I won't be writing any dialogue coming from the mouths of existing Discworld characters. This is because I don't trust myself to do it accurately. So I mostly made up all the characters, which I hope doesn't make it any less enjoyable. Other than that, Discworld itself belongs to Terry Pratchett. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

The thief wasn't prepared for the plank of wood. He could have handled a leg. Most people use their leg. Most people don't take the time to go and find a plank of wood. In Ahnk-Morpork, no less,where the bolts get stolen out of the doors and sold within the hour. He went over backwards and rolled a few times. There was a horrible pain in his jaw, which he would later find out this was because it was shattered in two places. The thief grabbed his face and curled up in a ball, whimpering. On the edge of his own personal world of agony, the thief saw a Watchman, man, hah! He was still in his teens! The kid was tall, thin, with long untidy black hair that made him look a bit like a girl. He wasn't wearing a helmet, but was smoking a cigarette and coming closer, saying, in a drawling tone, "Hey, scumbag, get up." He lashed out a foot and caught the thief in the stomach. Wheezing, the thief got to his feet, trying to say something, but with the pain in his jaw it came out as a half-hearted gurgle. The kid kicked him again to get him walking, and so they progressed through the streets back to the nearest Watch house.

"He's a licensed thief!"

"He was running!"

"That's because you were chasing him!"

"He didn't show his card!"

"How do you know? Anyway, it doesn't change the fact that there's a thief down in our cells with a fractured jaw, two broken ribs, and a face full of splinters! You're lucky he isn't suing!" Yelled Sergeant Klum, a minor officer who was mainly there to yell at people and get them to do stuff. Right now the target of his anger was a young Constable named Derek Carter. He was slouching against the wall and looking reproachfully at a point six inches to the right of the Sergeant's head as he was berated mercilessly, every once in a while trying to argue his defense. He'd made these kinds of mistakes before, but he had a feeling that this time, there would be a punishment a little bit more serious than cleaning out the pigeon cages.

The Sergeant glared at him, "So, Mister Carter, you will be doing patrol duty in the Shades this week, effective immediately." With that sentence, Derek descended into his own little private Hell. The Shades was where people died, "Constable Feldspar will accompany you, Carter, and you'll find him over there." He said, gesturing to the edge of the room, where a tall spindly troll was trying to write a report. He didn't seem incredibly dull, like most trolls, Derek had to admit, and the prospect of patrolling in the Shades became a little less foreboding. A partner was good to have in that place, if only to use as a shield.

Lighting another of his thin little cigarettes, Derek took one last look at the Sergeant who glared at him and then glanced meaningfully at the door, then grabbed Feldspar's shoulder and dragged, as well as he could drag a troll, out the door. Once they had left the Watch House Derek turned to Feldspar and said, "Okay, my name's Derek. That's really all you need to know at this time, and that's all I'm going to tell you, understand?" The troll nodded somberly. A man of few words, apparently.

Walking into the Shades was, psychologically, a little like getting banished to Hell, but for a few reasons. One, demons from Hell can't kill you; they can only torture you mercilessly. Two, no fire was evident because most people in the Shades couldn't afford torches. Three, it doesn't matter if you're good or bad, in the Shades, you bleed all the same. Usually. Derek was barely comforted by his badge, which was shield-shaped, small, and made of bronze. If he put it over his heart, he might be lucky enough for it to deflect incoming arrows, but really, no one can aim that well.

Derek's private musings were interrupted when a body fell out a window and onto constable Feldspar. In his personal experience, Derek had only seen one dead person before. But that was his grandmother in a coffin and he didn't really think that counted. As the troll got back to his feet and began examining the body, Derek stumbled over to the nearest alleyway, a daring attempt in this neighborhood, and was sick in a little trashcan. People's legs should not bend like that. Recovering, the young constable wiped his mouth and went over to see what Feldspar had found. He held up a card to show Derek, saying, in a rather quiet voice for a troll, "Assassin's Guild"

Derek snatched the card from his hand and said irritably, "I can see that." He gazed at it for a few seconds and then threw it back down onto the body, "Okay, it's official, so we forget we ever saw it, clear?"

Feldspar rumbled, " Crystal."

"Good." Derek took one last look at the body and, before the bile started to rise, turned and left, with Feldspar following. Part of Derek was glad that the corpse was official and that he didn't have to mess with it. But another, slightly larger part, was wishing fervently for the chance to deal out sweet, sweet justice to the perpetrator. He believed that people should not leave bodies in the street. That was . . . wrong. Well, this was Ahnk-Morpork, but still. There was such a thing as tidiness at least? He put it out of his head. It didn't matter.

If Derek had been a bit more suspicious, he might have found out that the card now lying on top of the dead man's chest, a rather unimportant businessman named Charley Puggins, did not have the name of any living assassin on the Disc.

The two constables managed to end their patrol without getting killed, injured, or involved in any crimes. They returned to the Watch house and filled out their reports and prepared to go home for the morning. Derek was about to do just that when Sergeant Klum's voice stopped him dead at the door, "Mister Carter! A word please!" Derek turned around and sullenly stood to attention in front of the Sergeant, who said, "Well, Carter, it's your lucky day! It seems that a few more unlucky constables have also been sent to patrol the Shades, but, unfortunately, it seems we have an uneven number. Constable Axeback here," He pointed at a glowering dwarf behind him. The dwarf had black hair and grayish skin. His helmet had horns coming out of it, " will be patrolling with you also. I know we don't have three-person patrols, and of course you will have to do extra time, but I know you'll have a great time together." He grinned evilly and marched off.

Axeback stared straight ahead at the wall for a few seconds and then said, "Is he gone?" When Derek nodded, the dwarf relaxed and then went off on a tangent about the Sergeant, "He's a sadistic pig who will do everything in his power to make you, me and everybody else miserable! The only reason he was raised to sergeant is because he kissed up to Captain Carrot and Vimes can't keep track of all the recruits! He's an insult to the Watch! So help me, someday . . ." The dwarf looked dreamily into space as if contemplating what he would do to the Sergeant while wearing a mask and carrying a big, heavy stick. Derek felt a smile creep up. He liked this guy already.

So that's the first chapter! I'm hoping to write more so please review.