The Fifth Elephant

Lady Sybil.
    Carrot turned at the sound of Vimes’s snort of laughter.
    “Sir?”
    “Oh, nothing, Captain. Keep your eyes on the bastards, will you? We can deal with the soldiers later.”
    “Just say the word, sir,” said Detritus.
    “You arrre trrapped now,” snarled the baroness. “Watchman! Do yourr duty!”
    A figure was walking across the bridge, carrying a torch.
    Captain Tantony reached Vimes, and glared at him.
    “Stand aside, sir,” he said. “Stand aside, or by gods, ambassador or not, I’ll arrest you!”
    Their eyes met.
    Then Vimes looked away.
    “Let’s let him through,” he said. “The man’s decided he’s got a duty to do.”
    Tantony nodded slightly, and then marched on across to the bridge until he was a few feet from the baroness. He saluted.
    “Take these people away!” she said.
    “Lady Serafine von Uberwald?” said Tantony woodenly.
    “You know who I am, man!”
    “I wish to talk to you concerning certain charges made in my presence.”
    Vimes closed his eyes. Oh, you poor dumb idiot…I didn’t mean you to actually—
    “You what ?” said the baroness.
    “It has been alleged, my lady, that a member or members of your family have been involved in a conspiracy to—”
    “How darrre you!” screamed Serafine.
    And Wolfgang leapt, and the future became a series of flickering images.
    In midair he changed into the wolf.
    Vimes grabbed the bottom of Detritus’s bow and forced it upward at the same time as the troll pulled the trigger.
    Carrot was running before Wolfgang landed on Captain Tantony’s chest.
    The sound of the bow echoed around the castle, above the noise of a thousand whirring fragments scything through the sky.
    Carrot reached Wolfgang in a flat dive. He hit the wolf with his shoulder, and the two of them were bowled over.
    Then, like some moving magic lantern show coming back up to speed, the scene exploded.
    Carrot got to his feet and—
    It must be because we’re abroad, thought Vimes. He’s trying to do things properly .
    He’d squared up to the werewolf, fists balled, a stance taken straight from Fig. 1 of The Noble Art of Fisticuffs , which looked impressive right up to the point when your opponent broke your nose with a quart mug.
    Carrot had a punch like an iron bar, and landed a couple of heavy blows on Wolfgang as he got up. The werewolf seemed more puzzled than hurt.
    Then he changed shape, caught a fist in both hands and gripped it hard. To Vimes’s horror he stepped forward, without apparent effort, forcing Carrot back.
    “Do not try anything, Angua,” said Wolf, grinning happily. “Or else I will break his arm. Oh, perhaps I will break his arm anyway! Yes!”
    Vimes even heard the crack. Carrot went white. Someone holding a broken arm has all the control they need. Another idiot, thought Vimes. When they’re down you don’t let them get back up! Damn the Marquis of Fantailler! Policing by consent was a good theory, but you had to get your opponent to lie still first.
    “Ah! And he has other bones!” said Wolfgang, pushing Carrot away. He glanced toward Angua. “Get back, get back. Or I’ll hurt him some more! No, I shall hurt him some more anyway !”
    Then Carrot kicked him in the stomach.
    Wolfgang went over backward, but turned this into a backflip and a midair spin. He landed lightly, leapt back at the astonished Carrot, and punched him twice in the chest.
    The blows sounded like shovels hitting wet concrete.
    He grabbed the falling man, lifted him over his head with one hand and hurled him down onto the bridge in front of Angua.
    “Civilized man!” he shouted. “Here he is, sister!”
    Vimes heard a sound down beside him. Gavin was watching intently, making urgent little noises in his throat. A tiny part of Vimes, the little rock hard core of cynicism, thought: All right for you, then.
    Steam was rising off Wolfgang. He shone in the torchlight. The blond hair across his shoulders gleamed like a slipped halo.
    Angua knelt down by the body, face impassive. Vimes had been expecting a scream of rage.
    He heard her crying.
    Beside Vimes, Gavin whined. Vimes stared down at the wolf. He looked at Angua, trying to lift Carrot, and then he looked at Wolfgang. And then back again.
    “Anyone else?” said Wolfgang, dancing back and forth on the boards. “How about you, Civilized?”
    “Sam!” hissed Sybil. “You can’t—”
    Vimes drew his sword. It wouldn’t make any difference, now. Wolfgang wasn’t playing now, he