Discworld - The Fifth Elephant Part 42

Wolf took a deep breath. The other werewolves, sensing what was going to happen, looked away. There was a moment of struggling shapelessness, and then he was rising slowly on two feet, blinking in the dawn of humanity.

That's interesting, thought Vimes, up on the gallery. For a second or two after Changing, they're not entirely up on current events...

"Oh, Your Grace," said Wolf, looking around. "A trap trap? How very...civilized."

He caught site of Vimes, who was standing on the higher floor, by the window.

"What was it supposed to do, Your Grace?"

Vimes reached down to the oil lamp.

"It was supposed to be a decoy," he said.

He hurled the lamp down onto the dry hay, and flicked his cigar after it. Then he grabbed the ax and climbed through the window just as the spilled fat oil whump whump ed. ed.

Vimes dropped into the deep snow and ran toward the boathouse.

There were other tracks leading to it, not human. When he reached the door he swung wildly at the darkness just inside, and his reward was a cut-off yelp.

The skiff that was housed in the tumbledown shed was a quarter full of dark water, but he didn't dare think about bailing yet. He grabbed the dusty oars and rowed with considered effort and not much speed out onto the river.

He groaned. Wolf was trotting across the snow, with the rest of the pack behind him. They all seemed to be there.

Wolf cupped his hands.

"Very civilized, Your Grace! But, you see, when you set fire to a barn full of wolves, they panic, Your Grace! But when they're werewolves, one of them just opens the door! You cannot kill kill werewolves, Mister Vimes!" werewolves, Mister Vimes!"

"Tell that to the one in the boathouse!" Vimes shouted, as the current took the boat.

Wolf looked into the shadows for a moment, and then cupped his hands again.

"He will will recover, Mister Vimes!" recover, Mister Vimes!"

Vimes swore under his breath, because despite all his hopes a couple of werewolves had plunged into the water upstream and were swimming strongly toward the opposite bank. But that was another another doggy thing, wasn't it? Leap joyfully into any water outdoors, but fight like h.e.l.l against a tub. doggy thing, wasn't it? Leap joyfully into any water outdoors, but fight like h.e.l.l against a tub.

Wolfgang had started to trot along the bank. The ones in the water emerged on the far far bank. Now they were keeping pace with the boat on both sides. bank. Now they were keeping pace with the boat on both sides.

The current was carrying him faster now. Vimes started to bail with both hands.

"You can't outrun the river, Wolf!" he shouted.

"We don't have to, Mister Vimes! That is not the question! The question is, can you outswim the waterfall? See you later, Civilized!"

Vimes looked around. In the distance, the river ahead had a foreshortened look. When he concentrated, the inner ear of terror could hear a distant roaring.

He s.n.a.t.c.hed the oars again and tried to row upstream and, yes, it was possible to make headway against the current. But he couldn't keep rowing faster than wolves could run, and taking on two at once on the sh.o.r.e, when they were ready and waiting for him, was not an option.

If he went over the falls now, he might get to the bottom before they did.

That wasn't a good sentence, however he tried it.

He took his hands off the oars and pulled in the mooring rope. If I make a couple of loops, he thought, I can strap the ax onto my back- He had a mental picture of what could happen to a man who plunged into the cauldron below a waterfall with a sharp piece of metal attached to his body- GOOD MORNING.

Vimes blinked. A tall dark-robed figure was now sitting in the boat.

"Are you Death?"

IT'S THE SCYTHE, ISN'T IT. PEOPLE ALWAYS NOTICE THE SCYTHE.

"I'm going to die?"

POSSIBLY.

"Possibly? You turn up when people are You turn up when people are possibly possibly going to die?" going to die?"

OH YES. IT'S QUITE THE NEW THING. IT'S BECAUSE OF THE UNCERTAINTY PRINCIPLE.

"What's that?"

I'M NOT SURE.

"That's very helpful."

I THINK IT MEANS PEOPLE MAY OR MAY NOT DIE THINK IT MEANS PEOPLE MAY OR MAY NOT DIE. I HAVE TO SAY IT'S PLAYING HOB WITH MY SCHEDULE, BUT HAVE TO SAY IT'S PLAYING HOB WITH MY SCHEDULE, BUT I I TRY TO KEEP UP WITH MODERN THOUGHT TRY TO KEEP UP WITH MODERN THOUGHT.

The roar was a lot louder now. Vimes lay back in the boat and gripped the sides.

I'm talking to Death, he thought, to take my mind off things.

"Didn't I see you last month? I was chasing Bigger-than-Small-Dave Dave along Peach Pie Street and I fell off that ledge?"

THAT IS CORRECT.

"But I landed on that cart. I didn't die!"

BUT YOU MIGHT MIGHT HAVE HAVE.

"But I thought we all had some kind of hourgla.s.s thing that said when when we going to die?" we going to die?"

Now the roar was almost physical. Vimes redoubled his grip on the boat.

OH YES. YOU DO, said Death.

"But we might not?"

NO. YOU WILL. THERE IS NO DOUBT ABOUT THAT.

"But you said-"

YES, IT IS A BIT HARD TO UNDERSTAND, ISN'T IT? APPARENTLY THERE' S THIS THING CALLED THE T TROUSERS OF T TIME, WHICH IS QUITE ODD, BECAUSE T TIME CERTAINLY DOESN'T- The boat went over the waterfall.

Vimes had a thunderous sensation of pounding, thudding water, followed by the echoing ringing in his ears as he hit the pool below. He fought his way to what pa.s.sed for the surface and felt the current take him, slam him into a rock and then roll him away in the white water.

He flailed blindly and caught another rock, his body swinging around into a pool of comparative calm. As he fought for breath he saw a gray shape leaping from stone to stone and then another dose of h.e.l.l was unleashed as it landed, snarling, beside him.

He grabbed it desperately and hung on as it struggled to bite him. Then a paw flailed to gain purchase on the slippery stone and then, in sudden difficulties, responding automatically...it Changed... Changed...

It was as if the wolf shape became small and a man shape became bigger, in the same s.p.a.ce, at the same time, with a moment of horrible distortion as the two forms pa.s.sed through one another.

And then there was that moment he'd noticed before, a second of confusion- It was just long enough to ram the man's head against the rock with every ounce of strength he could sc.r.a.pe together. Vimes thought he heard a crack.

He pushed himself back out into the current and let it carry him on, while he simply struggled to stay near the surface. There was blood in the water.

He'd never killed someone with his bare hands before. Truth to tell, he'd never deliberately killed at all. There had been deaths, because when people are rolling down a roof and trying to strangle one another, it's sheer luck who is on top when they hit the ground. But that was different. different. He went to bed every night believing that. He went to bed every night believing that.

His teeth were chattering and the bright sun made his eyes ache, but he felt...good.

He wanted to beat his chest and scream, in fact.

They'd been trying to kill kill him! him!

Make them stay wolves, said a little inner voice. The more time they spent on four legs, the less bright they'd become.

A deeper voice, red and raw, from much, much further inside, said: Kill 'em all!

The rage was boiling up now, fighting against the chill.

His feet touched bottom.

The river was broadening here, into something wide enough to be called a lake. A wide ledge of ice had crept out from the bank, covered here and there with blown snow. Fog drifted across it, fog with a sulfurous smell.

There were still cliffs on the far side of the river. One solitary werewolf, companion to the one now drifting on the current, was watching him from the nearest bank.

Clouds were sliding across the sun and snow was falling again, in large, raggedy flakes.

Vimes waded to the rim of ice and tried to pull himself up out of the water, but it creaked ominously under his weight and cracks zigzagged across its surface.

The wolf came closer, moving with caution. Vimes made another desperate attempt; a slab of ice came free and tipped up, and he disappeared under the water.

The creature waited a few moments and then inched farther out over the ice, growling as fine cracks spread out like stars under its paws.

A shadow moved in the shallow water below it. There was an explosion of water and breath as Vimes broke through the ice under the werewolf, grabbed it around the waist, and fell back.

A claw ripped along Vimes's side, but he gripped as hard as he could with arms and legs as they rolled under the ice. It was a desperate test of lung capacity, he knew. But he he wasn't the one who'd just had the air squeezed out of him. He held on, while the water clanged in his ears and the thing scrabbled and scratched at him and then, when there was nothing else left but to let go or drown, he punched his way up to the air. wasn't the one who'd just had the air squeezed out of him. He held on, while the water clanged in his ears and the thing scrabbled and scratched at him and then, when there was nothing else left but to let go or drown, he punched his way up to the air.

Nothing lashed at him. He cracked his way through the ice to the bank, dropped on his hands and knees, and threw up.

Howling started, all around the mountains.

Vimes looked up. Blood was coursing down his arms. The air stank of rotten eggs.

And there, high on a hill a mile or so off, was the clacks tower.

...with its stone walls and door that could be bolted...

He stumbled forward.

The snow underfoot was already giving way to coa.r.s.e gra.s.s and moss. The air was hotter now, but it was the clammy heat of a fever. And then he looked around, and realized where he was.

There was bare dirt and rock in front of him, but here and there parts of it were moving and going blup blup.

Everywhere he looked, there were fat geysers. Rings of ancient, congealed, yellow fat, so old and rancid that even Sam Vimes wouldn't dip his toast in it unless he was really hungry, encircled sizzling little pools. There were even black floating bits, which on a second glance turned out to be insects that were slow learners in a hot fat situation.

Vimes recalled something Igor had said. Sometimes, dwarfs working the high strata, where the fat had congealed into a kind of tallow millennia ago, dwarfs occasionally found strange ancient animals, perfectly preserved but fried to a crisp.

Probably...Vimes found himself laughing, out of sheer exhaustion...probably battered to death.

Mwahahaa.

The snow was heavy now, making the fat pools spit.

He sagged to his knees. He ached all over. It wasn't just that his brain was writing checks that his body couldn't cash. It had gone beyond that. Now his feet were borrowing money that his legs hadn't got, and his back muscles were looking for loose change under the sofa cushions.

And still nothing was coming up behind him. Surely they must've crossed the river by now?

Then he saw one. He could have sworn it hadn't been there a moment ago. Another one trotted out from behind a nearby snowdrift.

They sat watching him.

"Come on, then!" Vimes yelled. "What are you waiting for?"

The pools of fat hissed and bubbled around Vimes. It was warm here, though. If they weren't going to move, then neither was he.

He focused on a tree on the edge of the fat geysers. It looked barely alive, with greasy splashes on the end of the longer branches, but it also looked climbable. He concentrated on it, tried to estimate the distance and whatever speed he might be capable of.

The werewolves turned to look at it, too.

Another one had entered the clearing at a different point. There were three watching him now.

They weren't going to run until he ran, he realized. Otherwise it wouldn't be fun. fun.

He shrugged, turned away from the tree...and then turned back and ran. By the time he was halfway there he was afraid his heart was going to climb up his throat, but he ran on, jumped awkwardly, caught a low branch, slipped, struggled gasping to his feet, grabbed the branch again and managed to pull himself up, expecting at every second the first tiny puncture as teeth broke his skin...

He rocked on the greasy wood. The werewolves hadn't moved, but they were watching him with interest.

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.ds b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," Vimes growled.

They got up and picked their way carefully toward the tree, without hurrying. Vimes climbed a little farther up the tree.