"Is there something wrong?"

"I'm not...sure," said Vimes, who was sure. He stepped down and nodded to Igor.

"I'm going to have a look inside," he said. "If there is any...trouble, you're to get Lady Sybil back to the emba.s.sy, all right?"

Vimes leaned back into the coach and, trying not to look at Sybil, lifted up one of the seats and pulled out the sword he had hidden there.

"Sam!" she said, accusingly.

"Sorry, dear. I thought I ought to carry a spare..."

There was a bellpull by the door of the tower. Vimes tugged at it, and heard a clang somewhere above.

When nothing else happened, he tried the door. It swung open.

"h.e.l.lo?"

There was silence.

"This is the Wa-" Vimes stopped. It wasn't the Watch, was it. Not out here. The badge didn't work. He was just an inquisitive trespa.s.sing b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

"Anyone there?"

The room was piled high with sacks, boxes and barrels. A wooden stairway led up to the next floor. Vimes climbed up into a combined bedroom and mess room; there were only two bunks, their covers pulled back.

A chair was on the floor. A meal was on the table, knife and fork laid down carefully. On the stove something had boiled dry in an iron pot. Vimes opened the firebox door, and there was a whoomph whoomph as the inrushing air rekindled the charred wood. as the inrushing air rekindled the charred wood.

And, from above, the c.h.i.n.k c.h.i.n.k of metal. of metal.

He looked at the ladder and trapdoor to the next floor. Anyone climbing it would be presenting their head at a convenient height for a blade or a boot- "Tricky, isn't it, Your Grace," said someone above him. "You'd better come up. Mmm, mhm."

"Inigo?"

"It's safe enough, Your Grace. There's only me here. Mmm."

"That counts as safe, does it?"

Vimes climbed the ladder. Inigo was sitting at a table, leafing through a stack of papers.

"Where's the crew?"

"That, Your Grace," said Inigo, "is one of the mysteries, mmm, mmm."

"And the others are-?"

Inigo nodded toward the steps leading upward. "See for yourself."

The controls for the arms had been comprehensively smashed. Laths and bits of wire dangled forlornly from their complex framework.

"Several hours of repair work for skilled men, I'd say," said Inigo, as Vimes returned.

"What happened here, Inigo?"

"I would say the men who lived here were forced to leave, mmm, mhm. In some disorder."

"But it's a fortified tower!"

"So? They have to cut firewood. Oh, the company has rules, and then they put three young men in some lonely tower for weeks at a time and they expect them to act like clockwork people. See the trapdoor up to the controls? That should be locked at all times. Now you, Your Grace, and myself as well, because we are...are-"

"-b.a.s.t.a.r.ds?" Vimes supplied.

"Well, yes...mmm...we'd have devised a system that meant the clacks couldn't even be operated unless the trapdoor was shut, wouldn't we?"

"Something like that, yes."

"And we'd have written into the rules that the presence of any any visitor in the tower would, mhm, be automatically transmitted to the neighboring towers, too." visitor in the tower would, mhm, be automatically transmitted to the neighboring towers, too."

"Probably. That'd be a start."

"As it is, I suspect that any harmless-looking visitor with a nice fresh apple pie for the lads would be warmly welcomed," sighed Inigo. "They do two-month shifts at a time. Nothing to look at but trees, mmm."

"No blood, not much sign of a struggle," said Vimes. "Have you checked outside?"

"There should be a horse in the stable. It's gone. We're more or less on rock here. There's wolf tracks, but there's wolf tracks everywhere around here. And the wind's blown the snow. They've...gone, Your Grace."

"Are you sure sure the men let someone in through the door?" Vimes said. "Anyone who could land on the platform could be in one of these windows in an instant." the men let someone in through the door?" Vimes said. "Anyone who could land on the platform could be in one of these windows in an instant."

"A vampire, mmm?"

"It's a thought, isn't it."

"There's no blood around..."

"It's a shame to waste good food," said Vimes. "Think of those poor starving children in Muntab. What are these these?"

He pulled a box from under the lower bunk. Inside it were two long tubes, about a foot long, open at one end.

"'Badger and Normal, Ankh-Morpork'" he read aloud, "'Mortar Flare (Red). Light Fuse. Do Not Place In Mouth.' It's a firework, Mister Skimmer. I've seen them on ships."

"Ah, there was something..." Inigo leafed through the book on the table. "They could send up an emergency flare if there's a big problem. Yes...the tower nearest Ankh-Morpork will send out a couple of men and a bigger squad comes up from the depot down on the plains. They take a downed tower very seriously."

"Yes, well, it could cost them money," said Vimes, peering into the mouth of the mortar. "We need this tower working, Inigo. I don't like being stuck out here."

"The roads aren't too bad yet. They could be here by tomorrow evening-I'm sure you shouldn't do that, sir!"

Vimes had pulled the mortar out of its tube. He looked at Inigo quizzically.

"They won't go off until you light the charge in the base," he said. "They're safe. And they'd make a stupid weapon, 'cos you can't aim them worth a d.a.m.n and they're only made of cardboard in any case. Come on, let's get it onto the roof."

"Not until dark, Your Grace, mmm. That way two or three towers on each side will see it, not just the closest."

"But the closest towers are watching they'll certainly see-"

"We don't know that there is anyone there to watch, sir. Perhaps what happened here has happened there, too? Mmm?"

"Good grief! You don't think-"

"No, I don't think, sir, I'm a civil servant. I advise other people, mmm, mmm. Then they they think. My advice is that an hour or two won't hurt, sir. My advice is that you return with Lady Sybil think. My advice is that an hour or two won't hurt, sir. My advice is that you return with Lady Sybil now now, sir. I will send up a flare as soon as it is dark and make my way back to the emba.s.sy."

"Hold on, I am am Commander in-" Commander in-"

"Not here, Your Grace. Remember? Here you are a civilian in the way, mhm, mmm. I'll be safe enough-"

"The crew weren't."

"They weren't me, mhm, mhm. For the sake of Lady Sybil, Your Grace, I advise advise you to leave you to leave now now."

Vimes hesitated, hating the fact that Inigo was not only right but was, despite his claim to mindlessness, doing the thinking that he should be doing. He was supposed to be out for an afternoon's drive with his wife, for heaven's sake.

"Well...all right. Just one thing, though. Why are you you here?" here?"

"The last time Sleeps was seen he was on his way up here with a message."

"Ah. And am I right in thinking that your Mister Sleeps was not exactly the kind of diplomat that hands around the cuc.u.mber sandwiches?"

Inigo smiled thinly.

"That's right, sir. He was...the other sort. Mmm."

"Your sort."

"Mmm. And now go go, Your Grace. The sun will be setting soon. Mmm, mmm."

Corporal n.o.bbs, President and Convenor of the Guild of Watchmen, surveyed his troops.

"All right, one more time," he said. "Whadda we want?"

The strike meeting had been going on for some time, and it had been going on in a bar. The watchmen were already a little forgetful.

Constable Ping raised his hand.

"Er...a proper grievance procedure, a complaints committee, an overhaul of the promotion procedures...er..."

"-better crockery in the canteen," someone supplied.

"-freedom from unwarranted accusations of sucrose theft," said someone else.

"-no more than seven days straight on nights-"

"-an increase in the boots allowance-"

"-at least three afternoons off for grandmother's funerals per year-"

"-not having to pay for our own pigeon feed-"

"-another drink." This last demand met with general approval.

Constable Shoe got to his feet. He was still, in his spare time, organizer of the Campaign for Dead Rights, and he knew how this sort of thing went.

"No, no, no, no, no no," he said. "You've got to get it a lot simpler than that. It's got to have bounce bounce. And rhythm. Like 'Whadda we want? Dum Dum-dee-dum-dee. When do we want it? Now!' See? You need one simple demand. Let's try it again. Whadda we want?"

The watchmen looked at one another, no one quite wanting to be the first.

"Another drink?" someone volunteered.

"Yeah!" said someone at the back. "When do we want it? NOW!"

"Well, that one seems to have worked," said n.o.bby, as the policemen crowded round the bar. "What else are we going to need, Reg?"

"Signs for the picket," said Constable Shoe.

"We've got to picket?"

"Oh yes."

"In that case," said n.o.bby firmly, "we've got to have a big metal drum to burn old sc.r.a.p wood in, while we're pickin' at it."

"Why?" said Reg.

"You got got to stand around warmin' your hands over a big drum," said n.o.bby. "That's how people know you're an official picket and not a bunch of b.u.ms." to stand around warmin' your hands over a big drum," said n.o.bby. "That's how people know you're an official picket and not a bunch of b.u.ms."

"But we are are a bunch of b.u.ms, n.o.bby. People think we are, anyway." a bunch of b.u.ms, n.o.bby. People think we are, anyway."

"All right, but let's be warm ones."

The sun was a finger's width above the rim when Vimes's coach set off from the tower. Igor whipped the horses up. Vimes looked out of the window at the road's edge, a few feet away and several hundred feet above the river.

"Why so fast?" he shouted.

"Got to be home by thunthet!" Igor shouted. "It'th tradithional tradithional."