A/N: FFN cocked up my formatting, especially the footnotes. It's proper on the Yuletide website (www yuletidetreasure org). Written as a gift to insptr-penguin for Yuletide 2007. Comments make my day, concrit is appreciated.
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HEXPERIMENT
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The High Energy Magic building loomed through the snow, ablaze with light. As it was verging on Hogswatch, not only were the overhead lanterns all on full, but Ponder and the boys had hung a small string(1) of miniature lanterns in bright colors around the doorway to greet seasonal visitors.
Within, the usual array of bubbling liquids in oddly shaped glass and strange objects from foreign places had been cleared away to make room for what looked like nothing so much as blast shields.
Crouched behind one panel of olive-painted metal, Ponder Stibbons thumbed at a rectangular black object and cursed. "Nothing! How long did we spend on the prototype and the waves still just won't take the pattern!"
A few feet away, one of the students hesitantly said, "Sir, we're -- well, we're all within hearing distance, I mean, you don't even need to shout or anything--"
"That's not the point!" Ponder's eyes narrowed between precisely drawn lines of camouflage paint. "The specimen must be captured for study, even at the expense of our very lives!" Or at least the lives of the students and why not Adrian, he thought, and squashed it immediately. "In case of the catastrophic loss of our front lines and subsequent disorder, communications will be vital to--"
"She's away!" hollered one of the students assigned to drop the blood into the diagram at precisely sixteen past eleven.
"Oh bugger," Ponder said.
Nothing happened for a long itchy moment.
Then, just as Ponder cautiously poked his head around the blast shield to take a look, the air above the diagram bulged.
There was an impression of many small legs moving very quickly as shouts and crashing arose from all sides. Ponder's sheet of metal tipped over on his legs as he scrambled to get around it. "The nets! Activate the nets!"
Glass shattered. Ponder groaned, "Too late," as seaweed-crusted tangles of rope fell over his head and the Luggage escaped into the freezing Ankh-Morpork night.
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(1)They weren't entirely certain what the string was for; as Adrian, drafted for nail duty, had pointed out, it'd be just as easy to hang the little lights individually. But it had felt right...
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The Watch had been called out at the first report of trampled oxen, and the night saw a steady stream of linens snagged from their drying lines, small dogs and slow moving cats seemingly swallowed whole, ducks stolen from off innocent men's heads (this one, Vimes had been inclined to dismiss, when Carrot intervened and swore solemnly to leave no pond unturned in his quest for the duck's safe return; later he'd pulled Carrot aside and said, "Don't you know that thing's invisible? The man's a nutter," and Carrot said, "Well, Commander, but doesn't he have the right of every citizen to request aid of the Watch? I'm sure it'll come back presently, no harm done," and that seemed like it may as well be that), and young ladies of non-negotiable virtue swept off their feet and away toward the docks.
The city was in an uproar. Citizens filled the streets, demanding action.
"I'll give them action," Vimes muttered, hunched beneath an eave out of the wind.
"Sir?" Corporal Littlebottom's hand shot up out of the darkness beyond his cigar lighter, holding a bit of message tape. He took it.
"Holed up in the dead end by the old Armory, eh?" Vimes puffed a smoke ring. "Tell them I'll be right down. Nobody's to take unnecessary chances. Are Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs on the way?"
"Yes, sir." Cheery bounced on her feet, clearly anxious to be off to where they'd finally got the thing cornered. Vimes couldn't really blame her for being curious, much as he hated the thing.
"Good. We've faced it before." He gave a grim nod and threw the cigar down to hiss out in a snowbank. "We'll have it yelping back to that Wizzard with its legs tucked between its...legs...before it even knew what hit it."
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Later that evening, Colon and Nobby stumbled into a bar, leaning on each other but very carefully avoiding eye contact. It is difficult to walk while holding your breath so as not to laugh hysterically, although not as difficult as continuing to live after laughing hysterically at the Commander of the Watch. Old friends they may be, but something like this...
"Drfifk!" Nobby pulled the layers of wool blanket he'd wrapped over himself on hearing the name of their foe away from his mouth and tried again. "Drink!"
"And I'll take two of whatever he's having!" Colon shouted, eyes nobly trained to the ceiling. "No, four!"
Shots downed, Nobby relaxed and looked at Colon.
Colon felt the pressure but refused to cave, focusing instead on the bar's fireplace. "Well, Nobby?"
"Sarge -- " Nobby's voice shook dangerously but he held on. "Sarge, d'you -- d'you imagine he's got prints from its teeth back there?"
"Pieces of furniture does not have teeth, Corporal Nobbs, and you will do well to remember your Commander's dignity afore goin' and talkin' about his, er..."
"Saddlery regions?" Nobby piped in helpfully.
"Posteriorate sector!" Colon settled on, sweating heavily. "Bartender!"
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"It's a lucky thing for Yer Grace's, y'know, progenitry carryings-on," the doctor gave a wink that didn't quite dodge being salacious, a terrible misstep in a household that abhorred salesmen, "that it wasn't 'round t'other side."
"My husband is far more than just--" A terrible silence echoed between the coats of ancestral armor. Sybil drew herself up very tall and said, "Willikins, Doctor Westley was just leaving."
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"Now take this and you should be able to sleep, and Doctor Westley said it'll look 'orrible -- " she cleared her throat, "horrible in the morning, but unless there's severe unexpected pain, no need to call him back, for it should heal in due time."
Vimes swallowed, and only had to grit his teeth a little bit to say, "Yes, dear."
Sybil bustled around the room, putting boots and spare bits of armor out of the way. "Captain Carrot said they've got it all under control and you're not to go worrying yourself." She turned and gave him the eye. "That means you stay in bed this time, no running across rooftops chasing ne'er-do-wells until you've at least had the swelling go down."
"Yes, dear," Vimes said through the growing haze.
It came out more like "Yeshhdrrrr..." with a snore on the end. Sybil hid a smile as she smoothed a couple unruly spikes of his hair.(2) Then she tucked the three quilts around his shoulders, set his badge in view on the nightstand, and went to make her evening rounds with the dragons.
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(2)Helmethead, the downfall of even the most valiant adventurer. Vimes had frankly never noticed a difference.
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Voices rose from a sewer grate. Carrot leaned down close, puzzlement on his face.
"Crivens! It bit me!"
"Lucky it didna eat ye, ye bluidy slow--" Much splashing arose, and after garbled attempts at swearing that Carrot carefully did not hear, there was a high whoop. "After it, lads!"
Carrot straightened and looked around. "Well, that'll be all right, then," he said, and proceeded onward through the night.