Part 53 (1/2)
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.
”h.e.l.lo, 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 backward under the full weight of Angua. They landed back in the hall, a rolling ball of fur, claws and teeth.
When werewolf fights werewolf, there are advantages to either shape. It's an eternal struggle to get a position where hands beat claws. And body shapes have lives of their own, a dangerous attribute if it is allowed to act unchecked. A cat's instinct is to jump on something that moves, but this is not a correct action if what is moving has a fizzing fuse. The mind has to fight its own body for control and the other body for survival. Mix this together, and the noise suggests that there are four creatures in the whirling ball of rage. And each one of them has brought several friends. And none of them like any of the others.
A shadow made Vimes spin around. Detritus, in s.h.i.+ning armor, was aiming the Piecemaker over the banisters.
”Sergeant! No! You'll hit Angua, too!”
”Not a problem, sir,” said Detritus. ”'cos it won't kill 'em, so all we have to do, see, is sort out der bits that are Wolfgang an' belt him over der head when he gets himself back together-”
”If you fire that in here his bits will be mixed up with our bits and they won't be big big bits! Put the d.a.m.n thing bits! Put the d.a.m.n thing down down!”
Wolfgang couldn't control his shape well, Vimes saw. He couldn't quite manage to be full wolf or full human, and Angua was making the most of that. She was ducking, weaving...biting.
But even if you put him down you couldn't put him out.
”Mister Vimes!” Now it was Cheery, beckoning urgently from the pa.s.sage that led to the kitchen. ”You ought to come here right now!”
She was white-faced. Vimes nudged Detritus. ”If they separate, just grab him, right? Just try to hold him still!”
Igor was lying in the kitchen, surrounded by broken gla.s.s. Wolfgang must have landed on him, and then took out his perpetual anger on a soft target. The patchwork man was bleeding heavily and lay like a doll that had been flung hard against a wall.
”Marthter,” he groaned.
”Can you do anything for him, Cheery?”
”I wouldn't know where to start start, sir!”
”Marthter, you got to remember thith, right?” Igor groaned.
”Er...yes...what?”
”You got to get me into the icehouthe downthtairth and let Igor know, underthtand?”
”Which Igor?” said Vimes desperately.
”Any Igor!” Igor clutched at Vimes's sleeve. ”Me heart'th had it, but me liver'th right ath ninepence, tell him! Nothing wrong with my brain that a good bolt of lightnin' won't sort out. Then Igor can have me right hand, he'th got a cuthtomer waiting. There's yearth of good thervice left in my lower intethtine. Left eye not up to much, but I darethay thome poor thoul can find a uthe for it. The right knee ith nearly new. Old M'th Prodzky down the road would value my hip jointh, tell him. Got all that?”
”Yes...yes, I think so.”
”Right. Remember...what goeth around, cometh around...”
Igor sank down.
”He's gone, sir,” said Cheery.
But he'll soon be up and on someone else's feet, Vimes thought. He didn't say it aloud. Cheery was softhearted. Instead he said: ”Can you get him into his icehouse? By the sound of it Angua's winning-”
He ran back into the hall. It was a wreck. As he arrived Angua managed to get a headlock on Wolfgang and ran him into a wooden pillar. He staggered, and she spun and scythed his legs from under him with a kick.
I taught her that, Vimes thought, as her brother landed heavily. Some of that dirty fighting-that's Ankh-Morpork Ankh-Morpork fighting, that is. fighting, that is.
But Wolfgang was up again like a rubber ball and somersaulting over her head. That brought him to the front door. He smashed it open with a blow and leapt out into the street.
And...that was it. A room full of debris, snowflakes blowing in, and Angua sobbing on the floor.
He picked her up. She was bleeding in a dozen places. That was as much of a diagnosis as Sam Vimes, not used these days to surveying naked young women at close quarters, thought he could decently attempt.
”It's all right, he's gone,” he said, because he had to say something.
”It's not not all right! He'll lie low for a while and then he'll be back! I all right! He'll lie low for a while and then he'll be back! I know know him! It won't matter where we go! You've him! It won't matter where we go! You've seen seen him! He'll just track us down and follow us and then he'll kill Carrot!” him! He'll just track us down and follow us and then he'll kill Carrot!”
”Why?”
”Because Carrot's mine!”
Sybil advanced down the stairs, carrying Vimes's crossbow.
”Oh, you poor thing...” she said. ”Come here, let's find something to cover you up. Sam, isn't there something you can do?”
Vimes stared at her. Built into Sybil's expression was the unquestioning a.s.sumption that he could could do something. do something.
An hour ago he'd been having breakfast. Ten minutes ago he'd been putting on this stupid uniform. In a real room, with his wife. And it had been a real world, with a real future. And suddenly the dark was back, spattered with red rage.
And if he gave in to it, he'd lose. That was the beast screaming, inside, and Wolfgang was a better beast. Vimes knew he didn't have the knack, the mindless, driving nastiness; sooner or later his brain would start operating, and kill him.
Perhaps, said his brain, you start start by using me... by using me...