'Detritus is a citizen of Ankh-Morpork and my sergeant,' said Vimes.
'However, he is a troll. Perhaps in the interests of diplomacy you could write a short—'
'Do I need a pisspot?'
'A passport... No, your grace.'
'Then he doesn't either.'
'Nevertheless, your grace—'
'There is no nevertheless.'
'But it may be advisable to—'
'There's no advisable either.'
A few other guards had drifted over. Vimes was aware of watching eyes.
'He could be ejected by force,' said Inigo.
'Now there's an experiment I wouldn't want to miss,' said Vimes.
Detritus made a rumbling noise. 'I don't mind goin' back if—'
'Shut up, sergeant. You're a free troll. That's an order.'
Vimes permitted himself another brief scan of the growing, silent crowd. And he saw the fear in the eyes of the men with the halberds. They did not want to be doing this, any more than the captain had.
'I'll tell you what, Inigo,' he said. 'Tell the guards that the Ambassador from Ankh-Morpork commends them for their diligence, congratulates them on their dress sense and will see that their instruction is obeyed forthwith. That should do it, shouldn't it?'
'Certainly, your grace.'
'And now turn the coach around, Detritus. Coming, Inigo?'
Inigo's expression changed rapidly.
'We passed an inn about ten miles back,' Vimes went on. 'Ought to make it by dark, do you think?'
'But you can't go, your grace!'
Vimes turned, very slowly. 'Would you repeat that, Mister Skimmer?'
'I mean—'
'We are leaving, Mister Skimmer. What you do, of course, is up to you.'
He sat down inside the coach. Opposite him Sybil made a fist and said, 'Well done!'
'Sorry, dear,' said Vimes, as the coach turned. 'It didn't look a very good inn.'
'Serves them right, the little bullies,' said Sybil. 'You showed them.'
Vimes glanced out and saw, at the edge of the crowd, a black coach with dark windows. He could make out a figure in the gloom within. The luckless guards were looking at it, as if for instructions. It Waved a gloved hand languidly.
He started counting under his breath. After eleven seconds Inigo trotted alongside the coach and jumped on to the running board.
'Your grace, apparently the guards acted quite without authority and will be punished—'
'No, they didn't. I was looking at 'em. They'd been given an order,' said Vimes.
'Nevertheless, diplomatically it would be a good idea to accept the explan—'
'So that the poor buggers can be hung up by their thumbs?' said Vimes. 'No. Just you go back and tell whoever's giving the orders that all our people can go anywhere they like in this city, d'you see, whatever shape they are.'
'I don't think you can actually demand that, sir—'
'Those lads had old Burleigh & Stronginthearm weapons, Mister Skimmer. Made in Ankh-Morpork. So did the men on the gate. Trade, Mister Skimmer. Isn't that part of what diplomacy is all about? You go back and talk to whoever's in the black carriage, and then you'd better get them to lend you a horse, because I reckon we'll have gone a little way by then.'
'You could perhaps wait—'.
'Wouldn't dream of it.'
In fact the coach was outside the gates of the town before Skimmer caught up with it again.
'There will not be a problem with either of your requests,' he panted, and for a moment there appeared to be a touch of admiration in his expression.
'Good man. Tell Detritus to turn round again, will you?'
'You're grinning, Sam,' said Sybil as Vimes sat back.
'I was just thinking that I could take to the diplomatic life,' said Vimes.
'There is something else,' said Inigo, getting into the coach. 'There's some... historical artifact owned by the dwarfs, and there's a rumour—'
'How long ago was the Scone of Stone stolen?'
Inigo's mouth stayed open. Then he shut it and his eyes narrowed.
'How in the world did you know that, your grace? Mmph?'
'By the pricking of my thumbs,' said Vimes, his face carefully blank. 'I've got very odd thumbs, when it comes to pricking.'
'Really?'
'Oh, yes.'
Dogs had a much easier sex life than humans, Gaspode decided. That was something to look forward to, if he ever managed to have one.
It wasn't going to start here, that was definite. The female wolves snapped at him if he came too close, and they weren't just warnings, either. He was having to be very careful where he trod.
The really odd thing about human sex, though, was the way it went on even when people were fully clothed and sitting on opposite sides of a fire. It was in the things they said and did not say, the way they looked at one another and looked away.
The packs had changed again overnight. The mountains were higher, the snow was crisper. Most of the wolves were sitting at some distance from the fire Carrot had made - just enough distance, in fact, to establish that they were proud, wild creatures who didn't have to rely on this sort of thing, but close enough to get the benefit.
And then there was Gavin, sitting a little way off, turning to look from one to the other.
'Gavin's people hate my family,' Angua was saying. 'I told you, it's always wolves who suffer when werewolves get too powerful. Werewolves are smarter at escaping from hunters. That's why wolves much prefer vampires. Vampires leave them alone. Werewolves sometimes hunt wolves.'
'I'm surprised,' said Carrot.
Angua shrugged. 'Why? They hunt humans, don't they? We're not nice people, Carrot. We're all pretty dreadful. But my brother Wolfgang is something special. Father's frightened of him and so's Mother if she'd only admit it, but she thinks he'll make the clan powerful so she indulges him.
He drove my other brother away and he killed my sister.'
'How—?'
'He said it was an accident. Poor little Elsa. She was a yennork, just like Andrei. That's a werewolf that doesn't change, you know? I'm sure I've mentioned it. Our family throws them up from time to time. Wolfgang and I were the only classic bi-morphs in the litter. Elsa looked human all the time, even at full moon. Andrei was always a wolf.'
'You mean you had a human sister and a wolf brother?'
'No, Carrot. They were both werewolves. But the, well, the little... switch... inside them didn't work. Do you understand? They stayed the same shape. In the old days the clan would kill off a yennork quickly, and Wolfgang is a traditionalist when it comes to nastiness. He says they made the blood impure. You see, a yennork would go off and be a human or be a wolf but they'd still be carrying the werewolf blood, and then they'd marry and have children... or pups... and, well, that's where the fairytale monsters come from. People with a bit of wolf and wolves with that extra capacity for violence that is so very human.' She sighed and glanced momentarily at Gavin. 'But Elsa was harmless. After that, Andrei didn't wait for it to happen to him. He's a sheepdog over in Borogravia now. Doing well, I hear. Wins championships,' she added sourly.
She poked the fire aimlessly. 'Wolfgang's got to be stopped. He's plotting something with some of the dwarfs. They meet in the forest, Gavin says.'
'He sounds very well informed for a wolf,' said Carrot. Angua almost snarled at him.
'He's not stupid, you know. He can understand more than eight hundred words. A lot of humans get by on less! And he's got a sense of smell that's almost as good as mine! The wolves see everything. The werewolves are out all the time now. They're chasing people down. The game, we call it. The wolves get the blame. It looks like they're breaking the arrangement. And there's been these meetings, right out in the forest where they think no one will see them. Some dwarfs have got some sort of nasty scheme by the sound of it. They asked Wolfgang for help! That's like asking a vulture to pick your teeth.'
'What can you do?' said Carrot. 'If eve
n your parents can't control him—'
'We used to fight when we were younger. "Rough and tumble", he'd call it. But I could send him off howling. Wolfgang hates to think there's anyone who can beat him, so I don't think he'll relish the thought of me turning up. He's got plans. This part of Uberwald has always, well, worked because no one was too powerful, but if the dwarfs start squabbling amongst themselves then Wolfgang's the lad to take advantage, with his stupid uniforms and his stupid flag.'
'I don't think I want to see you fighting, though.'
'Then you can look the other way! I didn't ask you to follow me! Do you think I'm proud of this? I've got a brother who's a sheepdog!'
'A champion sheepdog,' said Carrot earnestly.
Gaspode watched Angua's expression. It was one you'd never get on a dog.
'You mean that,' she said at last. 'You actually mean that, don't you? You really do. And if you'd met him it wouldn't worry you, would it? To you everyone's a person. I have to sleep in a dog basket seven nights a month and that doesn't worry you either, does it?'
'No. You know it doesn't.'
'It should do! Don't ask me why, but it should do! You're so... unthinkingly nice about it! And sooner or later a girl can have too much nice!'
'I don't try to be nice.'
'I know. I know. I just wish you'd... oh, I don't know... complain a bit. Well, not exactly complain. Just sigh, or something.'
'Why?'
'Because... because it'd make me feel better! Oh, it's too hard to explain. It's probably a werewolf thing.'
'I'm sorry—'
'And don't be sorry all the time, either!'
Gaspode curled up so close to the fire that he steamed. Dogs had it a lot better, he decided.
The building that was to be the embassy was set back from the road in a quiet side street. They rattled under an arch into a small rear courtyard containing some stables. It reminded Vimes of a large coaching inn.
'It's really only a consulate at the moment,' said Inigo, leafing through his papers. 'We should be met by... ah, yes, Wando Sleeps. Been here for several years, mhm.'
Behind the coaches a pair of gates swung shut.
There was the sound of heavy bolts shooting home. Vimes stared at the apparition that came limping back towards the coach door.
'He looks it,' he said.
'Oh, I don't think this is—'
'Good evening, marthterth, mithtreth...' said the figure. 'Welcome to Ankh-Morpork. I'm Igor.'
'Igor who?' said Inigo.
'Jutht Igor, thur. Alwayth... jutht Igor,' said Igor calmly, unfolding the step. 'I'm the odd-job man.'
'You don't say?' said Vimes, mesmerized.
'Have you had a terrible accident?' said Lady Sybil.
'I did thpill tea down my thirt thith morning,' said Igor. 'Kind of you to notith.'
'Where's Mister Sleeps?' said Inigo.
'I'm afraid Marthter Thleepth ith nowhere to be found. I wath rather hoping you would know what'd happened to him.'
'Us?' said Inigo. 'Mmhm, mmph! We assumed he was here!'
'He left rather urgently two weekth ago,' said Igor. 'He did not vouchthafe to me where he wath going. Do go inthide, and I will thee to the baggage.'
Vimes glanced up. A little bit of snow was falling now, but there was enough light to see that above them, across the whole courtyard, was an iron mesh. With the bolted doors and the walls of the building all around, they were in a cage.
'Jutht a little leftover from the old dayth,' said Igor cheerfully. 'Nothing to worry about, thur.'
'What a fine figure of a man,' said Sybil weakly, as they stepped inside.
'More than one man, by the look of him.'
'Sam!'
'Sorry. I'm sure his heart's in the right place.'
'Good.'
'Or someone's heart, anyway.'
'Sam, really!'
'All right, all right, but you must admit he does look a bit... odd.'
'None of us can help the way we're made, Sam.'
'He looks as if he tried— Good grief...'
'Oh, dear,' said Lady Sybil.
Vimes was not against hunting, if only because Ankh-Morpork seldom offered any better game than the large rats you got along the waterfront. But the sight of the walls of the new embassy might have been enough to make the keenest hunter take a step back and cry, 'Oh, I say, hold on...'
The previous occupant had been keen on hunting, shooting and fishing and, to have covered every single wall with the resultant trophies, he must have been doing all three at the same time.
Hundreds of glass eyes, obscenely alive in the light of the fire in the huge hearth, stared down at Vimes.
'It's just like my grandfather's study,' said Lady Sybil. 'There was a stag's head in there that used to frighten the life out of me.'
'There's just about everything here. Oh, no...'
'My gods,' whispered Lady Sybil.
Vimes looked around desperately. Detritus was just entering, carrying some of the trunks.
'Stand in front of it,' Vimes hissed.
'I'm not that tall, Sam! Or that wide!'
The troll looked up at them, then at the trophies, and then grinned. It's colder up here, Vimes thought. He's quicker on the uptake.[15] Even Nobby won't play poker with him in the winter. Damn!
'Something wrong?' said Detritus.
Vimes sighed. What was the point? He'd spot it sooner or later.
'I'm sorry about this, Detritus,' he said, standing aside.
Detritus looked at the horrible trophy and nodded.
'Yeah, dere used to be a lot of dat sort of fing in der old days,' he said calmly, putting down the luggage. 'Dey wouldn't be de real diamond teef, o'course. Dey'd take dem out and put bigger glass ones in.'
'You don't mind?' said Lady Sybil. 'It's a troll's head! Someone actually mounted a troll's head and put it on the wall!'
'Ain't mine,' said Detritus.
'But it's so horrible!'
Detritus stood in thought for a moment and then opened the stained wooden box that contained all he had felt it necessary to bring.
'Dis is der old country, after all,' he said. 'So if it'd make you feel better...'
He pulled out a smaller box and rummaged among what appeared to be bits of rock and cloth until he found something yellowy-brown and round, like a shallow cup.
'Should've bunged it away,' he said, 'but it's all I got to remember my old granny by. She kept fings in it.'
'It's a bit of human skull, isn't it?' said Vimes at last.
'Yep.'
'Whose?'
'Anyone ask dat troll dere his name?' said Detritus, and the glint in his voice had a brittle edge to it for a moment. Then he carefully put the bowl away. 'T'ings were diff'rent in dem days. Now you don't chop our heads off an' we don't make drums outa your skin. Everyt'ing is hunky-dory. Dat's all we have to know.'
He picked up the boxes again and followed Lady Sybil towards the staircase. Vimes took another look at the trophy head. The teeth were longer, far longer than they'd be on a real troll. A hunter'd have to be very brave and very lucky to go up against a fighting troll and survive. It'd be so much easier to go after an old one and later replace the ground-down stumps with sparkly fangs.
My gods, the things we do...
'Igor?' he said, as the odd-job man lurched past under the weight of two more bags.
'Yeth, your exthellenthy?'
'I'm an excellency?' said Vimes to Inigo.
'Yes, Your Grace.'
'And still My Grace as well?'
'Yes, your grace. You are His Grace His Excellency the Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes, Your Grace.'
'Hang on, hang on. His Grace cancels out the Sir, I know that. It's like having an ace in poker.'
'Strictly speaking this is true, your grace, but great store is set by titles here and it is best to play with a full deck, mmph.'
'I was once blackboard monitor at school,' said Vimes sharply. 'For a whole ter
m. Would that help? Dame Venting said no one could clean a blackboard like me.'
'A useful fact, your grace, which may possibly be helpful in the event of a tie-break, mmph, mmhm,' said Inigo, his face carefully blank.
'We Igorth have alwayth preferred marthter,' said Igor. 'What wath it you were requiring?'
Vimes gestured towards the heads that covered every wall.
'I want them taken down as soon as possible. I can do this, can't I, Mister Skimmer?'
'You are the ambassador, sir. Mmph, mmhm.'
'Well, they're coming down. All of them.'
Igor gave the camphor-smelling multitude a worried look. 'Even the thordfith?'
'Even the swordfish,' said Vimes firmly.
'And the thnow leopardth?'
'Both of them, yes.'
'What about the troll?'
'Especially the troll. See to it.'
Igor could have been said to have looked as if his world had fallen down around his ears were it not for the fact that he already looked as if this had happened.
'What do you want to do with them, marthter?'
'That's up to you. Throw them in the river, maybe. Ask Detritus about the troll... Maybe it should be buried or something. Is there any supper?'
'There'th fresh walago, noggit, thclott[16], thwinefleth and thauthageth,' said Igor, still clearly upset about the trophies. 'I'll thop tomorrow, if her ladythip giveth me inthtructionth.'
'Is swineflesh the same as pork?' said Vimes. People in drought-stricken areas would have paid good money to have Igor pronounce 'sausages'.
'Yes,' said Inigo.
'And what's in the sausages?'
'Er... meat?' said Igor, looking as though he was ready to run.
'Good. We'll give them a try.'
Vimes went upstairs and followed the sound of conversation until he reached a bedroom, where Sybil was laying clothes on a bed the size of a small country. Cheery was assisting her.
The walls were carved panels of wood. The bed was carved panels of wood. And the mad fretworker had been hard at work here, too. Only the floors weren't wood; they were stone, and radiated cold.
'It's a bit like the inside of a cuckoo clock, isn't it?' said Sybil. 'Cheery has volunteered to be my lady's maid for now.'
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