Chapter the Third, in which a bridge is mended.

Moist was running information, priorities and ideas through his mind at the speed of Splot. Wearing a uniform lit up like a Hogswatch display. Check. Running through a snowfield in what might be Uberwald or the environs thereof. Check. A werewolf or werewolves howling in the middle distance that might or might not be closing in. Check. Repair a bridge ? How far had the engineers got in rebuilding the Vilinus Pass Bridge ? No time to check now with Lord King. (1) In possession of a dirty bar rag damp with Hundhuttemeister slops. Check. Now he had to formulate a plan.

Or wing it.

Come to think of it his uniform was his only protection from the cold and the glow was lighting his way. Werewolves hunted by scent and nowadays the civilized ones (2) only hunted men who had challenged them to the Game and filed legal indemnities with a local lawyer. Memories of how Ambassador Vimes had happened to werewolf supremacist Wolfgang the Unsporting were still relatively fresh. He decided to take his chances and hope this was either a local aristocrat hunting game or playing the Game, with a side order of 'he'd better not mistake me for the poor bugger !'

Then the howling drew closer. Yes it was closing. There were multiple howls on the wind now and at least one of them was definitely a werewolf. But there was something about the other howls, something that just didn't make sense.

Most of the voices were those of dogs.

Dogs didn't normally run with werewolves. Or even with wolves. They just didn't get on. And Moist could tell something else from the sound. It was familiar. He'd been fooled in Ankh – Morpork, but this was almost certainly Uberwald. He smiled with anticipation.

Those dog howls were being made by Lipwigzers. (3)

He decided to stop and see what happened next. He was well versed in giving Lipwigzers orders and was confident in handling them, whereas most people were quite wary of a breed that was big, strong and resembled Rottweilers in almost every way. Rottweilers could be aloof if they didn't know you and didn't feel threatened.

In an environment where they were enjoying themselves, Lipwigzers could take it into their heads to be boisterously friendly. When they did that it could almost make you wish they were being rough deliberately. (4)

The first members of the pack crested a nearby ridge and did something remarkable. They stopped in a line and turned their heads as if to better hear orders from a huntsman. He could still hear the werewolf howling behind them. The howls seemed to be reducing in volume and frequency. Was the werewolf giving orders to a pack of hunting dogs ? He had to admire the skill involved. Twenty Lipwigzers were now on the ridge, and there didn't seem to be any more coming.

In the falling snow he could make out something odd about their collars, but flakes driven on the wind and the darkness outside the patch of light cast by his uniform stopped him seeing exactly what it was. And where was the Werwolf Jagermeister ? (5)

He was bowled over by a furry body and the bar rag was snatched from his hand by hairy jaws.

Moist pulled himself back to his hands and knees, still oblivious to the cold from the Splot, and beginning to wonder if the drink had made him hallucinate. A mature and very male werewolf in lupine form was chewing the rag, rolling on the ground and wagging his tail like a delighted puppy.

Moist spoke in Uberwaldean.

'I realize this might be embarrassing sir, but I am Moist Von Lipwig, Postmaster General of Ankh – Morpork, here on private business but willing to offer such assistance as I can.'

There was a risk the eccentric huntsman might not be able to focus on what he was saying and he was ready to try something else to secure the creature's attention when something he hadn't anticipated happened and he wished he hadn't seen it. No wonder werewolves didn't like to be watched Transforming.

Now an old man sat naked in the snow with a grubby bar rag held between his teeth. He spat it out, scambled to his feet and offered Moist his hand to shake.

'Moist, it's good to see you after all this time, you should take the trouble to write now you've more or less sorted the mail and the clacks systems.'

The old man had replied in the same language, hardly surprising, but Moist was still momentarily taken aback.

The elderly werewolf was his grandfather.

'I realize there's a lot of catching up to do, but I can only spare a few minutes. The dogs need a breather, we are on a rescue mission for the Lipwig (6) Civic Rescue Team. People who stray into the storm can come to grief.'

'You don't seem to feel it, Grandfather.'

'New lease of life on becoming a werewolf, quite the accident, but did me a favour in the long run. Can withstand this weather without Splot in my system and I can talk to the dogs now. Literally. And they can talk to me, makes rescues easier. And why is that horned and hairy rascal over there trying to hide behind a snowdrift ?'

'He's the reason I'm here and if you can see him I think you can guess why. (7) Is there a bridge down in the area ? He said I'm here to mend a bridge.'

'Not that I can think of. I'll think on it while I introduce you to the boys and we catch up. Then you two can make yourselves useful. You ! Get your hairy arse over here and hold your hand out you naughty boy ! I know who you are and what you're putting Moist through ! You too Moist !'

Moist stood still and held out his hand, he knew what was coming and smiled to himself as it was clear his nocturnal visitor did not, and looked worried.

'Here boys. Friends ! Introduce !'

Herr Von Lipwig talked to the dogs in Uberwaldean in the same clipped way he spoke to his two human(oid) companions.

One by one the animals came over and sniffed the newcomers' outstretched hands, then returned to what looked like a search line on top of the ridge. Their master decided time was right to explain a few things.

'You see the collars. Small cask of cold Splot in each one. Don't use brandy, too risky in this climate. (8) As for me, damnedest thing and you can blame Baron Von Eisen for it, (9) but I don't. Found him in the woods in a terrible state. Must have just Transformed to man shape. Burns to his legs, thrashing about in pain foaming at the mouth and, really strange, some posh ladies' stockings nearby, what was left of them. Even had some silver embellishment. Not going to ask what he was up to in that respect. Not my business. But he was on my land and injured so I thought it best to see to him. Couldn't get through to him. Seemed to be delirious, kept muttering something that sounded like 'bloody fool.' (10) Inclined to agree, getting close to silver like that. Followed standard practice for first aid with an uncooperative wounded werewolf. Bashed him on the head to stop him moving and treated the burns. Cleaned and dressed them. Checked his pulse. Got some of his slobber on my hand. Must have been a scratch I didn't notice. Symptoms came on a couple of weeks later. Used it to my advantage. We followed your career, wrote a few times to see if you were our Moist Von Lipwig, but long distance mail still runs a gauntlet of bandits from time to time round here.'

'If you've followed my career then you must know I've done things that were not a credit to the family name.'

'Things to chuckle over you scamp ! Your public service since then more than makes up for the swindling as far as people around here are concerned.'

A suspicion began to form in the back of Moist's brain, but the thought was interrupted by a voice.

'Congratulations Mr Lipwig, you have repaired the bridge between you and your family, I said it was not necessarily in the physical realm.'

'You could have been clearer. You also said you could be of assistance. As you are a spirit of Hogswatch I now would have you in The Spirit of Hogswatch make yourself useful in this rescue.'

'I cannot refuse.'

'I thought so.'

(1)See Sir Terry's Raising Steam.

(2)By Uberwaldean standards.

(3)Moist's grandfather bred them and Moist knew the breed well. Long story.

(4)'He's a big softy really, just shove that gaping maw full of teeth away from your groin...'

(5)Lycanthropic Huntmaster. Not a drink. German representing Uberwaldean again.

(6)The town, not Moist's family.

(7)Werewolves have a stronger psychic ability than most other people.

(8)Really true. But Splot can leave you next to freshly cut firewood wondering how it got there.

(9)If you've read my story 'The Clown and the Assassins' you may see this one coming.

(10)Told you.