"Mixed up in what?"
"Oh, my family"s been... stupid. I"m not quite sure I know everything, but the wolves are worried. When werewolves make trouble, it"s the real wolves that always suffer. People"ll kill anything with fur." Angua stared at the fire for a moment and then said, with forced brightness, "So who"s been left in charge?"
"I don"t know. Fred Colon"s got seniority."
"Ha, yes. In his nightmares." Angua hesitated. "You really left?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
Gaspode listened to some more snowflakes.
"Well, you won"t get far by yourselves now," said Angua, standing up. "Rest for another hour. And then we"ll be going through the deep forest. Not too much snow there yet. We"ve got a lot of ground to cover. I hope you can keep up."
At breakfast early next morning Vimes noticed that the other guests were keeping so far away from him that they were holding on to the walls.
"The men who went out came back around midnight, sir," said Cheery quietly.
"Did they catch anyone?"
"Um... sort of, sir. They found seven dead bodies."
"Seven?"
"They think some others might have got away where there"s a path up the rocks."
"But, seven? Detritus got one, and... I got one, and a couple were wounded, and Inigo got... one..." Vimes"s voice tailed off.
He stared at Inigo Skimmer, who was sitting on the other side of the room at a crowded public table. The places around Vimes and Lady Sybil were deserted; Sybil had put it down to deference. The little man was eating soup in a little neat self-contained world among the waving arms and intrusive elbows. He"d even tucked a napkin under his chin.
"They were... very dead, sir," Cheery whispered.
"Well, that was... interesting," said Sybil, wiping her mouth delicately. "I"ve never had soup with sausages in it for breakfast before. What is it called, Cheery?"
"Fatsup, your ladyship," said Cheery. "It means "fat soup". We"re close to the Schmaltzberg fat layers now, and, well, it"s nourishing and keeps out the cold."
"How very interesting." Lady Sybil looked at her husband. He hadn"t taken his eyes off Inigo.
The door opened and Detritus ducked inside, banging snow off his knuckles. "It"s not too bad," he said. "Dey say it"d be a good idea to make an early start, sir."
"I bet they do," said Vimes, and thought: they don"t want someone like me hanging around. There"s no knowing who"ll die next.
Several faces he vaguely recalled from last night were missing now. Presumably some travellers had started off even earlier, which meant that the news was probably running ahead of him. He"d staggered in, covered in blood and mud, carrying a crossbow and, d"you know, when they went back to look there were seven dead men. By the time that sort of story had gone ten miles he"d be carrying an axe as well, and make that thirty dead men and a dog.
The diplomatic career had certainly got off to a good start, eh?
As they got into the coach he saw the little dart stuck in the door jamb. It was metallic, with metal fins, and overall had a look of speed, as if, when you touched it, you"d burn your fingers.
He walked around to the back of the coach. There was another, much larger arrow high in the woodwork.
"They tried to catch up with you on the upgrade," said Inigo, behind him.
"You killed them."
"Some got away."
"I"m surprised."