'You see, now he's committed a crime in Ankh-Morpork,' he said. 'That makes him mine.'

'Sam, we're not—'

'You know, everyone kept telling me I wasn't in Ankh-Morpork so often that I believed it. But this embassy is Ankh-Morpork and, right now,' he hefted the bow, 'I am the law.'

'Sam?'

'Yes, dear?'

'I know that look. Don't hurt anyone else, will you?'

'Don't worry, dear. I'm going to be civilized about it.'

There was a cluster of dwarfs in the street outside, surrounding one lying on the snow in a pool of blood.

'Which way?' said Vimes, and if they didn't understand his words they understood the question. Several of them pointed along the street.

As he walked Vimes cradled the crossbow and lit a thin cigar.

Now this he understood. He was never at ease with politics, where good and bad were just, apparently, two ways of looking at the same thing or, at least, were described like that by the people who were on the side Vimes thought of as 'bad'.

It was all too complicated and, where it was complicated, it meant that someone was trying to fool you. But on the street, in hot pursuit, it was all so clear. Someone was going to be still standing at the end of the chase, and all you had to concentrate on was making sure it was you.

On a street corner a cart had overturned and its driver was kneeling by a horse that had been ripped open.

'Which way?'

The man pointed.

The new street was wider, busier, and there were a number of elegant coaches moving slowly through the crowds. Of course... the coronation.

But that belonged to the world of the Duke of Ankh and, right now, he wasn't here. There was only Sam Vimes, who didn't much like coronations.

There were screams up ahead, and the flow of people was suddenly against Vimes, so that he appeared to be heading up-stream, like a salmon.

The street opened into a large square. People were running now, which suggested to Vimes

that he was still moving in the right direction. It was pretty clear that you'd find Wolfgang somewhere no one else wanted to be.

There was a flurry of movement on one side of him and a squad of the town guard trotted past. They halted. One of them walked back. It was Tantony.

He looked Vimes up and down. 'I have you to thank for last night?' he said. There were fresh scars on his face, but they were already healing. We've got to get an Igor, Vimes reminded himself.

'Yes,' said Vimes. 'The good bits and the bad bits.'

'And you see what happens when you stand up to a werewolf?'

Vimes opened his mouth to say, 'Is that a uniform you're wearing, captain, or is it fancy dress?' but stopped himself in time. 'No, it's what happens when you're fool enough to stand up to a werewolf with no back-up and no firepower,' he said. 'I'm sorry, but we all have to learn that lesson. Integrity makes very poor armour.'

The man reddened. 'What is your business here?' he said.

'Our hairy friend just murdered someone in the embassy, which is—'

'Yes, yes, Ankh-Morpork territory. But this isn't! I am the watchman here!'

'I'm in hot pursuit, Captain. Ah. I see you know the term?'

'I... I... that doesn't apply!'

'Really?' Vimes raised an eyebrow. 'Surely every copper knows about the rule of hot pursuit. You can chase the suspect over your legal boundary if you're in hot pursuit. Of course, there may be a bit of legal argy-bargy once he's caught, but we can save that for later.'

'I intend to arrest him myself for crimes committed today!'

'You're too young to die. Besides, I saw him first. Tell you what... After he's killed me you can have a go. Fair enough?' He looked Tantony in the eye. 'Now get out of the way.'

'You know I could have you arrested.'

'Probably, but until now I'd got you down as an intelligent man.'

Tantony nodded, and proved Vimes right. 'All right. How may we be of assistance?'

'By keeping out of the way. Oh, and scraping up my remains if this doesn't work.'

Vimes felt the man's stare on the back of his neck as he set off again.

There was a statue in the middle of the square. It was of the Fifth Elephant. Some ancient craftsman had tried to achieve in bronze and stone the moment when the allegorical animal had thundered down out of the sky and gifted the country its incredible mineral wealth. Around it were idealized and rather heavy-set figures of dwarfs and men, holding hammers and swords, and striking noble attitudes; they probably represented Truth, Industry, Justice and Mother's Home-Made Fat Pancakes for all Vimes knew, but he felt truly far from home in a country where, apparently, no one wrote graffiti on public statues.

A man was sprawled on the cobbles, with a woman kneeling beside him. She looked tearfully at Vimes and said something in Uberwaldean. All he could do was nod.

Wolfgang jumped down from a perch on top of the statue to Bad Sculpting and landed a few yards away, grinning.

'Mister Civilized! You want another game?'

'You see this badge I'm holding up?' said Vimes.

'It's a very small one!'

'But you see it?'

'Yes, I see your little badge!' Wolfgang started to move sideways, arms hanging loosely by his sides.

'And I'm armed. Did you hear me tell you I'm armed?'

'With that silly bow?'

'But you just heard me say I'm armed, yes?' said Vimes, loudly, turning to face the moving werewolf. He puffed on his cigar, letting a glow build up.

'Yes! Is this what you call civilized?'

Vimes grinned. 'Yes, this is how we do it.'

'My way is better!'

'And now you're under arrest,' said Vimes. 'Come along and make no fuss and we'll tie you securely and hand you over to whatever passes for justice around here. I realize this may be difficult.'

'Hah! Your Ankh-Morpork sense of humour!'

'Yes, any minute now I'll drop my trousers. So, you're resisting arrest?'

'Why these stupid questions?' Now Wolfgang was almost dancing.

'Are you resisting arrest?'

'Yes indeed! Oh yes! Good joke!'

'Look at me laughing.'

Vimes tossed the crossbow aside and swung a tube out from under his cloak. It was made of cardboard and a red cone protruded from one end.

'A stupid silly firework!' shouted Wolfgang, and charged.

'Could be,' said Vimes.

He didn't bother to aim. These things were never designed for accuracy or speed. He simply removed his cigar from his mouth and, as Wolfgang ran towards him, pressed it into the fuse hole.

The mortar jerked as the charge went off and its payload came tumbling out slowly and trailing smoke in a lazy spiral. It looked like the stupidest weapon since the toffee spear.

Wolfgang danced back and forth under it, grinning, and as it passed several feet over his head he leapt up gracefully and caught it in his mouth.

And then it exploded.

The flares were made to be seen twenty miles away. Even with his eyes tightly shut, Vimes saw the glare through his lids.

When the body had stopped rolling, Vimes looked around the square. People were watching from the coaches. The crowds were silent.

There were a lot of things he could say. 'Son of a bitch!' would have been a good one. Or he could say, 'Welcome to civilization!' He could have said, 'Laugh this one off!' He might have said, 'Fetch!'

But he didn't, because if he had said any of those things then he'd have known that what he had just done was murder.

He turned away, tossed the empty mortar over his shoulder and muttered, 'The hell with it.'

At times like this teetotalism bit down hard.

Tantony was watching.

'Don't say a word out of place,' said Vimes, without altering his stride. 'Just don't.'

'I thought... those things shot very fast...'