A/N: Here is chapter one, so far sticking to my deadline (though only just). I have just realised, for those of you who aren't so keen on the slash, the first few chapters will be very slash light so you can read safely for now. I will, of course, warn people when this changes. Not much more to say, than I hope people are enjoying this so far, so on with the story:
Chapter 1
The smell was a choking, metallic haze over the fields, even before the body became visible. Vimes turned slightly, concentrating on the stench of the city that still hulked at their backs. By his side, Angua kicked a cabbage out of the soil and they both relaxed somewhat at the twin smells of dry earth and distressed vegetable. Carrot coughed diplomatically and stepped up to both of them. Behind him a gang of watchmen, supervised by Cheery, moved carefully around a pathetic figure sprawled amid the rows.
"Sorry to send for you in the middle of the meeting sir, but…"
Vimes cut him off, looking past Carrot at the scene.
"Captain, if the situation was any different I would be thanking you. Angua told me a little on the way here, but you'd better start from the beginning."
"The farmer only found the body this morning sir, when he came to weed the fields."
Carrot indicated the small man standing off to the side, wearing the forlorn expression of somebody who's life had just become far more complicated than they would have liked.
"Only?" Vimes interjected, as Carrot turned back through the pages of his notebook.
"From the state of the body, Cheery thinks the girl was killed some time late last night sir, and it's clear that no-one else went near the scene till she was found. Few people come this far out from the road, so nothing has been disturbed. We also found no note with the body, so this isn't the work of the Assassin's Guild."
"Have we any idea who the girl was?"
Vimes kept his face carefully neutral as he said it, but his feet itched to be back in the city and on the trail. It had been so long since the Watch had found anything like this - the Guilds and the Shades swallowed evidence and guilt alike, however much he tried to stop them. But this one; taking her so far from the city meant someone was trying to hide, so Vimes would chase them, find them…and make them pay.
"Christine sir. A lead soprano from the Opera house."
"The skinny girl with…that voice?" Vimes asked, adding quickly, "Sybil took me with her…to keep her company."
He tried not to feel the twinge of embarrassment at the thought of himself sitting on those velvet seats, surrounded by people and cherubs that were equally overfed. Vimes vaguely remembered Christine as a thin white blur, with a voice that seemed to be permanently surprised by life in general, but couldn't think of anyone who would want her dead, apart from some composers who were long dead themselves.
"As soon as we identified her I sent Officer Privin back to her room to see what he could find, so he should be back soon," Carrot replied, shutting his notebook decisively as Igor shuffled obliquely up to them.
"Ith definitely as you thought thur. I thaw lots jutht like it back in Bonk, and the wounds are unmistakable."
Vimes had been aware of Angua's tense, inhuman control fraying since she had fetched him and now she exploded, almost snarling as she advanced on Carrot.
"I told you! I could smell them all over, they haven't even tried to hide their scent. and have you really looked at the blood, how it's been scattered and smeared all over? They were playing - it's a taunt, or a challenge, or both! Whatever they bloody meant, it's all a game to them."
Carrot stepped forward and laid a hand gently on her shoulder. She glared at him for an instant more, then her head dropped and she shook all over for a second before pulling herself together.
"Would anyone mind telling me what's going on any time soon Captain?" Vimes asked. "I seem to have been out of the room when the explanations were handed out."
"Well sir," began Carrot, "It's one of the reasons we needed you down here so urgently."
"Werewolves," Angua cut in, her voice straining with the effort of limiting her tone to the four of them. "It's my bloody family messing around again, or more like them, and Gods know what they're doing this time, and whether they know about you yet…and why the hell they chose this poor girl."
Vimes frowned and waved an arm towards the scene.
"So why do you need me so badly? They don't seem to have even tried being careful with this…and if any of them were related to Angua surely she could track them with her head in Nobby's vest."
"They certainly haven't been careful, but they have been clever," said Angua, grimacing. "Whoever it is, they're obviously toying with us. It's the only reason they would have been so…messy. But there are two distinct scent trails, one towards the city and one heading further out. No way to tell which is the right one to follow."
"A trap then," Vimes replied shortly. "Which suggests they know about my recent…changes. They know Angua will follow the trail back to Ankh-Morpork, as she has more experience following one scent with those other distractions. That means they want me away from the city for some reason, and we can't afford to be clever as if either of the trails are right then every minute we waste they get further from us."
"That sounds about ri- " Angua stopped, her head turning, a low growl building in her throat.
Vimes looked towards what had caught her eye and saw a petrified Privin, holding a large bunch of roses in front of him as if they were his sole defence. Angua stalked forward and snatched the blooms from his hand.
"Were these in her dressing room?" she snapped.
"Yes sir, with this card…and the doorman says he saw her waiting at the stage entrance when he came off shift, and he passed a man heading towards the Opera house as he left and - "
Angua turned on her heel and brandished the flowers towards Vimes.
"When my father ran the game, girls were never allowed to take part. He said it wasn't sporting. But when Wolf took over he did it another way. These roses are the only breed that will stand the cold in Uberwald so he would send select girls big bunches, woo them, pretend to fall in love. Then he would lead them into the woods…and make them run."
Neither Vimes nor Carrot wanted to make the obvious response, but Angua could read the look repeated on each face.
"He came back before," she said simply, gazing blankly towards the horizon.
Vimes left her to Carrot, and moved towards the still shivering watchman.
"Report to Corporal Littlebottom and tell her I said to take you and the rest of the squad over to the Opera house. Igor can handle the rest here and I need to know as much about her secret admirer as you can find. Take the farmer back to the watch house too, we need to go over exactly how he found her."
The boy nodded gratefully and made a hasty retreat, followed by Igor who moved straight to the body, tenderly neatening and cleaning Christine to make her final repose seem more natural. As the watchmen trooped away towards Ankh-Morpork, Vimes turned to Angua and Carrot.
"Do you really think it could have been him?" he asked, dreading the answer.
Angua shrugged free of Carrot's embrace. Her face was still drawn and haggard, but she had regained a measure of composure.
"I doubt even he could have come back from…what happened. Besides, I don't smell him anywhere. Wolf did always have those who admired his technique."
Vimes stood there awkwardly, not really knowing how to react to the pain written across her face. Family life was complicated enough when everyone was the same shape at the same time, and he had never been very good at that.
"We had better get started," he said finally, turning away and loosening the straps on his breastplate.
Behind him he heard diplomatic shuffling that he imagined was Carrot moving a little way off, coupled with the sound of Angua beginning her own preparations. As Vimes finished undressing, he briefly contemplated the absurdity of the Commander of the Watch, standing naked in a cabbage field about to track down a suspect in the form of a large black wolf.
'At least it isn't a bloody terrier…' he thought, feeling the morphic dislocation that resulted from what was still an unaccustomed change.
Vimes shook himself, his ears flicking as he adjusted to the difference in his senses. The blood scent was stronger than ever now, a coppery-crimson mist that wound around him like an unwelcome lover. He pushed it away with an effort of will, concentrating on the two other distinct colours that frolicked in thick treads around the body. Deep purple and green respectively, they shimmered with the unhealthy sheen of the Ankh on a summer's day, oozing over everything they touched.
At a sound from Angua, he turned back to see her scenting the ground while Carrot collected both their uniforms. Angua turned her head, pawing the collar she wore into a more comfortable position. She turned away from the body, following the green trail towards the city. Vimes dipped his head in farewell, then bent to his own task. The scent led deeper into the fields, further away from the city, and further Vimes followed, the more he suspected a trap. The trail ran straight, with no attempt to hide or confuse the pursuer. Even for a killer on the run this would be sloppy…for a werewolf it was unheard of.
The thunder of a summer storm boomed across the sky and Vimes quickened his pace. He was capable of tracking for a while in the rain, but the more it continued the thinner the scent got. The sight of woodland and the feeling of grass under his paws brought Vimes up short…surely he couldn't be that far from the city already? Then he remembered, this was that area of unfarmed land that some richer members of the city had insisted Vetinari create. They whittered on about this so-called 'Green belt' being vital for the conservation of wildlife in and around Ankh-Morpork, and Vetinari had finally allowed it due to there being nothing actually affected by the whole plan.
Vimes snorted inwardly. He remembered the last lot of people like them, concerned with the pollution in the Ankh itself. Of the five people that lined upon the bank of the river in their waterproofs and waders, only three had returned. Two of these were still shunned from society because of the smell, and the other refused to talk to anyone but his hat, which he claimed kept the flying crocodiles away.
He looked towards the trees, then back towards the city. This was further than he had hoped he would have to go, and the feeling that knowing about the trap beforehand was not enough to deal with it was growing stronger. Then, with impeccable timing, the weather made his mind up for him. The heavy, driving rain plastered Vimes' fur flat in seconds, causing him to crouch down and flatten his ears against the deluge. He had to go on now, or there would be absolutely no chance of tracking. Already the smoke was thinning and fragmenting with the wind and water, so Vimes trotted forward to the edge of the tree line.
Lightning forked across the sky; then behind him, suddenly, the howl went up.