'And that's twenty miles.'

'At least.'

'Amazing, Fred.'

'Time moves on, All,' said Colon, as the trolls reached them.

'Constable Chert, who told you to clamp my friend's cart?' he demanded.

'Well, sarge, dis morning you said we was to clamp every—'

'Not this cart,' said Colon. 'Unlock it right now, and we'll say no more about it, eh?'

Constable Chert seemed to reach the conclusion that he wasn't being paid to think, and this was just as well because Sergeant Colon did not believe trolls gave value for money in that department. 'If you say so, sarge...'

'While you're doing that, me and All here will have a little chat, right, All?' said Fred Colon.

'That's right, Fred.'

'Well, I say chat, but I'll be mostly listenin', on account of having my mouth full.'

Snow cascaded from the fir branches. The man forced his way through, stood fighting for breath for a moment, and then set off across the clearing at a fast trot.

Across the valley he heard the first blast on the horn.

He had an hour, then, if he could trust them. He might not make it to the tower, but there were other ways out.

He had plans. He could outwit them. Keep off the snow as much as you can, double back, make use of the streams... It was possible, it had been done before. He was sure of that.

A few miles away sleek bodies set out through the forest. The hunt was on.

Elsewhere in Ankh-Morpork, the Fools' Guild was on fire.

This was a problem, because the Guild's fire brigade consisted largely of clowns.

And this was a problem because if you show a clown a bucket of water and a ladder he knows only one way to act. Years of training take over. It's something in the red nose speaking to him. He can't help himself.