Inigo said, 'He says he's very sorry, but those are his instructions, and he quite understands if his grace wishes to make a complaint at the highest level, mmph, mmhm.'

A guard turned the handle of the coach door. Vimes slammed it shut.

'Tell him the war will start right now,' he said. —'And then it'll work its way up.'

'Your grace!'

The guards looked at Detritus. It was quite hard to hold the Piecemaker nonchalantly, and he wasn't even making the attempt.

Vimes maintained eye-contact with the captain of the guard. If the man had any sense, he'd realize that if Detritus fired the thing it'd kill them all, besides sending the coach backwards at high speed.

Please just let him have the sense to know when to fold, he prayed.

In the corner of his ear he could hear the guards whispering to one another. He caught the word 'Wilinus'.

The captain stepped back and saluted. 'He apologizes for any inconvenience and hopes you will enjoy your stay in his beautiful city,' said Inigo. 'He particularly hopes you will visit the Chocolate Museum in Prince Vodorny Square, where his sister works.'

Vimes saluted. 'Tell him I think he is an officer with a great future,' he said. 'A future which, I trust, is going to very soon include opening the damn gates.'

The captain had nodded to the men before Inigo was halfway through the translation. Aha...

'And ask him his name,' he said. The man was bright enough not to respond until this had been translated.

'Captain Tantony,' Inigo said.

'I shall remember it,' said Vimes. 'Oh, and tell him he has a fly on his nose.'

Tantony won a prize. His eyes barely flickered. Vimes grinned.

As for the town itself... it was just a town. Roofs were steeper than in Ankh-Morpork, some maniac with a fretsaw had been allowed to amuse himself on the wooden architecture, and there was more paint than you saw back home.

Not that this told you anything; many a rich man had become rich by, metaphorically, not painting his house.

The coaches bowled over the cobbles. Not the right sort of cobbles, of course. Vimes knew that.

The coach stopped again. Vimes stuck his head out of the window. Two rather scruffier guards had barred the road this time.

'Ah, I recognize this one,' said Vimes grimly. 'I reckon that this time we've just met Colonesque and Nobbski.'

He stepped out and walked up to them. 'Well?'

The fatter of the two hesitated, and then held out his hand. 'Pisspot,' he said.

'Inigo?' said Vimes quietly, without turning his head.

'Ah,' said Inigo, after some muttered exchanges. 'Now the problem seems to be Sergeant Detritus. No trolls are allowed in this part of town during the hours of daylight, apparently, without a passport signed by their... owner. Uh... in Bonk the only trolls allowed are prisoners of war. They have to carry identification.'

'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.