This story originally wasn't meant to be, but until I find my flash drive with all my other story chapters and rewrites, I'll post this. This follows after Thud, but deals with loose ends from Feet of Clay and Men at Arms.
Please don't hate me. Reviews are begged for.
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Silver Crowns
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The last thing that Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson remembered was walking their normal beat, turning the corner into the Plaza of Broken Moons.
Then, a whistle of air past his ear, and something stuck his shoulder…there was howling scream and the smell of …burning flesh? He didn't have time to think, though, as folks began to panic and run in all directions, which included through him, it seemed, as they knocked him down as they ran by.
The last thing he remembered hearing before his helmet dented on the paving stones was a distant shout.
"Officers down! Get a clacks to HQ! Captain Carrot and Sergeant Angua are down! Hurry!"
The world turned off after that.
But… Angua?
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When he woke up, he was in bed, the sun setting over the Opera House illuminating the room. Had it be a dream? No, his shoulder told him as he tried to sit up.
"I wouldn't do that. Igor just pulled a crossbolt out of your shoulder." A match flared to illuminate the face of Commander Vimes. "Do you know what happened?"
Carrot blinked, trying to cut through the fog of pain and the concussion. "We were patrolling as usual- just turned into the Plaza of Broken Moons. Then a shot, I think, from above, then…" He trailed off, his mind putting together the little information there was left. "Where's Angua?" Probably on the path of the shooter. Werewolves were quick healers, and she'd be their best bet at tracking him down…
The look on Vimes's face was something akin to a mixture of worry, anger and pity all at once. "Car-Captain, you were shot at with this." He picked up a cross bolt from his lap and handed it over to Carrot. "Sergeant Angua was struck in the gut and the chest…I'm…I'm sorry. Igor's doing what he can."
Carrot's stomach dropped when the cross bolt caught the light.
It was plated silver.
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She was pale, far paler than she had any right to be. When Cruces shot her before she didn't look this pale- then again, she'd been covered in hair, which made the comparison hard. Igor was bustling back and forth, fiddling with needles and a strange device that he kept looking through.
"Ith the crosthbolt, sir. If it was just plated, she'd probably be ok. But look here, thir." He point to the tip, where small holes had been drilled. "As best I can tell, thir, it had thilver dust inthide. It wath eating her alive."
He tapped the small tube embedded in her arm. "I got moth of it our, thir, but it'th still touch and go."
Vimes could see something crumbling inside his Captain. He vaguely remembered something Carrot had said years before when they were all just starting out. 'Personal isn't the same as important.' But sometimes, Vimes mused bitterly, personal was all you had. "Igor, could I talk to you outside for a moment?"
Igor was a keen lad, or a least parts of him were. "Certainly, thir."
After they had left, Carrot reached out and caressed the blonde hair. Her forehead was both clammy and burning to his touch. It was real. She wasn't waking up and responding to his touch. He was losing her.
As this sunk in, he sank to his knees and held her. And for the first time in a very long while, Carrot Ironfoundersson cried.