A/N: Sorry for missing the deadline somewhat this week…oddly enough I had the chapter finished in plenty of time, but my computer decided the internet was not it's friend, so wouldn't let me upload anything. Still, I gave it a good talking to, so this is finally up. Thanks go to the reviewers, as always you help me stay on track.

Chapter 2
Angua walked out of the alley, shaking her head with a frustrated sigh.

"It's no good," she muttered, dropping into step alongside Carrot. "Whichever one came back to the city didn't want me to follow any further…and he had help too. It's like trying to unwind a nest of snakes with your hands tied behind your back."

"Do you think they've left?" Carrot replied, his face thoughtful.

"I can't smell for certain, but I have a feeling the answer is no. They haven't done nearly enough yet."

The hot fury that had been driving Angua had mostly subsided, leaving in its place an empty numbness that filled her head and heart. She knew what Carrot's eventual question would be; it was the she had been constantly turning over in her mind, worrying at it like a tongue returning to a loose tooth. She had no idea what they were here for…or who they actually were for that matter. She couldn't smell anyone she recognised, even from the very extended pack, but who else would come so far for so little reason? The murder of one singer, even one from Ankh-Morpork, was hardly a reason to travel the great distance from Uberwald. There had to be more to their plans, even if she couldn't see it.

Thunder rumbled over the city, and Angua realised that the day had been growing darker for some time, in a way that couldn't just be the approaching dusk.

"The Commander will have trouble tracking if that storm breaks," Carrot said, in a slightly worried tone.

Angua looked up at the clouds, narrowing her eyes as a flicker of lightning snaked over the bruised sky.

"Summer storms may be heavy, but they pass quickly. I'm more concerned about him going too far from the city before dark. You know what will happen if he thinks he's getting close…he won't stop."

Carrot nodded and looked back towards the fields with a troubled frown. Angua bumped her shoulder against his, bringing his gaze back to her.

"You know he hates it when you worry about him. Remember, he may be new to the changes, but Vimes can always take care of himself."

Vetinari was reading over the never-ending pile of reports when he heard a small noise from outside the door, as if Drumknott had knocked over an inkwell. Most people would have put it down to a careless clerk if they had heard it at all, so would have been surprised when Vetinari raised an eyebrow and blew out the solitary candle that had been fighting the encroaching evening. His hand slid down the desk and pressed an area of wood that seemed identical to all the others until it slid inwards under his fingers. A hidden compartment opened near his other hand and he removed a slim blade, its blade narrow and its hilt bound intricately with wire. Then he stood, turning his gaze towards the door.

In the outer room, Lokir dropped the clerk's body back in his chair. The thirst for blood was almost overwhelming, but the werewolf had been ordered to leave the man alive. Fenrin and Skuld had had all the fun; one actually killing the girl and the other laying the trap for Angua's bastard. All he and the others had done so far was to hide the trail and wait in this stinking city. Still, all he had to do was this one thing, then he would be left in charge of the Ankh-Morpork plan. Such an easy thing too, this one man who ruled his city from behind a desk while others did his fighting for him.

Lokir felt his face shift slightly as he opened the door a crack to peer in…longer teeth and yellow eyes to better frighten the man who must have no idea of what was coming. He froze when he saw the empty room, the curtains billowing away from the open window. He then smiled slyly, getting a better grip on the door handle.

'Stupid," he thought, almost irritated that there would be no challenge. 'Oldest trick in the book.'

He burst into the room, spinning around to face the wall that would have been hidden by the opening door, where he knew the Patrician would be hiding. The growl in his throat ceased as he stared in puzzlement at the empty hiding place. He started to turn, but it was already too late. Lokir felt a cold, metallic point at his neck, then a silken voice spoke by his ear.

"Never ignore the straightforward option. Now, tell your friend to step into the doorway."

Lokir tried to shake his head, but the arm tightened around his neck and he suddenly found he couldn't even swallow away the dryness of his mouth.

"I came alone, there isn't…"

His strangled protests died on his lips as a slow handclap echoed in the small room. A large figure stepped into the doorway, darkly silhouetted against the light streaming from the clerk's office.

"Fenrin," Lokir whimpered in surprise. "You have to help me, he…"

"Shut up," Fenrin snapped, leaning one arm on the door frame in a strangely relaxed manner. "You know that blade won't kill you, and if he slits your throat at least I won't have to listen to your whining for a while."

"If you concentrate," Vetinari began, "You will realise that the handle is bound in sliver wire. The blade is also rubbed with garlic and kept in salt, but I imagine that is less important to you at the present time. With no cross-piece to hinder it, I will have no difficulty pushing it fully though your partner's neck…if the need arises."

"And why would that matter to me?" asked Fenrin, in the same deep growl that had led Christine to her death. "The runt is no friend of mine."

"But a pack-mate?" Vetinari replied in a even tone.

Fenrin bit back a snarl, the wood of the door frame splintering under clenching fingers that were more like claws. The next minute he was back in control, an amused glint in his eyes.

"And what of your own pack-mate?" he said in a dark tone, stalking a little closer. "You must know we want you alive, or you wouldn't still be here. Surely you would expect us to have some leverage to ensure your cooperation. How would the city feel to know of the relationship between their leader and their watchman, especially if the latter's tainted blood were to become common knowledge?"

There was an almost imperceptible hiss of indrawn air, only audible due to the werewolves' superior hearing, and Lokir felt the dagger dig slightly deeper into his neck.

"There will be ample time to find out how you found that out," Vetinari said calmly, his composure back in place. "But don't think you can use that against me. Neither of you would live to spread the information, and I have ways of silencing any others you have waiting in the city."

There was a pause, then Fenrin began to laugh, a soft chuckle that swelled like a rotting carcass.

"I'm impressed," he said finally. "She told me you were good, and I doubt she would be disappointed. No, I didn't think that treat would be nearly enough, so I took the time to arrange another little prelude to our meeting. One that would remove the dashing Commander Vimes from the city, and far from any assistance."

"The girl," Vetinari stated coldly. "But you may have underestimated him. Vimes can keep himself alive, even in the most dangerous situations, and he had faced your kind before."

"As a man , maybe."

Lokir finally spoke up, confidant that the encounter was coming back under their control. Fenrin scowled, then favoured him with a grudging nod.

"Exactly why we will not risk any of 'our kind' against him," he drawled. "It's quite shocking what a pack of normal wolves can do to a werewolf when the find him… and of course it doesn't matter which form he takes, they will always know the scent. It's a shame that no last-minute help will be given to him; unless you can think of something to offer us in return?"

No-one moved for a long moment, then Lokir dared to speak again, the arrogant smirk finally back on his face.

"He might be able to survive on his own, and we may always be lying. Can you gamble with his life?"

For a terrible instance he thought he had miscalculated as the arm holding him flexed, then the dagger fell to the floor with a thud that seemed louder than the storm outside. Lokir turned to see Vetinari step back, his face tight but still expressionless, his arms by his sides. Fenrin stepped forward, removing a black leather cosh from his pocket which he brought down on the back of Vetinari's skull, dropping him soundlessly to the floor. The older werewolf then rounded on Lokir, his lips writhed back from his teeth and the hair on the back of his neck bristling.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he growled. "You were warned not to underestimate him, yet I find you taken unawares and yipping for help like a new-born pup. How are we meant to leave you in charge here if I can't trust you with such a simple task?"

Lokir shrank back, his body poised between the urge to cower and the urge to spring. His fingers curled into fists and he made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. The two males stalked around each other stiff-legged, until Fenrin shook himself and relaxed, moving in to rub his cheek against the other's hair.

"Perhaps I spoke too harshly brother," he said softly. "Skuld and I trust you with our lives, and I can see myself making the same error as you did. These weak men are so easy to play with, we forget not all wolves wear fur."

Lokir's face broke into a grin, happy that his older brother was no longer angry. Fenrin was not so bad, but if he had decided to tell Skuld what had happened she would have been far worse. He took a rough brown cloak off his shoulders and flung it over the prone body on the floor, then bent down.

"Come on then," he said over his shoulder, beckoning to Fenrin. "We need to get the both of you out before they close the city gates for the night."

No-one noticed the two men leaving the Patrician's palace with the carpet slug between them, or remarked on the single man who drove his carriage out of the gate before nightfall…accompanied by a pack of hunting dogs.