Cheery dropped down from the coach. Her leather skirt flapped in the wind.
As one dwarf, the column swivelled to stare at her. Their leader went pop-eyed.
"B"dan? K"raa! D"kraga "ka"ak "!"
Vimes saw the expression that appeared on Cheery"s small round face.
Above him there was a clunk as Detritus rested the loaded Piecemaker on the edge of the coach.
"I know dat word he said to her," he announced to the world. "It is not a good word. I do not want to hear dat word again."
"Well, this is all very jolly, mph, mhm," said Inigo, getting down. "And now if everyone will just relax for a moment we might get out of here alive, mmm."
Vimes reached up and carefully pushed the end of Detritus"s crossbow towards a less threatening direction.
Inigo talked very fast in what seemed to Vimes to be a torrent of perfect dwarfish, although he was sure he heard the occasional "mmph". He opened his leather case and produced a couple of documents fixed with big waxy seals. These were inspected with considerable suspicion. The dwarf pointed at Cheery and Detritus. Inigo flapped a hand impatiently, the universal symbol for dismissing that which was not important. More papers were examined.
Eventually, with more universal body language meaning "I could do something bad to you but right now it"s just too much bother," the dwarf waved Inigo away, gave Vimes a look that suggested that, against all physical evidence, Vimes was beneath him, and strode back to his troops.
An order was barked. The dwarfs set off again, leaving the road and heading off towards the forest.
"Well, that all seems sorted out," said Inigo, getting back into the coach. "Miss Littlebottom was a bit of a sticking point, but a dwarf does respect very complicated documents. Something"s up. He wouldn"t say what it was. He wanted to search the coach."
"The hell with that. What for?"
"Who knows? I persuaded him that we have diplomatic immunity."
"And what did you tell him about me?"
"I tried to convince him that you were a bloody idiot, your grace. Mmph, mmhm."
"Oh, really?" Vimes heard Lady Sybil repress a laugh.
"It was necessary, believe me. Street dwarfish wasn"t a good idea, your grace. But when I pointed out that you were an aristocrat, he - "
"I am not an - well, I"m not really a - "
"Yes, your grace. But if you"ll be advised by me, a lot of diplomacy lies in appearing to be a lot more stupid than you are. You"ve made a good start, your grace. And now I think we"d better be moving, mhm."
"I"m glad to see you"re being less deferential, Inigo," said Vimes as they got under way again.
"Oh well, your grace, I"ve got to know you better now."
Gaspode had confused recollections of the rest of that night. The pack moved fast, and he realized that most of them were running ahead of Carrot, to flatten down the snow.
It wasn"t flat enough for Gaspode. Eventually a wolf picked him up by the scruff of the neck and carried him bodily, while making muffled comments about the foul taste.
The snow stopped after a while and there was a slip of moonlight behind the clouds.
And all around, near and far, was the howl. Occasionally the pack would stop, in a clearing or on the crisp white brow of a hill, and join in.
Gaspode limped to Angua while the cries went up around them. "What"s this for?" he said.
"Polities," said Angua. "Negotiation. We"re crossing territories."
Gaspode glanced at Gavin. He hadn"t joined in the howl, but sat a little way off, regally dividing his attention between Carrot and the pack.
"He has to ask permission?" he said.