Disclaimer: Main characters and places are property of Mr Terry Pratchett and don't belong to me. I'm borrowing them. The storyline does, however, belong to me, as do any original characters.
Author's note: I had intended to post the whole of this story as one long piece, but although I have the story outline completed I haven't actually written the whole thing and it is going to take me ages. The idea of taking all that time and then posting it all at once suddenly seemed a bit depressing, so I have divided what I've written so far and what's not here will go into the next chapter. Thanks for your patience. Hope you enjoy.
Darkness had fallen over the streets of Ankh-Morpork. Otto Chriek rounded a corner, iconograph slung over his shoulder on its black canvas strap. His eyes received an image of violence and blood: two vampires were stooped over a werewolf, which was constantly changing in its efforts to fight them, ripping with teeth and throttling with hands, whilst the vampires repeatedly buried their fangs into its chest and neck in a fierce attempt to spill all of its blood on the street.
Otto's face slid into a look of anguished horror.
"Friends, friends, pleaze! Remember your pledge!"
One of the vampires looked up, snarling, as his friend continued his struggle with the werewolf.
"Yeah, we remember our pledge: not one drop of human blood, and this bastard's not human!"
He bit down again, eliciting a howl from the werewolf and a crunch as its jaws closed upon his companion's arm.
"Brutus, Siegfried, stop zis right now!"
The scent of blood was starting to get to Otto, and he could feel the heat rising behind his eyes. As the vampires before him ignored his request, something inside Otto snapped.
As he struck, a vampire screamed.
-sc-
Vimes looked up as Sergeant Angua trudged in, looking tired, dishevelled, and angry.
"So what's going on?"
"I've got them in the five cells that receive the least light, moaning and cursing at each other and me."
"Hang on, five cells? I thought there were only four involved?"
"Yes, sir. There were, sir. I've told the vampire he can have his head back only once he's explained to me exactly what happened sir."
Vimes covered his eyes with a hand.
"Right. Now, I don't know what you know of these fellows, but the only one I really know anything about is Otto. What's he got to say for himself?"
"Well, sir, he discovered the scene and when the others didn't stop he attacked the other vampires before shooting them with the iconograph, effectively putting an end to the fight."
"So Otto bit before he used the iconograph? That's not like him."
"No, sir. But you've got to understand, sir, that there was blood everywhere and his reasoned argument wasn't making any difference. It would have got to his senses, sir."
"All except the common one, eh?"
Angua tried to remind herself that however streetwise Mister Vimes was he had, until recently, entertained a lively hatred for the undead, and therefore she had to make herself tolerate the occasional speciesist remark.
"So it would seem, sir."
Vimes opened his hands in question.
"So, we have a vampire, filled with bloodlust; what made him stop and reach for his iconograph?"
"He says the fight was going badly. He was having to fight the two rogue vampires and also the werewolf, who was lashing out indiscriminately by then. To a werewolf there isn't much difference between one vampire and another."
Vimes' eyes flickered to the ceiling in frustration.
"Yes, Angua. Can we keep to the point?"
"He says that as he was fighting he noticed that the vampires didn't carry blood phials around their necks. He struggled out of the fight to get a proper hold on the iconograph and set it off. With so much blood around it only took them a second or two longer than him to regenerate, but it was long enough to take the fight out of them. Of course, at that point the werewolf ripped one of their heads off, but by then I was there and brought things to a halt."
Vimes folded his hands together and rested his chin on them.
"There's one thing I don't understand about all this."
"There are a lot of things you don't understand about this case."
Sergeant Angua stared dead ahead. She hadn't meant to voice that opinion aloud. Vimes' face had frozen.
"Yes…"
Vimes leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers irritably on the table.
"There is a lot I don't understand about this case, sergeant, and therefore I am going to put you and Sally onto it. I don't usually like to distinguish between species in the Watch, but in this case I think it would be appropriate. Two bloodlusty vampires and a mad werewolf up with jumpy human policemen wouldn't work, it would only leave a nasty mess on the floor that some unlucky sod would then have the misfortune to have to clean up."
A sudden thought struck him.
"You two are friends now, aren't you?"
"We have… an understanding, sir."
"A different kind of understanding to the one you have with Carrot?"
"Oh, yes, sir."
"Oh, good. You had me worried for a moment. Right, you and Sally are on the case. I want immediate notification of any developments. You are dismissed."
Angua was halfway to the door when she turned back. Vimes was leafing gloomily through the paperwork on his desk.
"Mister Vimes, sir?"
"Yes, Angua?"
"Can I bring Carrot onto the case? We'll need someone to actually stop the conflict, as it were. Carrot's good at that."
"Yes, you can, but I'd rather it didn't go further than that."
"Very good, sir."
Angua turned to leave.
"Oh, and Angua? Tell me, that one thing of many things that I don't understand: how is it that you, who were supposed to be on patrol with Constable Visit on the other side of the city, were so quick to get to a crime that no one else had discovered?"
Angua tried not to look guilty.
"I heard the call, sir."
"Oh, really? And what call was that?"
"Brother in pain."
-sc-
High-backed armchairs curved in a semicircle around the glowing embers of a log fire, providing just enough light to show the outlines of miscellaneous obstacles such as tables and big, snoring dogs, but leaving the rest of the room in shadow and, crucially, not allowing the people in the chairs to see each others' faces. Not that this was really a necessary precaution: deep hoods shadowed the eyes and gauze masks covered the mouths and muffled the voices.
"So," said a voice, "is everyone here agreed? There is to be no word of our little meetings outside of this room. If it is, then the identity of the turncoat will be uncovered and he will be assassinated. Is that clear?"
"Oh, it's perfectly clear. And yes, we are all agreed that the utmost discretion must be maintained whilst performing this odious little task, but I can't help noticing that when you asked us that you sounded decidedly… jumpy. You are sure that it is possible to find a way in which this can be done?"
The tone of the first voice dropped and became darker.
"Oh, yes, I am perfectly sure of that. Don't doubt that it can be done. Everything has its weakness, even if it doesn't seem like it. But it cannot work if those involved do not keep quiet. If word gets out then we are all dead men!"
Another voice spoke up, more languid and disinterested than its predecessor.
"Quite. Well, then, I think that it quite enough for today. We shall let our friend develop his ideas and convene again once we are confident of the route we will take. Gentlemen, good day."
A dark figure rose from a chair and headed into the gloom. A moment later there was the sound of a key turning and a moment after that a bright wedge of light lanced into the room as the door was opened. The door was shut. Gradually the meeting broke up, with each man exiting alone in order to preserve his identity. In the grate the embers died.
-sc-
Large paving slabs. Palace.
Vimes stumped through the Palace gates, completely ignoring the salutes the palace Guards gave him, scowling at his boots. It was his daily meeting with Vetinari. He hated his daily meetings with Vetinari. When he had simply been Captain of the Night Watch he hadn't had to have nearly so many meetings with the damn man as he did now he was Commander of the whole bloody thing.
Vimes stormed up the stairs and into the antechamber of the Oblong Office, where Drumknott greeted him with a weary grimace.
"His Lordship is with someone at the moment."
"But it's two to eleven! Vetinari's never late, says punctuality is the politeness of princes."
"And who's to say he will be?"
Vimes merely grunted in reply. Drumknott sighed and went to fetch the plasterer.
As the seconds ticked by (or tocked, as the case may be, but never quite together as they should do) Vimes ground his teeth together in frustration. If Vimes knew anything it was that Vetinari knew everything, and therefore today's meeting looked to be decidedly unpleasant. That damned clock! Vimes felt every little sound of clockmaker's ingenious and precisely imprecise art grate upon his nerves.
As Vimes let fly at the clock with his truncheon the door opened and Vetinari stepped through, a nervous looking man scurrying in his wake.
"Ah, Vimes. Angry again, I see. What a surprise. As a matter of fact so am I, although luckily the clockmaker used some very durable materials and your little act of rebellion seems to have caused no damage whatsoever."
"Used as in doesn't use anymore?"
"Yes. Apparently something happened to him. I have heard that he no longer works in the same capacity. Would you like to come in?"
"Dunno, sir. You don't seem to have finished with your other guest yet."
As the other man stepped out from behind Vetinari fully Vimes got a better chance to look at him. Something about him reminded Vimes of Inigo Skimmer, although the haircut was different and the skin distinctly paler. And this one had a normal shaped head. A Dark Clerk for sure. Vimes reckoned he was getting better at spotting them: he could now pick them out if they were within one of the groups of ordinary clerks that hurried around the Palace talking in hushed voices, and he could have sworn he saw one of them come out of the butcher's the other day.
"You may go, Clerk Georgio. Try and get a report to me by tomorrow morning if it all possible."
The clock chimed eleven.
Vetinari held the door open.
"If you would be so kind, Commander?"
As Vimes walked into the Office, with Vetinari following him and shutting the door, he couldn't stop himself feeling as though he was walking into a trap. He probably was.