"I got this far, thank you, I think I"m capable of standing up," he said, and forced his legs to support him.
"You seem to have lost your trousers, sir."
"Yes, it"s the famous Ankh-Morpork sense of humour," growled Vimes. ;Is this the game you told me about?"
"That"s right. But Father played by the rules. If the runner was bright and nimble he got four hundred crowns and Father had him to dinner at the castle."
"If he lost, then your father had him for dinner out in the woods."
"Thank you for reminding me."
"I was trying not to be nice."
"You may have an undiscovered natural talent," said Angua. "But no one had to run, is my point. I won"t apologize. I"ve been a copper in Ankh-Morpork, remember. City motto: You May Not Get Killed."
"Actually, it"s - "
"Carrot! I know. And our family motto is Homo Homini Lupus. "A man is a wolf to other men"! How stupid. Do you think they mean that men are shy and retiring and loyal and kill only to eat? Of course not! They mean that men act like men towards other men, and the worse they are the more they think they"d really like being wolves! Humans hate werewolves because they see the wolf in us, but wolves hate us because they see the human inside - and I don"t blame them!"
Vimes veered away from the farmhouse and sprinted towards the nearby barn. There had to be something in there. Even a couple of sacks would do. The chafing qualities of frozen underwear can be seriously underestimated.
He"d been running for half an hour. Well, for twenty-five minutes, really. The other five had been spent limping, wheezing, clutching at his chest and wondering how you knew if you were having a heart attack.
The inside of the barn was... barn-like. There were stacks of hay, dusty farm implements... and a couple of threadbare sacks hanging on a nail. He snatched one, gratefully.
Behind him the door creaked open. He spun round, clutching the sack to him, and saw three very sombrely dressed women watching him carefully. One of them was holding a kitchen knife in a trembling hand,
"Have you come here to ravish us?" she said.
"Madam! I"m being pursued by werewolves!"
The three looked at one another. To Vimes the sack suddenly seemed far too small.
"Er, vill that take you all day?" said one of the women.
Vimes held the sack more tightly. "Ladies! Please! I need trousers!"
"Ve can see that."
"And a weapon, and boots if you"ve got them! Please?"
They went into another huddle.
"We have the gloomy and purposeless trousers of Uncle Vanya," said one, doubtfully.
"He seldom wore them," said another.
"And I have an axe in my linen cupboard," said the youngest. She looked guiltily at the other two. "Look, just in case I ever needed it, all right? I wasn"t going to chop anything down."
"I would be so grateful," said Vimes. He took in the good but old clothes, the faded gentility, and played the only card in his hand. "I am His Grace the Duke of Ankh, although I appreciate this fact is not evident at the - "
There was a three-fold sigh.
"Ankh-Morpork!"
"You haf a magnificent opera house and many fine galleries."
"Such vonderful avenues!"