And, colder and harder, rising with the sunset, was the howl.
It went up on every side, a great mournful ululation across the freezing forests.
'They're so close I can smell 'em,' said Gaspode. 'They've been shadowing us for days.'
'There has never been an authenticated case of an unprovoked wolf attacking an adult human being,' said Carrot. They were both huddling under his cloak.
After a while Gaspode said, 'An' that's good, is it?'
'What do you mean?'
'We-ell, o'course us dogs only has little brains, but it seems to me that what you just said was pretty much the same as sayin' "no unprovoking human bein' has ever returned to tell the tale," right? I mean, your wolf has just got to make sure they kill people in quiet places where no one'll ever know, yes?'
More snow settled on the cloak. It was large, and heavy, and a relic of many a long night in the Ankh-Morpork rain. In front of it, a fire flickered and hissed.
'I wish you hadn't said that, Gaspode.'
These were big, serious flakes of snow. Winter was moving fast down the mountains.
'You wish I hadn't said it?'
'But... no, I'm sure there's nothing to be afraid of.'
A drift had nearly covered the cloak.
'You shouldn't've traded the horse for those snowshoes back at the last place,' said Gaspode.
'The poor thing was done in. Anyway, it wasn't exactly a trade. The people wouldn't come down out of the chimney. They did say to take anything we wanted.'
'They said to take everything, only spare their lives.'
'Yes. I don't know why. I smiled at them.'
There was a doggy sigh.
'Trouble is, see, you could carry me on the horse, but this is deep snow and I am a little doggie. My problems are closer to the ground. I hope I don't have to draw you a picture.'
'I've got some spare clothes in my pack. I might be able to make you a... coat—'
'A coat wouldn't do the trick.'
Another howl began, quite close this time.
The snow was falling a lot faster. The hissing of the fire turned into a sizzle. Then it went out.
Gaspode was not good at snow. It was not a precipitation he normally had to face. In the city, there was always somewhere warm if you knew where to look. Anyway, snow only stayed snow for an hour or two, and then it became brown slush and was trodden into the general slurry of the streets.
Streets. Gaspode really missed streets. He could be wise on the streets. Out here, he was dumb on mud.
'Fire's gone out,' he said.
There was no answer from Carrot.
'Fire's gone out, I said...'
This time there was a snore.
'Hey, you can't go to sleep!' Gaspode whined. 'Not now. We'll freeze to death.'
The next voice in the howl seemed only a few trees away. Gaspode thought he could see dark shapes in the endless curtain of snow.
'... if we're lucky,' he mumbled. He licked Carrot's face, a move that usually resulted in the lickee chasing Gaspode down the street with a broom. There was merely another snore.
Gaspode's mind raced.
Of course, he was a dog, and dogs and wolves... well, they were the same, right? Everyone knew that. So-oo, said a treacherous inner voice, maybe it wasn't exactly Gaspode and Carrot in trouble. Maybe it was only Carrot. Yeah, right on, brothers! Let us join together in wild runs in the moonlight! But first, let us eat this monkey!
On the other paw...
He'd got hard pad, soft pad, the swinge, licky end, scroff, mange and something rather strange on the back of his neck that he couldn't quite reach. Gaspode somehow couldn't imagine the wolves saying Hey, he's one of us!
Besides, while he'd begged, fought, tricked and stolen, he'd never actually been a Bad Dog.
You needed to be a moderately good theological disputant to accept this, especially since a fair number of sausages and prime cuts had disappeared from butchers' slabs in a blur of grey and a lingering odour of lavatory carpet, but nevertheless Gaspode was clear in his own mind that he'd never crossed the boundary from merely being a Naughty Boy. He'd never bitten a hand that fed him.[14] He'd never done It on the carpet. He'd never shirked a Duty. It was a bugger, but there you were. It was a dog thing.
He whined when the ring of dark shapes closed in.
Eyes gleamed.
He whined again, and then growled as unseen fanged death surrounded him.
This was clearly impressing no one, not even Gaspode.
He wagged his tail nervously. 'Just passin' through!' he said in a strangulatedly cheerful voice. 'No trouble to anyone!'
There was a definite feeling that the shadows beyond the snowflakes were getting more crowded.
'So, have you had your holidays yet?' he squeaked.
This also did not appear to be well received.
Well, this was it, then. Famous Last Stand. Plucky Dog Defends His Master. What a Good Dog. Shame there'd be no one left to tell anyone...
He barked, 'Mine! Mine!' and leapt snarling towards the nearest shape.
A huge paw swatted him out of the air and then pinned him down, spreadeagled, in the snow.
He looked up past white fangs and a long muzzle into eyes that seemed familiar.
'Hmine,' growled the wolf. It was Angua.
The coaches slowed to a walk on a road that was rough with potholes under the unbroken snow, every one a wheel-breaking trap in the dark.
Vimes nodded to himself when he saw lights flickering beside the road a few miles into the pass. On either side, old landslides had formed banks of scree, down which the forests had spilled.
He dropped quietly off the back of the coach and vanished into the shadows.
The leading coach stopped at a log which had been dropped across the road. There was some movement, and then the driver swung himself down into the mud and set off at a dead run back down the pass.
Figures moved out of the trees. One of them stopped at the door of the first coach and tried the handle.
For a moment the world held its breath. The figures must have sensed it, because the man was already leaping aside when there was a click and the whole door and its surrounding frame blew outwards in a cloud of splinters.
The thing about fires, Vimes had once observed, was that only an idiot got between them and a troll holding a 2,000 lb crossbow. All Hell hadn't been let loose. It was merely Detritus. But from a few feet away you couldn't tell the difference.
Another figure reached for the door of the second coach just before Vimes fired out of the darkness and hit his shoulder with a butcher's sound. Then Inigo dived out through the window, rolled with unclerk-like grace as he hit the ground, rose in front of one of the bandits and brought his hand around, edge first, on the man's neck.
Vimes had seen this trick before. Usually it just made people angry. Occasionally it managed an incapacitating blow.
He'd never seen it remove a head.
'Everybody stop!'
Sybil was pushed out of the coach. Behind her a man stepped out. He was holding a crossbow.
'Your Grace Vimes!' he shouted. The word bounced back and forth between the cliffs.
'I know you're here, Your Grace Vimes! And here is your lady! And there are many of us! Come out, Your Grace Vimes!'
Flakes of snow hissed over the fires.
There was a whisper in the air followed by a second smack of steel into muscle. One of the hooded figures collapsed into the mud, clutching at its leg.
Inigo got slowly to his feet. The man holding the crossbow appeared not to notice.
'It is like chess, Your Grace Vimes! We have disarmed the troll and the dwarf! And I have the queen! And if you shoot at me can you be sure I won't have time to fire?'
Firelight glowed on the twisted trees bordering the road.
Several seconds passed.
Then the sound of Vimes's crossbow landing in the circle of light was very loud.
'Well done, Your Grace Vimes! And now your
self, if you please!'
Inigo made out the shape that appeared at the very edge of the light, with both hands up.
'Are you all right, Sybil?' said Vimes.
'A bit cold, Sam.'
'You're not hurt?'
'No, Sam.'
'Keep your hands where I can see them, Your Grace Vimes!'
'And are you going to promise me you'll let her go?' said Vimes.
A flame flickered near Vimes's face, a bright pool in the darkness, as he lit a cigar.
'Now, Your Grace Vimes , whyever should I do that? But I am sure Ankh-Morpork will pay a lot for you!'
'Ah. I thought so,' said Vimes. He shook the match out, and the cigar end glowed for a moment. 'Sybil?'
'Yes, Sam?'
'Duck.'
There was a second filled only with the indrawing of breath, and then as Lady Sybil dived forward Vimes's hand came around from behind him in an arc, there was a silken sound, and the man's head was flung back.
Inigo leapt and caught the man's crossbow as it was dropped, then rolled and came up firing. Another figure staggered.
Vimes was aware of a commotion elsewhere as he grabbed Sybil and helped her back into the coach. Inigo had vanished, but a scream in the dark didn't sound like anyone Vimes knew.
And then... only the hiss of snow in the fire.
'I... think they're gone, sir,' said Cheery's voice.
'Not as fast as us! Detritus?'
'Sir?'
'Are you Okay?'
'Feelin' very tactful, sir.'
'You two take that coach, I'll take this, and let's get the hell out of here, shall we?'
'Where's Mister Skimmer?' said Sybil.
There was another scream from the woods.
'Forget him!'
'But he's—'
'Forget him!'
The snow was falling thicker as they climbed the pass. The deep snow dragged at the wheels, and all Vimes could see were the darker shapes of the horses against the whiteness. Then the clouds parted briefly and he wished they hadn't, because here they revealed that the darkness on the left of him was no longer rock but a sheer drop.
At the top of the pass the lights of an inn glowed out on to the thickening snow. Vimes drove the carriage into the yard.
'Detritus?'
'Sir?'
'I'll watch our backs. Make sure this place is Okay, will you?'
'Yessir.'
The troll jumped down, slotting a fresh bundle of arrows into the Piecemaker. Vimes spotted his intention just in time.
'Just knock, sergeant.'
'Right you are', sir.'
The troll knocked and entered. The buzz of sound from inside suddenly ceased. Vimes heard, muffled by the door, 'Der Duke of Ankh is coming in. Anyone have a problem wid dis? Just say der word.' And in the background, the little humming, singing noise the Piecemaker made under tension.
Vimes helped Sybil down from the coach. 'How do you feel now?' he said.
She smiled faintly. 'I think this dress will have to go for dusters,' she said. She smiled a little more when she saw his expression.
'I knew you'd come up with something, Sam. You go all slow and cold and that means something really dreadful's going to happen. I wasn't frightened.'
'Really? I was scared shi— stiff,' said Vimes.
'What happened to Mister Skimmer? I remember him rummaging in his case and cursing—'
'I suspect Inigo Skimmer is alive and well,' said Vimes grimly. 'Which is more than can be said for those around him.'
There was silence in the main room of the inn. A man and a woman, presumably the landlord and his wife, were standing flat against the back of the bar. The dozen or so other occupants lined the walls, hands in the air. Beer dribbled from a couple of spilled mugs.
'Everyt'ing normal an' peaceful,' said Detritus, turning round.
Vimes realized that everyone was staring at him. He looked down. His shirt was torn. Mud and blood caked his clothes. Melted snow dripped off him. In his right hand, unregarded, he was still holding his crossbow.
'Bit of trouble on the road,' he said. 'Er, you know how it is.'
No one moved.
'Oh, good gods. Detritus, put that damn thing down, will you?'
'Right, sir.'
The troll lowered his crossbow. Two dozen people all began to breathe again.
Then the skinny woman stepped around from behind the bar, nodded at Vimes, carefully took Lady Sybil's hand from his, and pointed towards the wide wooden stairs. The black look she gave Vimes puzzled him.
Only then did he realize that Lady Sybil was shaking. Tears were running down her face.
'And, er, my wife is a bit shaken up,' he said weakly. 'Corporal Littlebottom!' he yelled, to cover his confusion.
Cheery stepped through the doorway.
'Go with Lady Syb—'
He stopped because of the rising hubbub. One or two people pointed. Someone laughed. Cheery stopped, looking down.
'What's up?' Vimes hissed.
'Er, it's me, sir. Ankh-Morpork dwarf fashions haven't really caught on here, sir,' said Cheery.
'The skirt?' said Vimes.
'Yes, sir.'
Vimes looked around at the faces. They seemed more shocked than angry, although he spotted a couple of dwarfs in one corner who were definitely unhappy.
'Go with Lady Sybil,' he repeated.
'It might not be a very good id—' Cheery began.
'Gods damn it!' shouted Vimes, unable to stop himself. The crowd went silent. A ragged bloodstained madman holding a crossbow can command a rapt audience. Then he shuddered. What he wanted now was a bed, but what he wanted, before bed, more than anything, was a drink. And he couldn't have one. He'd learned that long ago. One drink was one too many.
'All right, tell me,' he said.
'All dwarfs are men, sir,' said Cheery. 'I mean... traditionally. That's how everyone thinks of it up here.'
'Well, stand outside the door, or... or shut your eyes or something, Okay?'
Vimes lifted Lady Sybil's chin. 'Are you all right, dear?' he said.
'Sorry to let you down, Sam,' she whispered. 'It was just so awful.'
Vimes, designed by Nature to be one of those men unable to kiss their own wives in public, patted her helplessly on the shoulder. She thought she'd let him down. It was unbearable.
'You just... I mean, Cheery will... and I'll... sort things out and be along right away,' he said. 'We'll get a good bedroom, I suspect.'
She nodded, still looking down.
'And... I'm just going out for some fresh air.'
Vimes stepped outside. The snow had stopped for now. The moon was half hidden by clouds and the air smelled of frost.
When the figure dropped down from the eaves it was amazed at the way Vimes spun and rushed it bodily against the wall.
Vimes looked through a red mist at the moonlit face of Inigo Skimmer.
'I'll damn well—' he began.
'Look down, your grace,' said Skimmer. 'Mhm, mhm.'
Vimes realized he could feel the faintest prick of a knife blade on his stomach. 'Look down further,' he said.
Inigo looked down. He swallowed. Vimes had a knife, too. 'You really are no gentleman, then,' he said.
'Make a sudden move and neither are you,' said Vimes. 'And now it appears that we have reached what Sergeant Colon persists in referring to as an imp arse.'
'I assure you I will not kill you,' said Inigo.
'I know that,' said Vimes. 'But will you try?'
'No. I'm here for your protection, mhm, mhm.'
'Vetinari sent you, did he?'
'You know we never divulge the name of—'
'That's true. You people are very honourable,' Vimes spat the word, 'in that respect.'
Both men relaxed a little.
'You left me alone surrounded by enemies,' said Inigo, but without much accusation in his tone.
'Why should I care what happens to a bunch of bandits?' said Vimes. 'You're a
n assassin.'
'How did you find out? Mmph?'
'A copper watches the way people walk. The Klatchians say a man's leg is his second face, did you know that? And that little clerky, I'm-so-harmless walk of yours is too good to be true.'
'You mean that just from my walk you—'
'No. You didn't catch the orange,' said Vimes.
'Come now—'
'No, people either catch or flinch. You saw it wasn't a danger. And when I took your arm I felt metal under your clothes. Then I just sent a clacks back with your description.'
He let go of Inigo and walked over to the coach, leaving his back exposed. He took something down from the box and came back and waved it at the man.
'I know this is yours,' he said. 'I pinched it out of your luggage. If I ever catch anyone with one of these in Ankh-Morpork I will make their life a complete misery as only a copper knows how. Is that understood?'
'If you ever catch anyone with one of these in Ankh-Morpork, your grace, mhm, they will still be lucky that the Assassins' Guild didn't find them first, mmph. They are on our forbidden list within the city. But we're a long way from Ankh-Morpork now. Mmph, mmph.'
Vimes turned the thing over and over in his hands. It looked vaguely like a long-handled hammer, or perhaps a strangely made telescope. What it was, basically, was a spring. That's all a crossbow was, after all.
'It's a devil to load,' he said. 'I nearly ruptured myself cocking it against a rock. You'd only get one shot.'
'But it's the shot no one expects, mhm, mhm.'
Vimes nodded. You could even conceal this thing down your pants, although the thought of all that coiled power so close would require nerves of steel and other parts of steel, too, if it came to it.
'This is not a weapon. This is for killing people,' he said.
'Uh, most weapons are,' said Inigo.
'No, they're not. They're so you don't have to kill people. They're for... for having. For being seen. For warning. This isn't one of those. It's for hiding away until you bring it out and kill people in the dark. And where's that other thing?'
'Your grace?'
'The palm dagger. Don't try to lie to me.'
Inigo shrugged. The movement shot something silver out of his sleeve; it was a carefully shaped blade, padded on one side, which slid along the edge of his hand. There was a click from somewhere inside his jacket.
'Good gods,' breathed Vimes. 'Do you know how often people have tried to assassinate me, man?'
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