She'd hated the way Serafine had talked about dwarfs. She'd called them 'sub-human'. Well, obviously most of them lived underground, but Sybil rather liked dwarfs. And Serafine spoke of trolls as if they were things. Sybil hadn't met many trolls, but the ones she knew seemed to spend their lives raising their children and looking for the next dollar just like everyone else.

Worst of all, Serafine simply assumed that Sybil would naturally agree with her stupid opinions because she was a Lady. Sybil Ramkin had not had an education in these things, moral philosophy not having featured much in a curriculum that was heavy on flower-arranging, but she had a shrewd idea that in any possible debate the right side was where Serafine wasn't.

She'd only ever written all those letters to her because it was what you did. You always wrote letters to old friends, even if you weren't very friendly with them.

She sat on the bed and stared at the wall until the shouting started, and when the shouting started she knew Sam was alive and well, because only Sam made people that angry.

She heard the key click in the lock.

Sybil rebelled.

She was large and she was kind. She hadn't enjoyed school much. A society of girls is not a good one in which to be large and kind, because people are inclined to interpret that as 'stupid' and, worse, 'deaf'.

Lady Sybil looked out of the window. She was two floors up.

There were bars across it, but they'd been designed to keep something out; from the inside they could be lifted out of their slots. And there were musty but heavy sheets and blankets on the bed. None of this might have suggested very much to the average person, but life in a rather strict school for well brought-up young ladies can give someone a real insight into the tricks of escapology.

Five minutes after the key had turned there was only one bar in the window and it was jerking and creaking in the stonework, suggesting that quite a heavy weight was on the sheets that had been neatly knotted around it.

Torches streamed along the castle walls. The ghastly red and black flag snapped in the wind. Vimes looked over the side of the badge. The water was a long way down, and pure white even before it reached the waterfall. Forward and back were the only possible directions here.

He reviewed his troops. Unfortunately this did not take long. Even a policeman could count up to five. Then there was Gavin and his wolves, who were lurking in the trees. And finally, very definitely finally, there was Gaspode, the Corporal Nobbs of the canine world, who'd attached himself to the group uninvited.

What else was on his side? Well, the enemy preferred not to use weapons. This bonus evaporated somewhat when you remembered that they had, at will, some very nasty teeth and claws.

He sighed and turned to Angua. 'I know this is your family,' he said. 'I won't blame you if you hang back.'

'We'll see, sir, shall we?'

'How are we going to get in, sir?' said Carrot.

'How would you go about it, Carrot?'

'Well, I'd start by knocking, sir.'

'Really? Sergeant Detritus. Forward, please.'

'Sir!'

'Blow the bloody doors off!'

'Yessir!'

Vines turned back to Carrot as the troll gazed thoughtfully at the door and began making extra turns on his crossbow's winch, grunting as the springs fought back. Their fight was unsuccessful.

'This isn't Ankh-Morpork, see?' said Vines.

Detritus hoisted the bow on to his shoulders and took a step forward.

There was a thunk. Vines didn't see the bundle of arrows leave the bow. They were probably already fragments by the time they'd gone a few feet. Halfway towards the doors the expanding cloud of splinters exploded into flame from the air friction.

What hit the doors was a fireball as angry and unstoppable as the Fifth Elephant and travelling at an appreciable fraction of local lightspeed.

'My gods; Detritus,' muttered Vines as the thunder died away. 'That's not a crossbow, that's a national emergency.'

A few bits of charred door crashed on to the cobbles.

'The wolves won't come in, Mister Vines,' said Angua. 'Gavin will follow me, but they won't come, not even for him.'

'Why not?'

'Because they're wolves, sir. They don't feel at home in houses.'

The only sound was the squeak-squeak of Detritus winding up his bow again.

'The hell with it,' said Vines, drawing his sword and stepping forward.

Lady Sybil untucked her dress from her underwear and stepped carefully across the little courtyard. She was somewhere around the rear of the castle, as far as she could make out.

She flattened herself as best she could against the wall when she heard a sound, and tightened her grip on one of the iron bars that had formerly graced the window.

A large wolf came around the corner, holding a bone in its mouth. It did not look as if it was expecting her, and it certainly wasn't expecting the iron bar.

'Oh, I'm terribly sorry,' said Sybil automatically as it folded up on to the cobbles.

There was an explosion on the other side of the castle. That sounded like Sam.

'Do you think they heard us, sir?' said Carrot.

'Captain, people in Ankh-Morpork probably heard us. So where are all the werewolves?'

Angua pushed forward. 'This way,' she said.

She led them up a flight of low steps and tried one of the doors to the keep. It swung back slowly.

There were torches in the hall, too.

'They'll leave us somewhere to run,' she said. 'We always leave people somewhere to run.'

A pair of smaller doors at the far end of the hall were pushed open. No handles, Vines noted. Paws can't use handles.

Wolfgang stepped in. A couple of dozen werewolves escorted him, fanning out around the room and sitting down... sprawling down and then watching the intruders with keen interest.

'Ah, Civilized!' said Wolfgang cheerfully. 'You won the game! Would you like another go? When people have a second game we give them a handicap! We bite one of their legs off! Good joke, hey?'

'I think I prefer the Ankh-Morpork sense of humour,' said Vimes. 'Where's my wife, you bastard?' He could still hear the sound of Detritus winding. That was the trouble with the big bow. It was only a quick-fire weapon by geological standards.

'And Delphine! Look at what the dog dragged in!' said Wolfgang, ignoring Vimes. He stepped forward. Vimes heard a growl begin in Angua's throat, a sound which would cause instant obedience in many of Ankh-Morpork's criminal population when they encountered it in a dark alley. There was a deeper rumble from Gavin.

Wolfgang stopped.

'You haven't got the brains for this, Wolfie,' said Angua. 'And you couldn't plot your way out of a wet paper bag. Where's Mother?' She looked around at the lolling werewolves. 'Hello, Uncle Ulf... Aunt Hilda... Magweri... Nancy... Unity... The pack's all here, then? Except for Father, who I expect is off rolling in something. What a family—'

'I want these disgusting people out of here right away,' said the Baroness, stepping into the hall.

She glared at Detritus. 'How dare you bring a troll into this house!'

'O-kay, it's all wound up,' said Detritus cheerfully, hoisting the humming bow on to his shoulder. 'Where should I fire it, Mister Vimes?'

'Good grief, not in here! This is an enclosed building!'

'Only until I pull dis trigger, sir.'

'How very civilized,' said the Baroness. 'How very Ankh-Morpork. You think you merely have to threaten and the lesser races back down, eh?'

'Have you seen your gates lately?' said Vimes.

'We're werewolves!' snapped the Baroness—and it was a snap, the words sharp and clipped as though they were barked. 'Stupid toys like that don't frighten us.'