Somewhere in space, the Great Star Turtle A'tuin trawls slowly through the
universe, surrounded by a seemingly infinite sea of freezing darkness and
the distant light of stars. Some stars are not so distant, and their fires
are reflected in the unfathomable depths of those ancient eyes. Its limbs
are rimed with the hoarfrost of millenia, and the skin is pocked by
meteors. There is the tiniest of fractures--a mere few miles long--on its
shell which marks the demise of a small, unlucky moon. Even the four
elephants who stand upon the shell, upon whose backs the Discworld slowly
spins, look as if they've been around the cosmos a couple times. But
nothing has ever stopped its patient tread towards whatever destination
this astral body has in its chelonian mind.
A magnificent sight, and one most unique. Thus it seems even stranger that, if one were merely to lift up the corner of the rubber sheet of the Universe, one might find not one, but countless more A'tuins making their way through equally vast reaches of space, some perhaps with even different destinations. This, if it could but be perceived, would be the multiverse-- an infinite string of universes* where every possibility, every potential outcome was explored.
It was precisely this that was about to be irrevocably changed.
* Including one where the Great A'tuin was a walrus.
................................
The Watch was no place for a man who liked peace. Tedium and paperwork, yes, but peace? A month as the average law enforcement officer was bound to be twenty-nine days of routine and one day of sheer chaos, but you never knew which day it would be. And the crime rate in Ankh-Morpork was far from the average, although it certainly contributed to it. After its reorganization in recent years Watchmen had given up on the old cry of "All's Well!" because the more sensitive officers took offense at the derisive hoots that usually followed.
After a few catastrophes had threatened the city (which was routine) and the Watch had gotten involved (which was not), the force had swelled. Nowadays, when asked "Why did you join?" new recruits sometimes gave a different answer than the traditional "It was this or death/disgrace/dismemberment. Err--sir." Occasionally one, generally a bit on the weedy side and and so wet behind the ears that they dribbled down his neck, would say with a suspicious gleam in his eye, "I was looking for a little excitement, sir." He always did his best to make sure that gleam was knocked out by the dullness of disillusion as quickly as possible. Nearsightedness, a limp, slow reflexes--any of these could work to a man's disadvantage in action, but that gleam would get you killed nine times out of ten. It was a sort of nearmindedness.
Commander Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch didn't believe in looking for excitement.* Even so, he'd had his fair share (and probably someone else's) of mortal danger over the years. He had survived dragons, more attempted assasinations than there were consonants on a map of Poland, and years on a diet that made grease look healthy in comparison. He'd tangled with trolls, dueled with dwarves and wrestled werewolves, and if there'd been a word that started with V meaning "to be engaged in a life and undeath struggle" he'd probably done that with vampires. He'd been shot, stabbed, bitten, burned, drowned and even promoted, but nothing had frightened him quite as much as Angua did lately. The vibes she'd been putting out certainly made his workplace more Exciting, in the sense that it suddenly felt like a very dangerous place to be.
Constable Angua had been someone's Brilliant Idea: Put two minorities in the Watch in one body. And in a way, it was brilliant. Although by now word had got out that there was a werewolf in the Watch (this sort of thing was hard to keep quiet, and in any case information tended to find Nobby's head a tight fit and always tried to squeeze out through his mouth), not every criminal had the foresight to carry scent bombs. Many a case had been solved by a little "plain-clothes" work and a sniff or two; "Closed by the nose" they were starting to write on the reports. As a bonus, her gender was obvious without close inspection and rather embarrassing inquiry (unlike the female dwarf Watch, err, persons). This helped to dispel the image that the Watch was composed solely of testosterone and the smell of unwashed laundry, and incidentally bolstered the number of new recruits reeking of both.
Two birds with one stone. Brilliant indeed, except that both birds could probably eat you alive for one week every month. And right now, as he watched her pacing restlessly behind her desk, shaking her head rapidly every few steps, he knew which bird was hungry, and it wasn't the one you could stop with silver bullets.
"Erm," he ventured.
She stopped. "Sir?"
"Do you think you could stop that?"
"Stop what?"
"Never mind," he sighed. "Look, if there's something on your mind--" he cut off the rest of the sentence, partly because he couldn't imagine how he could end it without regretting it, but mostly because she'd suddenly gone quite still. When he'd spoken she'd merely stopped pacing, but now her entire body was taut. Morphologically speaking it was impossible, but he was sure she'd pricked her ears. "Send him into my office when he comes in, will you? I wanted to ask him about the recent burglary down by the docks."
She whirled. "How do you know that I was waiting for Carrot? What makes you think that I'm listening for him? Why does everyone think that just because we're--" she cut off as she saw the eyebrows rising, and muttered "Yes sir."
He climbed the stairs to his office with as much speed as he thought could still fall under the label of "efficiently walking" as opposed to, say, "terrified fleeing." Lately the air was so charged around her that he'd stopped smoking in the main room. It got even worse when the subject of Carrot came up, or down, or lurked anywhere near a conversation. It had gotten to the point that everyone was afraid to mention him around her, but did so anyway because they had a feel that NOT mentioning him would somehow be even more fatal. Had it been anyone else he would have assumed a lover's quarrel, but quarreling with Carrot took more resourcefulness than sculpting with Jell-O and twice as much tenacity. He had yet to see it done.
He stepped into his office with a sigh, cigar already moving to his lips. He hated to get involved in their personal lives. Personally he felt that you never stopped being a Watchman, no matter your hours, but at least off duty you were technically free to be a fool. On the other hand, this was bad for morale. Even Detritus had started to sweat around her, and as he had no glands that was no mean feat. Clearly a talk with Carrot was in order. He just wished he knew what he'd say.
Presently the door downstairs opened and Carrot's cheery tones of general inquiry sounded through the floor. He might not be loud, but by the gods, the man's voice could carry. He could hear nothing from the other end of the exchange, but Carrot said, "Certainly, I'll do that right now. Are you going home soon? Would you like me to walk you back? Oh. Well, Cheery told me about this lovely little cafe close to the docks, she said she could barely smell the river. So if you're hun--oh. Well, tomorrow then!" He marveled at the sheer undaunted pluck in that voice. It sounded like it could march through an ocean and come out barely damp.
"Come in," he said, as the floorboards indicated that Carrot was about to knock. Carrot Ironfoundersson, Captain of the Watch, marched to his desk. Carrot could punch like a rocket, climb like a monkey, and dive and roll like a porpoise, but couldn't quite seem to get the hang of moving casually. Initially he'd gone around with his shoulders stooped (the product of living in a cavern built for people who came up to his hipbones), but even then he'd projected an image of striding. He couldn't seem to saunter or stroll, and as for sneaking--Vimes had seen him try to sneak once, and it hadn't been pretty.
"Captain Carrot, reporting as requested, sir."
"Captain, it has come to my attention that...well..." He stalled, and resisted the urge to drum his fingers.
"Sir, if this is about the burglaries, we found out who was behind them."
Vimes straightened up. This was something he could handle. "You found him? How? Have you arrested him?"
"We arrested one of them. He asked us to, actually."
"One of them? Have you found the other one?"
"We did. Actually, the burglar did. In fact, that's when he asked us to arrest him." Carrot coughed in a manner indicating professional embarrassment. "The Thieves' Guild seem to have gotten to him first, sir."
He sighed. "Did they leave enough of him to identify?"
"Well, no, but they did leave a business card, so I imagine if you really wanted to know, sir..."
"Never mind, that won't be necessary." The lower classes of Ankh-Morpork were like rats. They were dirty and bred in the shadows, and no matter how many were killed they inevitably manage to fill in the ranks. In fact, they were slightly less welcome than rats, in that if every last one of them disappeared no dwarves would be upset. "But on another topic, Captain...ahem...I feel that perhaps it would be good if you...if I...if..the men are..." His voice died of shame in his throat.
"Sir?"
He rallied for one more attempt. "Carrot, I feel there's been some tension lately between you and Constable Angua."
"Tension? She hasn't said anything to me about it, sir."
I just bet she hasn't, Vimes thought to himself. If there was one thing he'd learned since marrying Lady Ramkins, it was that the things women didn't say were often more dangerous than the things they did. "Nevertheless, I'm going to be blunt and ask. Is something wrong? Because if there is, it's my job to make sure that the Watch runs smoothly, regardless of...personal affairs." Not bad, he thought, he'd muttered the last bit and there was no doubt that Sybil would've done a better job of it, but not bad.
Carrot flushed, and pulled himself even further upright. "Sir, I had no idea that my performance had slipped. I'll redouble my efforts." "No, no! You've been fine." It's everyone else who's spooked, he added mentally. "But Constable Angua seems unusually jumpy lately and it's just one week past new moon. Any idea what could be bothering her?"
A thoughtful look crossed the Captain's face. "Now that you mention it, she has seemed a bit tense. I thought perhaps she was still upset over her birthday present."
"Her birthday present? Why, what did you get her? A silver necklace?"
Carrot obediently smiled. "No sir, I baked her a cake." The response held just a hint of pride that suggested many floury hours of struggle.
"So why would she be upset with that?"
"She bit it."
"Ah." Vimes had experienced small cases of culture clash before (the bigger ones were usually called wars). In Ankh-Morpork, surprisingly, it didn't seem to be a huge problem, despite the mishmash of humans, dwarves, trolls, undead, and non-living that made up its citizenry. In fact, the different cultures ran so close together that the narrower-minded and louder-mouthed citizens were generally weeded out by natural selection**. However, the difficulties inherent in a match between a human raised among dwarves and a werewolf raised among, well, werewolves, were too much for his imagination. He knew very little of how their relationship worked beyond the fact that it apparently did.
Naturally there were always some kinks. Evidently Angua's volunteer work at the Battle Bread Museum hadn't provided her with an adequate distrust of baked goods, but he was willing to bet that after this she'd never again bite at what she couldn't chew. Still, it seemed a somewhat petty thing to have provoked such a response. "She still feeling it?"
"No sir, in fact, we got her back on solids on Monday." Carrot beamed with the optimism of one who is sure that given time and a little education, forged loaves will be all the rage.
He leaned back further in his chair. "Somehow, I don't think that's it. You're sure you didn't forget anything? Maybe you had a disagreement?" He was at a loss when tackling a mystery that didn't involve a dead body, somewhere. He preferred to think that this one didn't.
"Not that I'm aware, sir."
He sighed. "Very well, then, you're dismissed." Carrot saluted, and went out the door, closing it softly behind him.
It would've saved the Commander at least four cigars if he'd heard what Carrot said softly at the bottom of the stairs, as he looked at one empty desk in particular. "I did ask her to marry me, though."
* He found it hard to arrest.
** e.g., a brief but unpleasant encounter in a dark alley.
................................
A magnificent sight, and one most unique. Thus it seems even stranger that, if one were merely to lift up the corner of the rubber sheet of the Universe, one might find not one, but countless more A'tuins making their way through equally vast reaches of space, some perhaps with even different destinations. This, if it could but be perceived, would be the multiverse-- an infinite string of universes* where every possibility, every potential outcome was explored.
It was precisely this that was about to be irrevocably changed.
* Including one where the Great A'tuin was a walrus.
................................
The Watch was no place for a man who liked peace. Tedium and paperwork, yes, but peace? A month as the average law enforcement officer was bound to be twenty-nine days of routine and one day of sheer chaos, but you never knew which day it would be. And the crime rate in Ankh-Morpork was far from the average, although it certainly contributed to it. After its reorganization in recent years Watchmen had given up on the old cry of "All's Well!" because the more sensitive officers took offense at the derisive hoots that usually followed.
After a few catastrophes had threatened the city (which was routine) and the Watch had gotten involved (which was not), the force had swelled. Nowadays, when asked "Why did you join?" new recruits sometimes gave a different answer than the traditional "It was this or death/disgrace/dismemberment. Err--sir." Occasionally one, generally a bit on the weedy side and and so wet behind the ears that they dribbled down his neck, would say with a suspicious gleam in his eye, "I was looking for a little excitement, sir." He always did his best to make sure that gleam was knocked out by the dullness of disillusion as quickly as possible. Nearsightedness, a limp, slow reflexes--any of these could work to a man's disadvantage in action, but that gleam would get you killed nine times out of ten. It was a sort of nearmindedness.
Commander Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch didn't believe in looking for excitement.* Even so, he'd had his fair share (and probably someone else's) of mortal danger over the years. He had survived dragons, more attempted assasinations than there were consonants on a map of Poland, and years on a diet that made grease look healthy in comparison. He'd tangled with trolls, dueled with dwarves and wrestled werewolves, and if there'd been a word that started with V meaning "to be engaged in a life and undeath struggle" he'd probably done that with vampires. He'd been shot, stabbed, bitten, burned, drowned and even promoted, but nothing had frightened him quite as much as Angua did lately. The vibes she'd been putting out certainly made his workplace more Exciting, in the sense that it suddenly felt like a very dangerous place to be.
Constable Angua had been someone's Brilliant Idea: Put two minorities in the Watch in one body. And in a way, it was brilliant. Although by now word had got out that there was a werewolf in the Watch (this sort of thing was hard to keep quiet, and in any case information tended to find Nobby's head a tight fit and always tried to squeeze out through his mouth), not every criminal had the foresight to carry scent bombs. Many a case had been solved by a little "plain-clothes" work and a sniff or two; "Closed by the nose" they were starting to write on the reports. As a bonus, her gender was obvious without close inspection and rather embarrassing inquiry (unlike the female dwarf Watch, err, persons). This helped to dispel the image that the Watch was composed solely of testosterone and the smell of unwashed laundry, and incidentally bolstered the number of new recruits reeking of both.
Two birds with one stone. Brilliant indeed, except that both birds could probably eat you alive for one week every month. And right now, as he watched her pacing restlessly behind her desk, shaking her head rapidly every few steps, he knew which bird was hungry, and it wasn't the one you could stop with silver bullets.
"Erm," he ventured.
She stopped. "Sir?"
"Do you think you could stop that?"
"Stop what?"
"Never mind," he sighed. "Look, if there's something on your mind--" he cut off the rest of the sentence, partly because he couldn't imagine how he could end it without regretting it, but mostly because she'd suddenly gone quite still. When he'd spoken she'd merely stopped pacing, but now her entire body was taut. Morphologically speaking it was impossible, but he was sure she'd pricked her ears. "Send him into my office when he comes in, will you? I wanted to ask him about the recent burglary down by the docks."
She whirled. "How do you know that I was waiting for Carrot? What makes you think that I'm listening for him? Why does everyone think that just because we're--" she cut off as she saw the eyebrows rising, and muttered "Yes sir."
He climbed the stairs to his office with as much speed as he thought could still fall under the label of "efficiently walking" as opposed to, say, "terrified fleeing." Lately the air was so charged around her that he'd stopped smoking in the main room. It got even worse when the subject of Carrot came up, or down, or lurked anywhere near a conversation. It had gotten to the point that everyone was afraid to mention him around her, but did so anyway because they had a feel that NOT mentioning him would somehow be even more fatal. Had it been anyone else he would have assumed a lover's quarrel, but quarreling with Carrot took more resourcefulness than sculpting with Jell-O and twice as much tenacity. He had yet to see it done.
He stepped into his office with a sigh, cigar already moving to his lips. He hated to get involved in their personal lives. Personally he felt that you never stopped being a Watchman, no matter your hours, but at least off duty you were technically free to be a fool. On the other hand, this was bad for morale. Even Detritus had started to sweat around her, and as he had no glands that was no mean feat. Clearly a talk with Carrot was in order. He just wished he knew what he'd say.
Presently the door downstairs opened and Carrot's cheery tones of general inquiry sounded through the floor. He might not be loud, but by the gods, the man's voice could carry. He could hear nothing from the other end of the exchange, but Carrot said, "Certainly, I'll do that right now. Are you going home soon? Would you like me to walk you back? Oh. Well, Cheery told me about this lovely little cafe close to the docks, she said she could barely smell the river. So if you're hun--oh. Well, tomorrow then!" He marveled at the sheer undaunted pluck in that voice. It sounded like it could march through an ocean and come out barely damp.
"Come in," he said, as the floorboards indicated that Carrot was about to knock. Carrot Ironfoundersson, Captain of the Watch, marched to his desk. Carrot could punch like a rocket, climb like a monkey, and dive and roll like a porpoise, but couldn't quite seem to get the hang of moving casually. Initially he'd gone around with his shoulders stooped (the product of living in a cavern built for people who came up to his hipbones), but even then he'd projected an image of striding. He couldn't seem to saunter or stroll, and as for sneaking--Vimes had seen him try to sneak once, and it hadn't been pretty.
"Captain Carrot, reporting as requested, sir."
"Captain, it has come to my attention that...well..." He stalled, and resisted the urge to drum his fingers.
"Sir, if this is about the burglaries, we found out who was behind them."
Vimes straightened up. This was something he could handle. "You found him? How? Have you arrested him?"
"We arrested one of them. He asked us to, actually."
"One of them? Have you found the other one?"
"We did. Actually, the burglar did. In fact, that's when he asked us to arrest him." Carrot coughed in a manner indicating professional embarrassment. "The Thieves' Guild seem to have gotten to him first, sir."
He sighed. "Did they leave enough of him to identify?"
"Well, no, but they did leave a business card, so I imagine if you really wanted to know, sir..."
"Never mind, that won't be necessary." The lower classes of Ankh-Morpork were like rats. They were dirty and bred in the shadows, and no matter how many were killed they inevitably manage to fill in the ranks. In fact, they were slightly less welcome than rats, in that if every last one of them disappeared no dwarves would be upset. "But on another topic, Captain...ahem...I feel that perhaps it would be good if you...if I...if..the men are..." His voice died of shame in his throat.
"Sir?"
He rallied for one more attempt. "Carrot, I feel there's been some tension lately between you and Constable Angua."
"Tension? She hasn't said anything to me about it, sir."
I just bet she hasn't, Vimes thought to himself. If there was one thing he'd learned since marrying Lady Ramkins, it was that the things women didn't say were often more dangerous than the things they did. "Nevertheless, I'm going to be blunt and ask. Is something wrong? Because if there is, it's my job to make sure that the Watch runs smoothly, regardless of...personal affairs." Not bad, he thought, he'd muttered the last bit and there was no doubt that Sybil would've done a better job of it, but not bad.
Carrot flushed, and pulled himself even further upright. "Sir, I had no idea that my performance had slipped. I'll redouble my efforts." "No, no! You've been fine." It's everyone else who's spooked, he added mentally. "But Constable Angua seems unusually jumpy lately and it's just one week past new moon. Any idea what could be bothering her?"
A thoughtful look crossed the Captain's face. "Now that you mention it, she has seemed a bit tense. I thought perhaps she was still upset over her birthday present."
"Her birthday present? Why, what did you get her? A silver necklace?"
Carrot obediently smiled. "No sir, I baked her a cake." The response held just a hint of pride that suggested many floury hours of struggle.
"So why would she be upset with that?"
"She bit it."
"Ah." Vimes had experienced small cases of culture clash before (the bigger ones were usually called wars). In Ankh-Morpork, surprisingly, it didn't seem to be a huge problem, despite the mishmash of humans, dwarves, trolls, undead, and non-living that made up its citizenry. In fact, the different cultures ran so close together that the narrower-minded and louder-mouthed citizens were generally weeded out by natural selection**. However, the difficulties inherent in a match between a human raised among dwarves and a werewolf raised among, well, werewolves, were too much for his imagination. He knew very little of how their relationship worked beyond the fact that it apparently did.
Naturally there were always some kinks. Evidently Angua's volunteer work at the Battle Bread Museum hadn't provided her with an adequate distrust of baked goods, but he was willing to bet that after this she'd never again bite at what she couldn't chew. Still, it seemed a somewhat petty thing to have provoked such a response. "She still feeling it?"
"No sir, in fact, we got her back on solids on Monday." Carrot beamed with the optimism of one who is sure that given time and a little education, forged loaves will be all the rage.
He leaned back further in his chair. "Somehow, I don't think that's it. You're sure you didn't forget anything? Maybe you had a disagreement?" He was at a loss when tackling a mystery that didn't involve a dead body, somewhere. He preferred to think that this one didn't.
"Not that I'm aware, sir."
He sighed. "Very well, then, you're dismissed." Carrot saluted, and went out the door, closing it softly behind him.
It would've saved the Commander at least four cigars if he'd heard what Carrot said softly at the bottom of the stairs, as he looked at one empty desk in particular. "I did ask her to marry me, though."
* He found it hard to arrest.
** e.g., a brief but unpleasant encounter in a dark alley.
................................