JUSTICE OF THE PEA.
An earthquake in Ankh-Morpork releases an ancient evil. Is it the lamia feasting on the undead? Or a lost masterpiece of BS Johnson?
Ancient laws manifest in Ankh-Morpork as a catastrophe threatens to engulf the city, Vimes and Vetinari find themselves outside the law if they try to help… where is justice? Where indeed?
1.
An earthquake will start with a little pressure. In the case of the Discworld, which is held upon the shoulders of four immense elephants who themselves stand on the back of Great A'Tuin, a cosmic turtle, an earthquake is not a matter of pressure but of an itchy shoulder.
As such, a sneeze should never be considered without visions of mass extinction. There is said to be a small religious sect who spend their entire lives with their ears pressed to ground trying to predict the sudden bowel movements far, far below them. This sect has never been found by the brave explorers who would delve deep into the jungles of Howandaland, but then, the reclusive priests did hear them coming weeks before.
Let us move swiftly to the teeming city of Ankh-Morpork. There are some jobs in Ankh that are considered so dangerous, so foolhardy, so stigmatised by struggling society, that even the knowledge that someone you know might consider such a job is so bad you would never talk to them again. It would even be acceptable to sew your lips together just in case you meet them and might be polite out of habit.
Oddly, the gongwallah and raker is not one of these jobs. The gongwallah climbs into cesspits to clean them out, singing about loneliness and how hard it is to find a partner. The raker works at dawn, clearing rubbish of any kind from the gutters in streets before the city wakes up properly. These days most rakers are gnolls who are mostly ignored by city folk. Harry King manages them all, along with the gongwallahs. In The Shades these cesspit cleaners are seen as something to look up to. Children wake up at dawn just to see their little, grubby cart pass by their tiny windows.
The worst vocation to admit to, in Ankh-Morpork, is being a builder.
Ankh-Morpork is a city that was built and rebuilt time and time again. Destroyed time and time again by fire, flood, war or earthquake and on several occasions by dodgy builders. A city that is damaged is like a wound. It must be cleaned and repaired quickly. Builders who repair earthquake damage will use the rubble lying around to strengthen foundations for new buildings or roads, or just built over whatever they found if they were in a hurry (in between the rituals of boiling the tea kettle, sharp intake of breath and muttering whilst carrying out serious mathematics on the back of a fag packet). Then they charged a patrician's ransom for their work.
Over the centuries this art of expensive bodging has made some of the ground harder than trolls' constipation. These tough, hard areas tended to be in the dips of the hills that surrounded the river. Over the centuries some areas became as fragile as ash, these were a thin line between the hard, layered ground that held the river above it in a defiant, waterproof superiority and the actual hard rock of the hills where the rich could afford to build. It was these plots of city where being a builder was a secretive lifestyle, where secret guilds of masons and chippies carried out repairs in the dead of night and at weekends ran charity awareness stalls in attempts to avoid angry lynch mobs.
X X X
Glim Street is old. The cobbles are worn to ripples, looking like ancient dried sandbanks. Glim Street smells of aeon-long nights and new dusks all at once. This is the street were the shop windows were always bright, especially at night. Candles filled shop after shop. Ochre tallow candles hung in rows from their wicks, smelling of boiled down beef fat. Beeswax candles of rolled wax were laid out neatly, their wicks sagging like severed tendons. White, refined wax for the churches and the affluent stood ready. There was even a shop for novelty candles, but lets not go there.
Between the shops were stalls that sold tapers or soaked reeds, at night they were stored in mews, their wares stinking enough to drive the summer mosquitoes well away from the area.
Many years ago some dwarves had opened small shops, selling the sort of hard-wearing sconces or candlesticks valued in tavern brawls by barbarians or heroes. There is even an enterprising dwarf who specialises in black candles, sconces shaped liked bats and candlebra's of entwined snakes and skulls that looked fantastic but were a bugger to get the dust off. His little shop, with its black, velvet curtains and overly ornate window mullions did a roaring trade in mail order from Uberwald and Lancre.
It was early dawn, or late night, the difference depended on what time you had to start working for a living.
On this particular morning Algae Mudlark, a human raker was walking slowly along Glim Street, raking the rank debris to one side, when there was a shudder beneath his feet. It cracked the lime rendering on the walls, showing the shapes of the lathes underneath. The slight shudder left a ripple in the dubious water that ebbed in no real hurry along the street gutter.
For a moment, the candlelight from the windows cast little wobbling shadows across the streets cobbles.
Algae paused as he pulled out house debris, mainly stinking reeds, turnip heads and midden slops. Normally he found a few mishappen candle stubs that could be gathered and passed on for a few pennies, but the night findings were sparse.
He frowned, scratching his leather cap, looking up and down Glim Street. Algae was born and bred Ankhian, inheritently able to recognise either a quick bargain, a chance to see a public spectacle or a subconscious warning of danger. Without a second thought he tossed the rake into his cart of rubbish and quickly left.
As the shake subsided cats were fleeing across rooftops and far away Sargeant Angua sat up at her desk.
'What's that street near Kimbaw Lane with the candle factories?' she asked Carrot. He did not pause in answering. 'Glim Street. It goes over Hedge Lane and Save-All Row. Why?'
'I think we'd better get over there.'
'No need,' he answered. 'Colon and Nobby are walking that beat. They pass along Hedge Lane to get the leftover crackling from the All Night Klatchian BBQ.'
Angua did not need reminding. When they returned the stench was like dragging cow carcasses bathed in syrup through the Watch House. But what she sensed was bigger than the smell and even bigger than the mental image of the city's finest munching on salted crackling with an inch of fat on the back of it. According to Sally de Humpeding the sight of Nobby leaning into the old roasting oven to collect the leftover crackling was enough to drive a barrow-wight into therapy or veganism.
Angua was buckling on her sword belt. 'We have to go. Now.'
She frowned, as the usual hole did not fit. The belt was too tight, it closed on one hole too far out. She did not have time to think about why.
Everyone in the Watch House turned at a distant noise. It sounded like rocks falling off the back of a wagon. The sound echoed off a few buildings too slow to shirk the responsibility and up through the ground.
X X X
In his master bedroom, deep within the ancestral mansion of the Ramkins, Commander Sam Vimes, the Duke of Ankh-Morpork, awoke. The building was undergoing extensive rebuilding work by artisans and craftsmen who had so many robes and secret ceremonies that no one could ever confuse them with builders. It was silent at this time of the morning, even Sybil slept as soundly as only a mother can.
'He's asleep,' she hissed, awoken by the clash of Sam's eyelashes opening. Her tone was clear, Young Sam shall stay asleep so no noise.
Sam murmured, alert to whatever change in his city had awoken him. His soles itched. That was never a good omen.
'I should get up. Something is going on,' he breathed.
'Really? Have you been called?'
He paused. For too long because Sybil rolled over ending the discussion.
Sam lay awake for a while. He could sense a degree of disquiet across his city. Something had happened and if no one had come to get him it was because everyone was too busy.
He had to get up.
He had to be there.
'If you do,' a near silent voice said, 'Whatever is going on will be nothing compared to what will happen if Young Sam awakes…'
X X X
Glim Street disappeared faster than a bad debtor from The Shades.
A long jagged gash gaped where Glim Street had been. Old wattle and daub tenements creaked dangerously, cracks opening and closing with each escaping gasp of heat or air that rose from the yawning hole. Small fires, fed by wax and tallow, lit a shattered scene of confusion.
At first there had been a chain of people ready with buckets of water (or the nearest recognisable equivalent) to throw over any spreading fires that looked as though they had the potential to be interesting. When it became apparent that once Glim Street had crashed into the ground and would not erupt into flame there was a change of heart.
Rescuers had shouted, demanded even, for ladders to be found to seek survivors below. Some civil-minded folk had made ladders of their coats tied together or simply dropped into the glowing void to seek 'survivors' amongst any gold candlesticks.
As is accepted in any society slightly more advanced that Johnny Klatchian, it is the civic duty in an emergency to seek survivors, the lost and wounded. After all, the gods expect a degree of respect for the sanctity of life that they spent so long getting wrong. In time this has been refined, in the same way that a maggoty piece of beef can be boiled down to a fine, yellow wax for candles. The shouts at the top of the hole soon refine to a few whispered calls once there are fewer witnesses before you get onto the serious business of digging around for loot or salvage.
The worst that can happen in an aftershock is being buried alive or actually finding a survivor and having to help the selfish wretch to safety.
X X X
In a well lit room, as long as you realized that any light was in your eyes and not the eyes of the man at the desk, sat the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, Lord Vetinari.
He had spent a few moments watching minute ripples in his glass of water.
It reminded him of a treatise written by Leonard de Quirm regarding the management of wastewater in sewers through an ingenious series of locks and viaducts. As he recalled, anyone following Leonard's treatise would find themselves with a gravity driven tsunami capable of extraordinary slum clearances.
He rang a little bell then continued with his work. Moments later a discrete door opened and Drumknott allowed himself in.
'Good morning, my Lord. I see you have under-slept again.'
'Hmm, yes. I notice there has been an earthquake within the city.'
Drumknott was silent. That was often the best response when he did not have an answer until Lord Vetinari gave it to him. 'When de Worde requests a statement on what the city is doing about earthquakes, please advise him that if out citizenry demand it we will divert an exact amount of city taxes in setting up an earthquake monitoring station. His newspaper is, of course, free to set up any charitable collections if he feels.'
'Very good.'
'Arrangements will need to be made for dispossessed citizens. I believe there is a contingency situation plan.'
Drumknott nodded. Vetinari saw the shadow move and carried on. 'Any guilds affected need to follow guild legislation before asking help from the city. We do not need to spend money needlessly at this stage.'
'Of course.'
'And send a clacks message to Klatch. I believe they usually suffer an hour after ourselves on these occasions.'
X X X
Standing at the mean distance between the All Night Klatchian BBQ and the disaster area, two of the City Watches finest watched the scene with the veteran eyes of men who could easily claimd to have seen most of what life- or the imagination of the Gods- could throw at them.
Corporal Nobby Nobbs pulled his lengthy coat around his thin body. As his fingers struggled with buttons of different sizes he patted various pockets until he found a long strip of blackened crackling. 'It makes yer proud to be an Ankh-Morporkian,' he said to Sargeant Colon through a mouthful of fat.
'Aye, aye. Seeing fellow city folk risk their own safety in these dire, terrible circumstances to help victims of this disaster. It's what sets us apart from cities like Sto Lat and that one in Klatch.'
'Yep, built on very solid ground, those cities.'
Colon frowned, 'I mean uncivilised places.'
'Aren't they built on mountains?'
Colon risked a glance at Nobby, who was making short work of the crackling. Explaining foreign places to Nobby without handy postcards was not easy. 'Let's drop it.'
'And they don't have builders.'
They spat on the ground. For a few moments Sargeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs watched the scene, crunching on crackling, absently brushing ancient soot and black mud from their clothing. Colon looked down at Nobby, 'So, what did you get?
Nobby sniffed. 'A new watch n' fob, all marked silver. One o' Brokeback's foldin' candlesticks an' a ermine lined hat.'
'Nice. That'll keep your ears warm later this year.'
Sargeant Colon couldn't help but notice that it was a fine ladies hat. Mrs Colon had offered him choice pieces of advice whenever he tried to discuss Nobby's clothing irregularities. Most of them were not really practical unless he was a bovine-proctologist.
'You know, Nobby, I've known you for a long time. Have you ever considered matrimony?'
'Eh?'
'Well, a young lady to marry, to give such hats to.'
'But you always tol' me-'
'Now,' Colon said sternly, 'don't let one man's experience detract you from what is a wonderful state of matrimony.'
Nobby considered. 'A state, you say?'
'Marriage, yes.'
'Like the city?'
'I suppose. It has its smelly riversides but then so does life.'
'So who's the patrician? You or Mrs Colon? I mean, I only ask as you said-'
'Nobby.'
'Yes, sarge?'
'Just concentrate on those people walking towards us.'
Both watchmen knew a leaderless mob when it approached. The mobility can normally be separated into people types; the leaders who used the easily led for their own gain, usually to smash up a bar where they have a hefty tab. There were the sheep who knew they wanted to do something but did not know what and often left early. Every mob had a fiery old lady, a rabble rousing ideologist, a food vender and a notorious pack of dogs. Vimes had a way of handling crowds. He would pull aside the leader, crack him over the head and make them pay their bar bill.
This crowd was different. They wanted the City Watch to do something for them.
'I knew this day would come,' cried Nobby, trying to back away.
'Be brave, old friend. We've seen off far worse.'
Nobby was about to ask what when the old lady cracked his elbow with her stick. 'Why aren't you down there?' she demanded in the sort of shriek that gathered people behind her as being in front was not for the meek.
Nobby choked on his crackling, looking to Colon for help. Sensing this shift of responsibility, the crowd turned to stare at Sargeant Colon, who clearly had more stripes just for these situations.
Colon's training leapt in. 'We are waiting for trained specialists,' he explained slowly, raising an eyebrow to insinuate that there was more to this than a humble watchman could explain to civilians.
His smile was swept aside by a stiff elbow beating from the old lady.
'Will you stop that!' he demanded.
'There's a dead lady under Glim Street,' she cried. 'We demand that the Watch investigate.'
The crowd nodded, egging her on with murmurs and nods. They recognized out-demanding when they saw it. The watchmen did not have a chance. This may have looked like a leaderless mob but it was a lot more subtle, it was a mob of common interest standing behind a fiery old lady. If the City Watch were looking after a dead body then the mob could get on with the serious work of looking for 'survivors' without having to share anything.
Sergeant Colon took another rap from the old lady then, preferring the burning hole to her, began to shuffle towards the hole, dragging Nobby after him. He had this sort of treatment at home, he did not need it at work as well…
(Pt 2 to come- Merry xmas everyone, Shane)
