Vimes put down the sword and tried to relax.
"Because our Wolfgang"s a damn bottle covey, dear. I know the sort. Any normal person, they crawl off if they get a beating. Or they have the sense to stay down, at least. But sometimes you get one who just won"t let go. Eight-stone weaklings who"ll try to headbutt Detritus. Evil little bantamweight bastards who"ll bust a bottle on the bar and try to attack five watchmen all at once. You know what I mean? Idiots who"ll go on fighting long after they should stop. The only way to put "em down is to put "em out."
"I think I recognize the type, yes," said Lady Sybil, with an irony that failed to register with Sam Vimes until some days later. She picked some lint off his cloak.
"He"s going to be back. I can feel it in my water," mumbled Vimes.
"Sam?"
"Yes?"
"Can I have your attention for a couple of minutes? Wolfgang is Angua"s problem, not yours. I really need to talk to you very quietly for a little while without you running off after werewolves." She said it as if this was a minor character flaw, like a tendency to leave his boots where people could trip over them.
"Er, they run after me," he pointed out.
"But there"s always people being found dead or trying to kill you - "
"I don"t ask them to, dear."
"Sam, I"m going to have a baby."
Vimes"s head was full of werewolves and his automatic husbandly circuitry cut in ready to respond with "Yes, dear," or "Choose any colour you like," or "I"ll get someone to sort it out." Fortunately his brain itself had its own sense of self-preservation and, not wishing to be inside a skull that was stowed in by a bedside lamp, rewrote Sybil"s words in white-hot fire across his inner eyeball and then went and hid.
That"s why the response came out as a weak "What? How?"
"The normal way, I hope."
Vimes sat down on the bed. "And... not right now?"
"I very much doubt it. But Mrs Content says it"s definite, and she"s been a midwife for fifty years."
"Oh." Some more brain functions crept back. "Good. That"s... good."
"It"ll probably take a while to sink in."
"Yes." Another neuron lit up. "Er, everything will be all right, will it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Er, you"re rather, you"re not as... you..."
"Sam, my family have been bred for breeding. It"s an aristocratic tradition. Of course everything will be all right."
"Oh. Good."
Vimes sat and stared. His head felt like some vast sea that had just been parted by a prophet. Where there should have been activity there was just bare sand and the occasional floundering fish. But huge steep waves were tottering on either side, and in a minute they would crash down and cause cities to flood a hundred miles away.
More glass tinkled, somewhere downstairs.
"Sam, Igor"s probably just dropped something," said Sybil, seeing his expression. "That"s all. Probably just knocked over a glass."
There was a snarl and a scream, abruptly cut off.
Vimes leapt off the bed. "Lock the door after me and push the bed against it!" He paused for a moment in the doorway. "Without straining yourself!" he added, and ran for the stairs.
Wolfgang was trotting across the hall.
He was different this time. Wolf ears sprouted from a head that was still human. His hair had grown around him like a mane. Patches of fur were tufted on his skin, and were mostly streaked with blood.