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 an 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?'

'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!'