode wasn't sure of his own ancestry. There was some terrier, and a touch of spaniel, and probably someone's leg, and an awful lot of mongrel. But he took it as an article of faith that there was in all dogs a tiny bit of wolf, and his was urgently sending messages that the wolf by the fire was one you didn't even stare directly at.
It wasn't that the wolf was obviously vicious. He didn't need to be. Even sitting still he radiated the assurance of competent power. Gaspode was, if not the victor, then at least the survivor of many a street fight, and as such would not have gone against this animal even if backed up by a couple of lions and a man with an axe.
Instead he sidled over to a female wolf who was watching the fire haughtily.
'Yo, bitch,' he said.
'Vot vas zat?'
Gaspode reconsidered his strategy. 'Hi, foxy... er... wolf lady,' he tried.
A certain lowering of the temperature suggested that this one hadn't worked either.
' 'ullo, miss,' he said hopefully.
Her muzzle turned to point at him. Her eyes narrowed. 'Vot har you?' Ice slithered off every syllable.
'Gaspode's the name,' barked Gaspode, with insane cheerfulness. ' 'm a dog. That's a kind of wolf, sort of thing. So, what's your name, then?'
'Go avay.'
'No offence meant. 'ere, I heard tell wolves mate for life, right?'
'Vell?'
'Wish I could.'
Gaspode froze as the she-wolf's muzzle snapped an inch from his nose.
'Ver I come from ve eat things like you,' she said.
'Fair enough, fair enough,' muttered Gaspode, backing away. 'I don't know, you try to be friendly and this is what you get...'
Nearer the fire the humans were getting complicated. Gaspode slunk back and lay down.
'You could have told me,' Carrot was saying.
'It would've taken too long. You always want to understand things. Anyway, it's none of your business. This is family.'
Carrot waved a hand towards the wolf. 'He's a relative?' he said.
'No. He's a... friend.'
Gaspode's ears waggled. He thought: whoops.
'He's very big for a wolf,' said Carrot slowly, as if filing new information.
'He's a very big wolf,' said Angua, shrugging.
'Another werewolf?'
'No.'
'Just a wolf?'
'Yes,' said Angua sarcastically. 'Just a wolf.'
'And his name is... ?'
'He would not object to being called Gavin.'
'Gavin?'
'He once ate someone called Gavin.'
'What, all of him?'
'Of course not. Just enough to make certain that the man set no more wolf traps.' Angua smiled. 'Gavin is... quite unusual.'
Carrot looked at the wolf and smiled. He picked up a piece of wood and tossed it gently towards him. The wolf snapped it, dog-like, out of the air.
'I'm sure we'll be friends,' he said.
Angua sighed. 'Wait.'
Gaspode, the unheeded spectator, watched as Gavin, without taking his eyes off Carrot, very slowly bit the wood in two.
'Carrot?' said Angua sweetly. 'Don't do that again. Gavin isn't even in the same clan as these wolves, and he took over the pack without anyone even whining. He's not a dog. And he's a killer, Carrot. Oh, don't look like that. I don't mean he pounces on wandering kids or eats up the odd grandmother. I mean that if he thinks a human ought to die, that human is dead. He will always, always fight. He's very uncomplicated like that.'
'He's an old friend?' said Carrot.
'Yes.'
'A... friend.'
'Yes.' Angua rolled her eyes and said, in a voice of sing-song sarcasm, 'I was out in the woods one day and I fell into some old pit trap under the snow and some wolves found me and would have killed me but Gavin turned up and faced them down. Don't ask me why. People do things sometimes. So do wolves. End of story.'
'Gaspode said wolves and werewolves don't get on,' said Carrot patiently.
'He's right. If Gavin wasn't here they'd have torn me to pieces. I can look like a wolf but I'm not a wolf. I'm a werewolf! I'm not a human, either. I'm a werewolf! Get it? You know some of the remarks people make? Well, wolves don't make remarks. They go for the throat. Wolves have got a very good sense of smell. You can't fool it. I can pass for human, but I can't pass for wolf.'
'I never thought of it like that. I mean, you would just think that wolves and werewolves—'
'That's how it is,' sighed Angua.
'You said this was family,' said Carrot, as if working down a mental checklist.
'I meant it's personal. Gavin came all the way into Ankh-Morpork to warn me. He even slept on the timber wagons during the day so that he'd keep moving. Can you imagine how much nerve that took? It's got nothing to do with the Watch. It's got nothing to do with you.'
Carrot looked around. The snow was falling again, turning into rain above the fire.
'I'm here now.'
'Go away. Please. I can sort this out.'
'And then you'll come back to Ankh-Morpork? Afterwards?'
'I...' Angua hesitated.
'I think I should stay' said Carrot.
'Look, the city needs you,' said Angua. 'You know Vimes relies on—'
'I've resigned.'
For a moment Gaspode thought he could hear the sound of every settling snowflake.
'Not really?'
'Yes.'
'And what did old Stoneface say?'
'Er, nothing. He'd already left for Uberwald.'
'Vimes is coming to Uberwald?'
'Yes. For the coronation.'
'He's got mixed up in this?' said Angua.
'Mixed up in what?'
'Oh, my family's been... stupid. I'm not quite sure I know everything, but the wolves are worried. When werewolves make trouble, it's the real wolves that always suffer. People'll kill anything with fur.' Angua stared at the fire for a moment and then said, with forced brightness, 'So who's been left in charge?'
'I don't know. Fred Colon's got seniority.'
'Ha, yes. In his nightmares.' Angua hesitated. 'You really left?'
'Yes.'
'Oh.'
Gaspode listened to some more snowflakes.
'Well, you won't get far by yourselves now,' said Angua, standing up. 'Rest for another hour. And then we'll be going through the deep forest. Not too much snow there yet. We've got a lot of ground to cover. I hope you can keep up.'
At breakfast early next morning Vimes noticed that the other guests were keeping so far away from him that they were holding on to the walls.
'The men who went out came back around midnight, sir,' said Cheery quietly.
'Did they catch anyone?'
'Um... sort of, sir. They found seven dead bodies.'
'Seven?'
'They think some others might have got away where there's a path up the rocks.'
'But, seven? Detritus got one, and... I got one, and a couple were wounded, and Inigo got... one...' Vimes's voice tailed off.
He stared at Inigo Skimmer, who was sitting on the other side of the room at a crowded public table. The places around Vimes and Lady Sybil were deserted; Sybil had put it down to deference. The little man was eating soup in a little neat self-contained world among the waving arms and intrusive elbows. He'd even tucked a napkin under his chin.
'They were... very dead, sir,' Cheery whispered.
'Well, that was... interesting,' said Sybil, wiping her mouth delicately. 'I've never had soup with sausages in it for breakfast before. What is it called, Cheery?'
'Fatsup, your ladyship,' said Cheery. 'It means "fat soup". We're close to the Schmaltzberg fat layers now, and, well, it's nourishing and keeps out the cold.'
'How very interesting.' Lady Sybil looked at her husband. He hadn't taken his eyes off Inigo.
The door opened and Detritus ducked inside, banging snow off his knuckles.
'It's not too bad,' he said. 'Dey say it'd be a good idea to make an early start, sir.'
'I bet they do,' said Vimes, and thought: they don't want someone like me hanging around. There's no knowing who'll die next.
Several faces he vaguely recalled from last night were missing now. Presumably some travellers had started off even earlier, which meant that the news was probably running ahead of him. He'd staggered in, covered in blood and mud, carrying a crossbow and, d'you know, when they went back to look there were seven dead men. By the time that sort of story had gone ten miles he'd be carrying an axe as well, and make that thirty dead men and a dog.
The diplomatic career had certainly got off to a good start, eh?
As they got into the coach he saw the little dart stuck in the door jamb. It was metallic, with metal fins, and overall had a look of speed, as if, when you touched it, you'd burn your fingers.
He walked around to the back of the coach. There was another, much larger arrow high in the woodwork.
'They tried to catch up with you on the upgrade,' said Inigo, behind him.
'You killed them.'
'Some got away.'
'I'm surprised.'
'I've only got one pair of hands, your grace.'
Vimes glanced up at the inn sign. Crudely painted on the boards was a lar
ge red head, complete with trunk and tusks.
'This is the Inn of the Fifth Elephant,' said Inigo. 'You left the law behind when we passed Lancre, your grace. Here it's the lore. What you keep is what you can. What's yours is what you fight for. The fittest survive.'
'Ankh-Morpork is pretty lawless too, Mister Skimmer.'
'Ankh-Morpork has many laws. It's just that people don't obey them. And that, your grace, is quite a different bowl of fat, mmhm, mmph.'
They set off in convoy. Detritus sat on the roof of the leading coach, which lacked a door and most of one side. The view was flat and white, a featureless expanse of snow.
After a while they passed a clacks tower. Burn marks on one side of the stone base suggested that someone had thought that no news was good news, but the semaphore shutters, were clacking and twinkling in the light.
'The whole world is watching,' said Vimes.
'But it's never cared,' said Skimmer. 'Up until now. And now it wants to rip the top off the country and take what's underneath, mmph, mmhm.'
Ah, thought Vimes, our killer clerk does have more than one emotion.
'Ankh-Morpork has always tried to get on well with other nations,' said Sybil. 'Well... these days, at least.'
'I don't think we exactly try, dear,' said Vimes. 'It's just that we found that— Why're we stopping?'
He pulled down the window. 'What's happening, sergeant?'
'Waiting for dese dwarfs, sir,' the troll called down.
Several hundred dwarfs, four abreast, were trotting across the white plain towards them. There was, Vimes thought, something very determined about them.
'Detritus?'
'Yessir?'
'Try not to look too troll-like, will you?'
'Tryin' like hell, sir.'
The column was abreast of them before someone barked the command to halt. A dwarf detached himself from the rest and walked over to the coach.
'Ta'grdzk?!' he bellowed.
'Would you like me to take care of this, your grace?' said Inigo.
'I'm the damn ambassador,' said Vimes. He stepped down.
'Good morning, dwarf [indicating miscreant], I am Overseer Vimes of the Look.'
Lady Sybil heard Inigo give a little groan.
'Krz? Gr'dazak yad?'
'Hang on, hang on, I know this one... I am sure you are a dwarf of no convictions. Let us shake our business, dwarf [indicating miscreant].'
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