As Vimes"s mouth dropped open she went on: "The game is not against the lore. It has been played for a thousand years. And what else is it that you think we have done? Stolen the dwarfs" pet rock? We - "
"You know it wasn"t stolen," said Vimes. "And I know - "
"You know nothing! You suspect everything. You have that kind of mind."
"Your son said - "
"My son unfortunately has honed to perfection every muscle in his body except the ones for thinking with," said the Baroness. "In civilized Ankh-Morpork I daresay you can barge into people"s houses and stamp around, but here in our barbaric backwater the lore requires something beyond mere assertion."
"I can smell the fear," said Angua. "It"s pouring off you, Mother."
"Sam?"
They looked up. Lady Sybil was standing at the top of some stone stairs leading to a lower floor, looking bewildered and angry. She was holding an iron bar with a bend in it.
" Sybil!"
"She told me you were on the run and they were all trying to save you, but that wasn"t right, was it?"
It"s a terrible thing to admit to yourself, but when the shoulderblades are pressed firmly against the brickwork then any weapon will do, and right now Vimes saw Sybil loaded and ready to fire.
She got on with people. Practically from the moment she"d been able to talk she"d been taught how to listen. And when Sybil listened to people she made them feel good about themselves. It was probably something to do with being a... a big girl. She tried to make herself seem small, and by default that made those around her feel bigger. She got on with people almost as well as Carrot did. No wonder even the dwarfs liked her.
She had pages to herself in Twurp"s Peerage, huge ancestral anchors biting into the past, and dwarfs also respected someone who knew their great-great-great-grandfather"s full name. And
Sybil couldn"t lie, you could see her redden when she tried it. Sybil was a rock. She made Detritus look like a sponge.
"We"ve been having a lovely run in the woods, dear," he said. "Now please come here, because I think we"re going to see the King. And I"m going to tell him everything. I"ve worked it out at last."
"The dwarfs will kill you," said the Baroness.
"I can probably outrun a dwarf," said Vimes. "And now we"re leaving. Angua?"
Angua hadn"t moved. Her eyes were still fixed on her mother, and she was still growling.
Vimes recognized the signs. You spotted them in the bars of Ankh-Morpork every Saturday night. Hackles rose, and people climbed up them, and then all that was needed was for someone to break a bottle. Or blink.
"We are leaving, Angua," he repeated. The other werewolves were standing up and stretching.
Carrot reached out and took her arm. She turned, snarling. It was over in a fraction of a second, and in reality her head had hardly moved before she got a grip on herself.
"Sor thiz iz the boy?" said the Baroness, her voice slurring. "You betrrray yourrr people for thizz?"
Her ears were lengthening, Vimes was sure. The muscles in her face were moving strangely, too.
"And what else hass Ankh-Morrporrk taught you?"
Angua shuddered. "Self-control," she muttered. "Let"s go, Mister Vimes."
The werewolves closed in as they backed towards the steps.
"Don"t turn your back," said Angua levelly. "Don"t run."
"Don"t need telling," said Vimes. He was watching Wolfgang, who was moving obliquely across the floor, his eyes fixed on the retreating party.
They"ll have to bunch up to follow us through the doorway, he thought. He glanced at Detritus. The giant crossbow was weaving back and forth as the troll tried to keep all the wolves in the field of fire.
"Fire it," said Angua.