'Yes, no problem there.'

'Good. It'th well wrapped up and the ithe will keep it nithe and freth. Would you thtep thith way? The marthter ith changing at the moment.'

Igor shambled into a wide hall, one side of which was mostly fireplace, and bowed out.

'Did he say what I thought he said?' said Vimes. 'About the hand and ice?'

'It's not what it sounds like, sir,' said Cheery.

'I hope so. My gods, look at that damned thing!'

A huge red flag hung from the rafters. In the middle of it was a black wolf's head, its mouth full of stylized flashes of lightning.

'Their new flag, I think,' said Cheery.

'I thought it was just a crest with the doubledheaded bat?'

'Perhaps they thought it was time for a change, sir—'

'Ah, your excellency! Isn't Sybil with you?'

The woman who had entered was Angua, but padded somewhat with years. She was wearing a long, loose green gown, very old fashioned by Ankh-Morpork standards, although there are some styles that never go out of date on the right figure. She was brushing her hair as she walked across the floor.

'Er, she's staying at the embassy today. We had rather a difficult journey. You would be the Baroness Serafine von Uberwald?'

'And you're Sam Vimes. Sybil's letters are all about you. The Baron won't be long. We were out hunting and lost track of time.'

'I expect it's a lot of work, seeing to the horses,' said Vimes politely.

Serafine's smile went strange for a moment. 'Hah. Yes,' she said. 'Can I get Igor to fetch you a drink?'

'No, thank you.'

She sat down on one of the overstuffed chairs and beamed at him. 'You've met the new king, your excellency?'

'This morning.'

'I believe he's having trouble.'

'What makes you think that?' said Vimes.

Serafine looked startled. 'I thought everyone knew?'

'Well, I've hardly been here five minutes,' said Vimes. 'I probably don't count as everyone.'

Now, he was pleased to note, she looked puzzled.

'We... just heard there was some problem,' she said.

'Oh, well... a new king, a coronation to organize... A few problems are bound to occur,' he said. Well, he thought, so this is diplomacy. It's like lying, only to a better class of people.

'Yes. Of course.'

'Angua is well,' said Vimes.

'Are you sure you won't have a drink?' said Serafine quickly, standing up. 'Ah, here is my husband—'

The Baron entered the room like a whirlwind that had swept up several dogs. They bounded ahead of him and danced around him.

'Hello! Hello!' he boomed.

Vimes looked at an enormous man—not fat, not tall, just built to perhaps one-tenth over scale. He didn't so much have a face with a beard as a beard with, peeking over the top in that narrow gap between the moustache and the eyebrows, small remnants of face. He bore down on Vimes in a cloud of leaping bodies, hair and a smell of old carpets.

Vimes was ready for the handshake when it came, but even so had to grimace as his bones were ground together.

'Good of you to come, hey? Heard so much about you!'

But not enough, Vimes thought. He wondered if he'd ever have the use of his hand again. It was still being gripped. The dogs had transferred their attention to him. He was being sniffed.

'Greatest respect for Ankh-Morpork, hey?' said the Baron.

'Er... good,' said Vimes. Blood was getting no further than his wrist.

'Have seat!' the Baron barked. Vimes had been trying to avoid the word, but that was exactly how the man spoke—in short, sharp sentences, every one an exclamation.

He was herded towards a chair. Then the Baron let go of his hand and flung himself on to the huge carpet, the excited dogs piling on top of him.

Serafine made a noise somewhere between a growl and the 'Tch!' of wifely disapproval. Obediently the Baron pushed the dogs aside and flung himself into a chair.

'You'll have to take us as you find us,' said Serafine, smiling with her mouth alone. 'This has always been a very informal household.'

'It's a very nice place,' said Vimes weakly, staring around the enormous room. Trophy heads lined the walls, but at least there were no trolls. No weapons, either. There were no spears, no rusty old swords, not even a broken bow, which was practically against the law of castle furnishing. He stared at the wall again, and then at the carving over the fireplace. And then his gaze travelled down.

One of the dogs, and Vimes had to be clear about this—he was using the term dogs merely because they were indoors and that was a place where the word wolf was not usually encountered—was watching him. He'd never seen such an appraising look on a creature's face. It was weighing him up.

There was something familiar about the pale gold hair that was a sort of mane. In fact it looked quite like Angua, but heavier set. And there was another difference, which was small yet horribly significant. Like Angua, it had this sense of movement stilled; but whereas Angua always looked as if she was poised to flee, this one looked poised to leap.

'The embassy is to your liking? We owned it, you know, before we sold it to Lord V... Ve...'

'Vetinari,' said Vimes, reluctantly taking his eyes off the wolf.

'Of course, your people made a lot of changes,' she went on.

'We've made a few more,' said Vimes, recalling all those patches of shiny woodwork where the hunting trophies had been removed. 'I must say I was really impressed with the bathroo—I'm sorry?'

There had been almost a yelp from the Baron. Serafine was glaring at her husband.

'Yes,' she said sharply, 'I gather interesting things have been done.'

'You're so lucky to have the thermal springs,' said Vimes. And this was diplomacy too, he thought, when you let your mouth chatter away while you watched people's eyes. It's just like being a copper. 'Sybil wants to go to take the waters at Bad Heisses Bad—'

Behind him he heard a faint growl from the Baron and saw the look of annoyance flash across Serafine's face.

'I'm saying the wrong thing?' he said innocently.

'My husband is a little unwell at the moment,' said Serafine, in the special wife voice which Vimes recognized as meaning 'He think's he's fine right now but just you wait until I get him alone.'

'I suppose I'd better present my credentials,' said Vimes, pulling out the letter.

Serafine reached across quickly and took it from his hand. 'I shall read it,' she said, smiling sweetly. 'Of course, it's a mere formality. Everyone's heard of Commander Vimes. I mean no offence, of course, but we were a little surprised when the Patrician—'

'Lord Vetinari,' said Vimes helpfully, putting a slight stress on the first syllable and hearing the growl on cue.

'Yes, indeed... said that you would be coming. We were expecting one of the more... experienced... diplomats.'

'Oh, I can hand around the thin cucumber sandwiches like anything,' said Vimes. 'And if you want little golden balls of chocolate piled up in a heap, I'm your man.'

She gave him a slow, blank stare. 'Your pardon, your excellency,' she said. 'Morporkian is not my first .language and I fear we may have inadvertently misled one another. I gather that you are, in real life, a policeman?'

'In real life, yes,' said Vimes.

'We've always been against a police force in Bonk,' said the Baroness. 'We feel it interferes with the liberties of the individual.'

'Well, I have certainly heard that argument advanced,' said Vimes. 'Of course, it depends on whether the individual you are thinking of is yourself or the one climbing out of the bathroom—' he noted the grimace —'window with the family silver in a sack.'

'Happily, security has never been a problem for us,' said Serafine.

'I'm not surprised,' said Vimes. 'I mean... because of all the walls and gates and things.'