Vimes sat and stared. His head felt like some vast sea that had just been parted by a prophet. Where there should have been activity there was just bare sand and the occasional floundering fish. But huge steep waves were tottering on either side, and in a minute they would crash down and cause cities to flood a hundred miles away.
More glass tinkled, somewhere downstairs.
"Sam, Igor"s probably just dropped something," said Sybil, seeing his expression. "That"s all. Probably just knocked over a glass."
There was a snarl and a scream, abruptly cut off.
Vimes leapt off the bed. "Lock the door after me and push the bed against it!" He paused for a moment in the doorway. "Without straining yourself!" he added, and ran for the stairs.
Wolfgang was trotting across the hall.
He was different this time. Wolf ears sprouted from a head that was still human. His hair had grown around him like a mane. Patches of fur were tufted on his skin, and were mostly streaked with blood.
The rest of him... was having trouble deciding what it was. One arm was trying to be a paw.
Vimes reached for his sword and remembered that it was back on the bed. He rummaged in his
pockets. He knew the other thing was here, he remembered picking it up off the dressing table...
His fingers closed on his badge. He held it out.
"Stop! In the name of the law!"
Wolfgang looked up at him, one eye glowing yellow. The other was a mess.
"Hello, Civilized," he growled. "You wait for me, hey?"
He ducked into the corridor that led to the room where Carrot lay. Vimes tried to catch him up, saw claw-tipped fingers curl around the door and haul it out of its frame.
Carrot was reaching for his sword And then Wolfgang was flying backwards under the full weight of Angua. They landed back in the hall, a rolling ball of fur, claws and teeth. ;Exposed what? He is not King, but I will be very surprised if one of his family is not King again, in the fullness of time. What goes around comes around, as the Igors say." The King leaned forward.
"You have been labouring under a misapprehension; I reckon. You think that because Albrecht dislikes Ankh-Morpork and has... oldfashioned ideas, he is a bad dwarf. But I have known him for two hundred years. He is honest and honourable... more so than me, that I"m sure of. Five hundred years ago he would have made a fine king. Today, perhaps not. Perhaps... hah... the axe of my ancestors needs a different handle. But now I am King and he accepts that with all his heart because if he did not, he"d think he wasn"t a dwarf, see? Of course he will now oppose me at every turn. Being Low King was never an easy job. But, to use one of your metaphors, we are all floating in the same boat.
We may certainly try to push one another over the side, but only a maniac like Dee would make a hole in the bottom."
"Corporal Littlebottom thought there"d be a war - " said Vimes weakly.
"Well, there are always hotheads. But while we argue about who steers the boat, we don"t deny that it"s an important voyage. I see you are tired. Let your good lady take you home. But as a nightcap... What is it, your excellency, that Ankh-Morpork wants?"
"Ankh-Morpork wants the names of the murderers," mumbled Vimes.
"No, that is what Commander Vimes wants. What is it that Ankh-Morpork wants? Gold? So often it is gold. Or iron, perhaps? You use a lot of iron."
Vimes blinked. His brain had finally given up. There was nothing left any more. He wasn"t certain he could even stand up.
He remembered a word.
"Fat," he said blankly.
"Aha. The Fifth Elephant. Are you sure? There"s some good iron now. Iron makes you strong. Fat only makes you slippery."
"Fat," parroted Vimes, feeling the darkness closing in. "Lots of fat."
"Well, certainly. The price is ten Ankh-Morpork cents a barrel but, your excellency, since I have come to know you, I feel that perhaps - "
"Five cents a barrel for grade one high-rendered, three cents for grade two, ten cents per barrel for heavy tallow, safe and delivered to Ankh-Morpork," said Sybil. "And all from the Schmaltzberg Bend levels and measured on the Ironcrust scale. I have some doubt about the long-term quality of the Big Tusk wells."
Vimes tried to focus on his wife. She seemed, inexplicably, a long way away. "Wha"?"