Part 43 (1/2)
”Ankh-Morpork! Mister Civilized! Where are your weapons now, Ankh-Morpork?”
It was Wolfgang's voice. Vimes peered around the snowdrifts, which were already filling up with violet shadows as the afternoon died.
”I got two of you!” he shouted.
”Yes, they will have big headaches later on! We are werewolves werewolves, Ankh-Morpork! Quite hard to stop!”
”You said that you-”
”Your Mister Sleeps could run much faster than you, Ankh-Morpork!”
”Fast enough?”
”No! And the man with the little black hat could fight fight better than you, too!” better than you, too!”
”Well enough?”
”No!” shouted Wolfgang cheerfully.
Vimes growled. Even a.s.sa.s.sins didn't deserve that kind of death.
”It'll be sunset soon!” he shouted.
”Yes! I lied about the sunset!”
”Well, wake me up at dawn, then. I could do with the sleep!”
”You will freeze to death, Civilized Man!”
”Good!” Vimes looked around at the other trees. Even if he could jump to one, they were all conifers, painful to land in and easy to fall out of.
”Ah, this must be the famous Ankh-Morpork sense of humor, yes?”
”No, that was just irony,” Vimes shouted, still looking for an arboreal escape route. ”You'll know when we've got onto the famous Ankh-Morpork sense of humor when I start talking about b.r.e.a.s.t.s and farting!”
So what were his options? Well, he could stay in the tree, and die, or run for it, and die. Of the two, dying in one piece seemed better.
YOU'RE DOING VERY WELL FOR A MAN OF YOUR AGE.
Death was sitting on a higher branch of the tree.
”Are you following me, or what?”
ARE YOU FAMILIAR WITH THE PHRASE 'D 'DEATH WAS HIS CONSTANT COMPANION'?
”But I don't usually see see you!” you!”
POSSIBLY YOU ARE IN A STATE OF HEIGHTENED AWARENESS CAUSED BY LACK OF FOOD, SLEEP AND BLOOD?.
”Are you going to help me?”
WELL...YES.
”When?”
ER...WHEN THE PAIN IS TOO MUCH TO BEAR. Death hesitated, and then went on, EVEN AS I I SAY IT SAY IT I I REALIZE THAT THIS ISN'T THE ANSWER YOU WERE LOOKING FOR, HOWEVER REALIZE THAT THIS ISN'T THE ANSWER YOU WERE LOOKING FOR, HOWEVER.
The sun was near the horizon now, getting big and red.
Racing the sun...that was another Uberwald sport, wasn't it? Be home safe before the sun sets.
Half a mile or more, through deep snow in rising ground...
Someone was climbing up the tree. He felt it shake. He looked down. In the cold blue gloom, a naked man was quietly pulling himself from branch to branch.
Vimes was enraged. They weren't supposed to do this!
There was a grunt from below as the climber slipped and recovered on the greasy wood.
HOW ARE YOU FEELING, IN YOURSELF?.
”Shut up up! Even if you are are a hallucination!” a hallucination!”
There must be something something about werewolves he could use... about werewolves he could use...
You have a second's grace when they were changing shape, but they knew he knew that...
No weapons. That's what he'd noticed in the castle. You always always got weapons in castles. Spears, battleaxes, ridiculous suits of armor, huge old swords...Even the vampire had a few rapiers on the walls. That was because, sometimes, even vampires had to use a weapon. got weapons in castles. Spears, battleaxes, ridiculous suits of armor, huge old swords...Even the vampire had a few rapiers on the walls. That was because, sometimes, even vampires had to use a weapon.
Werewolves didn't. Even Angua hesitated before reaching for a sword. To a werewolf, a physical weapon would always be the second second choice. choice.
Vimes locked his legs together and swung around the branch as the werewolf came up. He caught it a blow on the ear and, as it looked up, managed another blow right on the nose.
It gave him a ringing slap and that would have ended it, except that it also pulled itself a little farther up the tree and brought itself in the range of the Vimes Elbow.
It justified the capital letter. It had triumphed in a number of street fights. Vimes had learned early on in his career that the graveyards were full of people who'd read the Marquis of Fantailler. The whole idea idea of fighting was to stop the other bloke hitting you as soon as possible. It wasn't to earn of fighting was to stop the other bloke hitting you as soon as possible. It wasn't to earn marks. marks. Vimes had often fought in circ.u.mstances where being able to use the hands freely was a luxury, but it was amazing how a well-placed elbow could make a point, possibly a.s.sisted by a knee. Vimes had often fought in circ.u.mstances where being able to use the hands freely was a luxury, but it was amazing how a well-placed elbow could make a point, possibly a.s.sisted by a knee.
He drove it into the werewolf's throat, and was rewarded with a horrible noise. Then he grabbed a handful of hair and pulled, let go and slammed the palm of his hand into its face in a mad attempt to prevent it having a second to think. He couldn't allow that-he could see the size of the man's muscles.
The werewolf reacted, instead.
There was that sudden moment of morphological inexact.i.tude. A nose turned into a muzzle while Vimes's fist was en route, but when the wolf opened its mouth to lunge at him two things occurred to it.
One was that it was high in a tree, not a tenable position for a shape designed for fast-paced living on the ground. The other was gravity.
”Down there it's the lore,” Vimes panted, as its paws scrabbled for purchase on the greasy branch, ”But up here it's me me.”
He reached up, grabbed the branch above him, and kicked down with his feet.
There was a yelp, and another yelp as the wolf slid and hit the next branch down.