They had to stop twice to get directions, and were twenty miles from Koom Valley at half past five. There was a coaching inn. They sat out in its yard. No one spoke much. Apart from the speedhungry Willikins, the only people not shaken by the journey were Sybil and Young Sam, who seemed quite happy, and Detritus, who had watched the world skim past with every sign of enjoyment. Brick was still face-down on the coach roof, holding tight.

`Ten hours,' said Fred Colon. `And that included lunch and stoppin' to be sick. I can't believe it ...'

[1] But as it happened, it was all blamed on people from another world, so that was all right.

`I don't think people are s'posed to go this fast,' Nobby moaned. `I fink my brain's still back home.'

`Well, if we're going to have to wait for it to catch up, Nobby, I'll buy a house here, shall I?' said Fred.

Nerves were frayed, brains were jogging behind ... This is why I don't like magic, thought Vimes. But we're here, and it's amazing how the inn's beer has helped recovery.

`We might even be able to have a quick look at Koom Valley before it gets dark,' he ventured, to general groaning.

`No, Sam! Everyone needs a meal and a rest!' said Sybil. `Let's go into town like proper people, nice and slowly, and everyone will be fresh for tomorrow.'

`Lady Sybil is right, commander,' said Bashfullsson. `I wouldn't advise going up to the valley at night, even at this time of the year. It's so easy to get lost.'

`In a valley?' said Vimes.

`Oh yes, sir,' Cheery chimed in. `You'll see why, sir. And mostly, if you get lost, you die.'

On the sedate journey into town, and because it was six o'clock, Vimes read Where's My Cow? to Young Sam. In fact, it became a communal effort. Cheery obliged by handling the chicken noises, an area in which Vimes felt he was somewhat lacking, and Detritus delivered a Hruuugh! that rattled the windows. Grag Bashfullsson, against all expectation, managed a very passable pig. To Young Sam, watching with eyes like saucers, it was indeed the Show Of The Year.

Bunty was surprised to see them so soon, but Ladies Who Organize are seldom thrown by guests arriving unexpectedly early. It turned out Bunty was Berenice Waynesbury, nee Mousefather,

which must have come as a relief, with a daughter who was married and lived just outside Quirm and a son who'd had to go to Fourecks in a hurry over a complete misunderstanding but was now into sheep in a big way and she hoped Sybil and of course His Grace would be able to stay until Saturday because she'd invited simply everybody and wasn't Young Sam simply adorable ... and so on, right up to `-and we've cleaned out one of the stables for your trolls,' said with a happy smile.

Before Sybil or Vimes could say a word, Detritus had removed his helmet and bowed.

'T'ank you very much, missus,' he said gravely. `You know, sometimes people forget to clean dem out first. It's dem little touches dat mean a lot.'

`Why, thank you,' said Bunty. `How charming. I've, er, never seen a troll wearing clothing before . .

`I can take dem off if you like,' said Detritus. At which point Sybil took Bunty gently by the arm and said, `Let me introduce you to everybody else . .

Mr Waynesbury the magistrate wasn't the venal pocket-liner Vimes had expected. He was thin, tall, and didn't say a great deal, and spent his time at home in a study filled with law books, pipes and fishing tackle; he dispensed justice in the mornings, fished during the afternoon, and charitably forgave Vimes for his total uninterest in dry flies.

The local town of Ham-on-Koom made a good living off the river. When the Koom hit the plains it widened and slowed and was more full of fish than a tin of sardines. Marshes spread out on either side, too, with deep and hidden lakes that were the home and feeding ground of innumerable birds.

Oh ... and there were the skulls, too.

`I am the coroner as well,' Mr Waynesbury told Vimes, as he unlocked a cupboard in his desk. `We get a few bones washed down here every spring. Mostly tourists, of course. They really will not take advice, alas. But sometimes we get things that are of more ... historical interest.' He put a dwarf skull on the leather desktop.

`About a hundred years old,' he said. `From the last big battle, a hundred years ago. We get the occasional piece of armour, too. We put it all in the charnel house and from time to time the dwarfs or the trolls come with a cart to sort through it and carry it away. They take it very seriously.'

`Any treasure?' said Vimes.

'Hah. Not that I get told about. But I'd hear about it if there was anything big.' The magistrate sighed. `Every year people come to search for it. Sometimes they are lucky.'

`They find gold?'

`No, but they get back alive. The others? They wash up out of the caves, in the fullness of time.' He selected a pipe from a rack on his desk and began to fill it. `I'm amazed that anyone feels it necessary to take weapons up the valley. It'll kill you on a whim. Will you take one of my lads, commander?'

`I have my own guide,' said Vimes, and then added: `But thank you.'

Mr Waynesbury puffed his pipe. `As you wish, of course,' he said. `I shall watch the river, in any case.'

Angua and Sally had been put in the same bedroom. Angua tried to feel good about that. The woman wasn't to know. Anyway, it was nice to get between clean sheets, even if the room had a slightly musty smell. More must, less vampire, she thought; look on the bright side.

In the darkness, she opened one eye.

Someone had moved silently across the room. They'd made no