Despite his deep distrust of magic, he quite liked the wizards. They didn’t cause trouble. At least, they didn’t cause
his
kind of trouble. True, occasionally they fractured the time/space continuum or took the canoe of reality too close to the white waters of chaos, but they never broke the actual
law
.
“Good morning, Archchancellor,” he said.
Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully, supreme leader of all the wizards in Ankh-Morpork whenever they could be bothered, gave him a cheery nod.
“Good morning, captain,” he said. “I must say you’ve got a nice day for it!”
“Hahaha, a nice day for it!” leered the Bursar.
“Oh dear,” said Ridcully, “he’s off again. Can’t understand the man. Anyone got the dried frog pills?”
It was a complete mystery to Mustrum Ridcully, a man designed by Nature to live outdoors and happily slaughter anything that coughed in the bushes, why the Bursar (a man designed by Nature to sit in a small room somewhere, adding up figures) was so nervous. He’d tried all sorts of things to, as he put it, buck him up. These included practical jokes, surprise early morning runs, and leaping out at him from behind doors while wearing Willie the Vampire masks in order, he said, to take him out of himself.
The service itself was going to be performed by the Dean, who had carefully made one up; there was no official civil marriage service in Ankh-Morpork, other than something approximating to “Oh, all right then, if you really must.” He nodded enthusiastically at Vimes.
“We’ve cleaned our organ especially for the occasion,” he said.
“Hahaha, organ!” said the Bursar.
“And a mighty one it is, as organs go—” Ridcully stopped, and signalled to a couple of student wizards. “Just take the Bursar away and make him lie down for a while, will you?” he said. “I think someone’s been feeding him meat again.”
There was a hiss from the far end of the Great Hall, and then a strangled squeak. Vimes stared at the monstrous array of pipes.
“Got eight students pumping the bellows,” said Ridcully, to a background of wheezes. “It’s got three keyboards and a hundred extra knobs, including twelve with ‘?’ on them.”
“Sounds impossible for a man to play,” said Vimes politely.
“Ah. We had a stroke of luck there—”
There was a moment of sound so loud that the aural nerves shut down. When they opened again, somewhere around the pain threshold, they could just make out the opening and extremely bent bars of Fondel’s “Wedding March”, being played with gusto by someone who’d discovered that the instrument didn’t just have three keyboards but a whole range of special acoustic effects, ranging from Flatulence to Humorous Chicken Squawk. The occasional “oook!” of appreciation could be heard amidst the sonic explosion.
Somewhere under the table, Vimes screamed at Ridcully: “Amazing! Who built it?”
“I don’t know! But it’s got the name B.S. Johnson on the keyboard cover!”
There was a descending wail, one last Hurdy-Gurdy Effect, and then silence.
“Twenty minutes those lads were pumping up the reservoirs,” said Ridcully, dusting himself off as he stood up. “Go easy on the Vox Dei stop, there’s a good chap!”
“Ook!”
The Archchancellor turned back to Vimes, who was wearing the standard waxen pre-nuptial grimace. The hall was filling up quite well now.
“I’m not an expert on this stuff,” he said, “but you’ve got the ring, have you?”
“Yes.”
“Who’s giving away the bride?”
“Her Uncle Lofthouse. He’s a bit gaga, but she insisted.”
“And the best man?”
“What?”
“The best man. You know? He hands you the ring and has to marry the bride if you run away and so on. The Dean’s been reading up on it, haven’t you, Dean?”
“Oh, yes,” said the Dean, who’d spent all the previous day with
Lady Deirdre Waggon’s Book of Etiquette
. “She’s got to marry
someone
once she’s turned up. You can’t have unmarried brides flapping around the place, being a danger to society.”
“I completely forgot about a best man!” said Vimes.
The Librarian, who’d given up on the organ until it had some more puff, brightened up.
“Ook?”
“Well, go and find one,” said Ridcully. “You’ve got nearly half an hour.”
“It’s not as easy as that, is it? They don’t grow on trees!”
“Oook?”
“I can’t think who to ask!”
“
Oook
.”
The Librarian liked being best man. You were allowed to kiss bridesmaids, and they weren’t allowed to run away. He was really disappointed when Vimes ignored him.
Acting-Constable Cuddy climbed laboriously up the steps inside the Tower of Art, grumbling to himself. He knew he couldn’t complain. They’d drawn lots because, Carrot said, you shouldn’t ask the men to do anything you wouldn’t do yourself. And he’d drawn the short straw, harhar, which meant the tallest building. That meant if there was any trouble, he’d miss it.
He paid no attention to the thin rope dangling from the trapdoor far above. Even if he’d thought about it…so what? It was just a rope.
Gaspode looked up into the shadows.
There was a growl from somewhere in the darkness. It was no ordinary dog growl. Early man had heard sounds like that in deep caves.
Gaspode sat down. His tail thumped uncertainly.
“Knew I’d find you sooner or later,” he said. “The old nose, eh? Finest instrument known to dog.”
There was another growl. Gaspode whimpered a bit.
“The thing is,” he said, “the thing is…the actual thing is, see…the thing what I’ve been sent to do…”
Late man heard sounds like that, too. Just before he became late.
“I can see you…don’t want to talk right now,” said Gaspode. “But the thing is…now, I know what you’re thinking, is this
Gaspode
obeyin’ orders from a
human
?”
Gaspode looked conspiratorially over his shoulder, as if there could be anything worse than what was in front of him.
“That’s the whole mess about being a dog, see?” he said. “That’s the thing what Big Fido can’t get his mind around, see? You looked at the dogs in the Guild, right? You heard ’em howl. Oh, yes, Death To The Humans, All
Right
. But under all that there’s the
fear
. There’s the voice sayin’: Bad Dog. And it don’t come from anywhere but inside, right from inside the bones, ’cos humans made dogs. I knows this. I wish I didn’t, but there it is. That’s the Power, knowin’. I’ve read books, I have. Well, chewed books.”
The darkness was silent.
“And you’re a wolf and human at the same time, right? Tricky, that. I can see that. Bit of a dichotomy, sort of thing. Makes you kind of like a dog. ’Cos that’s what a dog is, really. Half a wolf and half a human. You were right about that. We’ve even got names. Hah! So our bodies tell us one thing, our heads tell us another. It’s a dog’s life, being a dog. And I bet
you
can’t run away from
him
. Not really. He’s your master.”
The darkness was more silent. Gaspode thought he heard movement.
“He wants you to come back. The thing is, if he finds you, that’s it. He’ll speak, and you’ll have to obey. But if you goes back of your own accord, then it’s
your
decision. You’d be happier as a human. I mean, what can I offer you except rats and a choice of fleas? I mean, I don’t know, I don’t see it as much of a problem, you just have to stay indoors six or seven nights every month—”
Angua howled.
The hairs that still remained on Gaspode’s back stood on end. He tried to remember which was his jugular vein.
“I don’t want to have to come in there and get you,” he said. Truth rang on every word.
“The thing is…the actual
thing
is…I will, though,” he added, trembling. “It’s a bugger, bein’ a dog.”
He thought some more, and sighed.
“Oh, I remember. It’s the one in the throat,” he said.
Vimes stepped out into the sunlight, except that there wasn’t much of it. Clouds were blowing in from the Hub. And—
“Detritus?”
Dink
. “Captain Vimes,
sah
!”
“Who’re all these people?”
“Watchmen, sir.”
Vimes stared in puzzlement at the half-dozen assorted guards.
“Who’re you?”
“Lance-Constable Hrolf Pyjama, sir.”
“And
y—Coalface
?”
“I never done nuffin.”
“I never done nuffin,
sah
!” yelled Detritus.
“
Coalface
? In the
Watch
?”
Dink
. “Corporal Carrot says there’s some good buried somewhere in everyone,” said Detritus.
“And what’s your job, Detritus?”
Dink
. “Engineer in charge of deep mining operations, sah!”
Vimes scratched his head.
“That was very nearly a joke, wasn’t it?” he said.
“It this new helmet my mate Cuddy made me, sir. Hah! People can’t say, there go stupid troll. They have to say, who that good-looking military troll there, acting-constable already, great future behind him, he got Destiny written all over him like writing.”
Vimes digested this. Detritus beamed at him.
“And where is Sergeant Colon?”
“Here, Captain Vimes.”
“I need a best man, Fred.”
“Right, sir. I’ll get Corporal Carrot. He’s just checking the roofs—”
“Fred! I’ve known you more than twenty years! Good grief, all you have to do is stand there. Fred, you’re
good
at that!”
Carrot appeared at the trot.
“Sorry I’m late, Captain Vimes. Er. We really wanted this to be a surprise—”
“What? What sort of surprise?”
Carrot fished in his pouch. “Well, captain…on behalf of the Watch…that is, most of the Watch—”
“Hold on a minute,” said Colon, “here comes his lordship.”
The clop of hooves and the rattle of harness signalled the approach of Lord Vetinari’s carriage.
Carrot glanced around at it. Then he looked at it again. And looked up.
There was a glint of metal, on the roof of the Tower.
“Sergeant, who’s on the Tower?” he said.
“Cuddy, sir.”
“Oh. Right.” He coughed. “Anyway, captain…we all clubbed together and—” He paused. “Acting-Constable Cuddy, right?”
“Yeah. He’s reliable.”
The Patrician’s carriage was halfway toward Sator Square now. Carrot could see the thin dark figure in the back seat.
He glanced up at the great grey bulk of the tower.
He started to run.
“What’s up?” said Colon. Vimes started to run, too.
Detritus’ knuckles hit the ground as he swung after the others.
And then it hit Colon—a sort of frantic tingle, as though someone had blown on his naked brain.
“Oh, shit,” he said, under his breath.
Claws scrabbled on the dirt.
“
He drew his sword
!”
“What did you expect? One minute the lad is on top of the world, he’s got a whole new interest in his life, something probably even better than goin’ for walks, and then he turns round and what he sees is, basically, a wolf. You could of hinted. It’s that time of the month, that sort of thing. You can’t blame him for being surprised, really.”
Gaspode got to his feet. “Now, are you going to come on out or have I got to come in there and be brutally savaged?”
Lord Vetinari stood up as he saw the Watch running toward him. That was why the first shot went through his thigh, instead of his chest.
Then Carrot cleared the door of the carriage and flung himself across the man, which is why the next shot went through Carrot.
Angua slunk out.
Gaspode relaxed slightly.
“I can’t go back,” said Angua. “I—”
She froze. Her ears twitched.
“What? What?”
“He’s been hurt!”
Angua sprang away.
“Here! Wait for me!” barked Gaspode. “That’s the Shades that way!”
A third shot knocked a chip out of Detritus, who slammed into the carriage, knocking it on its side and severing the traces. The horses scrambled away. The coachman had already made a lightning comparison between current job conditions and his rates of pay and had vanished into the crowd.
Vimes slid to a halt behind the overturned carriage. Another shot spanged off the cobbles near his arm.
“Detritus?”
“Sir?”
“How are you?”
“Oozing a bit, sir.”
A shot hit the carriage wheel above Vimes’ head, making it spin.
“Carrot?”
“Right through my shoulder, sir.”
Vimes eased himself along on his elbows.
“Good morning, your lordship,” he said, manically. He leaned back and pulled out a mangled cigar. “Got a light?”
The Patrician opened his eyes.
“Ah, Captain Vimes. And what happens now?”
Vimes grinned. Funny, he thought, how I never feel really alive until someone tries to kill me. That’s when you notice that the sky is blue. Actually, not very blue right now. There’s big clouds up there. But I’m noticing them.
“We wait for one more shot,” he said. “And then we run for proper cover.”
“I appear…to be losing a lot of blood,” said Lord Vetinari.
“Who would have thought you had it in you,” said Vimes, with the frankness of those probably about to die. “What about you, Carrot?”
“I can move my hand. Hurts like…heck, sir. But you look worse.”
Vimes looked down.
There was blood all over his coat.
“A bit of stone must have caught me,” he said. “I didn’t even feel it!”
He tried to form a mental picture of the gonne.
Six tubes, all in a line. Each one with its lead slug and charge of No.1 powder, delivered into the gonne like crossbow bolts. He wondered how long it’d take to put in another six…
But we’ve got him where we want him! There’s only one way down out of the Tower!
Yep, we might be sitting out here in the open with him shooting lead pellets at us, but we’ve got him just where we want him!
Wheezing and farting nervously, Gaspode moved at a shambling run through the Shades and saw, with a heart that sank even further, a knot of dogs ahead of him.