Chapter 6—Gay
Stoker Blake slipped out of the meeting hall appointment, largely because he needed to clean his shovel. It still had bits of breakfast stuck to it; also, he needed coffee, or sweet tea, or something to get rid of the taste of the local sausages.
He'd forgotten to pack mouthwash. He'd forgotten to pack lots of things because he was sleeping amongst the men, two to a cabin, and he'd had to switch beds due to sheer worry. He'd found someone nicely introverted who didn't snore, and smiled at him when he woke up.
His sleeping partner was also quite dim in the spectacle department and hadn't recognised his true identity yet. He worked as a wheel-tapper, and smelled of soap not grease. He liked gears a lot, and then Stoker Blake had to tune him out, except it was getting harder now.
Havelock Vetinari suspected he was falling in love. Unfortunately, he was dressed as Stoker Blake, and would be for only some time.
His breathing had gotten softer; Vimes was friendlier to him than they'd ever been in their entire lives; and he'd gotten used to his spy persona again.
His sleeping partner was due off shift soon, and they would have some more decent time together.
Chapter 7—The Fall
"Well?" Vimes sounded like he was glaring at Vetinari.
Stoker Blake wound himself around a coal bucket and raised both eyebrows, masked by the cap. He felt a hand around his ankle, and looked down to see Vimes hanging on tightly.
He quickly grabbed him by the hand and dragged him back onto the train. Vimes lay on the floor, then got up on one knee. Stoker Blake dragged him upright. "What-what happened?" Vimes was pale. The driver looked round in alarm.
"I damn well bloody fell off, didn't I?" The whole train jolted. Vimes regained his balance. His hand went to his swords. He was wearing two now, since alerted of imminent attack.
Stoker Blake jammed down the rising adrenaline inside of himself. He picked up his shovel out of weeks of using the tool.
"Put that thing down," said Vimes, still pale. "The last thing I want is breakfast." He shakily gripped the side of the cabin, breathing fast, sword ready.
Stoker Blake wielded it and spun it perfectly. Vimes wasn't watching, and therefore wasn't impressed. So he quickly stoked the furnace until it was up to a roaring heat. The gauge was impressed.
"There," mumbled Stoker Blake and stood back.
Facing frontward, Vimes clambered up onto the top of the train, sword clutched in one fist. The wind blew his helmet off, and it clanged down by Stoker Blake's feet, and rolled off under the train. The train screeched until the helmet buckled under the wheel. Sparks flew up. Blake hung onto the side and looked towards the engine. A checked flag wove, half-knitted by enthusiasts.
Stoker Blake tucked his shovel by the handle up under his belt, strapped to his thigh.
He climbed out onto the running plate and, hand-over-hand, made his way to the engine cabin. Dick Simnel was there.
He looked shocked when Stoker Blake dropped down.
"Has it started yet?" Stoker Blake asked. He wiped his already sweating face with his sleeve.
The temperature gauge trembled. Dick said, "What's been happening?" and pulled the whistle. Steam billowed out for a long moment, deafening the screech.
"Vimes half-fell off the train, but he's by the front tender now, armed and dangerous."
"Where's that Moist Lipwig?" Dick called for an assistant. "Go get Moist!"
Stoker Blake examined his fingernails, feeling left out.
Chapter 7a—Grags
The grag watched the train from atop the mountainslide. Rocks were trembling from the blast, and the delvers were trying to find a clear foothold.
Inside the cave, Ardent swept a speck of mortar from a paper scroll and continued studying. The grag outside wished for a darker sky, but the Dwarf Gods weren't listening, and Tak remaining of them all, was probably eating a rat.
Faint wispy clouds passed under an unknowingly cold dark sky. A whistle blew.
Chapter 8—Boyfriend
Stoker Blake ran down the length of the sleeping compartments until he spotted the extra-thick spectacles atop a practical pile of books. His boyfriend slept with a pillow per usual over his head.
He halted, and walked softly forward. Havelock shook him awake.
"Hwah?"
"Wake up," he hissed. "It's starting, I think."
"Hwhoo? Oh, it's you."
"It's me."
"Who-who's around?" He peered short-sightedly around their tightly curtained area.
Stoker Blake kissed him, and as per usual, got a slight wet tongue for his trouble. He helped him pull clothes on, and handed him a dagger. "Use this. It's better than a spanner if you have to defend yourself."
"You're going to fight? To save the King, the city, and Iron Girder?" He blinked owlishly.
"I had to haul Vimes back onto the train," he said, feeling dandy and full of ginger.
"Did you get his autograph?" He kissed Stoker Blake on the cheek. "Well done!"
Chapter 9—Signal
The grag gave the signal. And the delvers levered the first boulder off the mountainside and onto the tracks below. It bounced off a crevice, hit the tracks just before Iron Girder flew over them, and it rolled off down the side.
"Again!" he yelled, dragging his cloak over his warm robes. The wind was picking up.
Another boulder flew over the edge, landing near the guard's van.
Vetinari approached Vimes.
"I'm going to the tender," he hissed. "You?"
"The King," stated Vimes.
Vetinari grinned, producing a stiletto in both hands. "I never thought I'd hear you say that, Vimes!"
"Fine. The guard's van, then," he said as a loud thump caught the back of the train, and it shuddered back-to-front.
Vimes grabbed Stoker Blake's sooty sleeve. "Black up," he ordered. "The cap's not enough."
The delvers tied off the ropes, and began abseiling down into the canyon.
The grags joined them.
From their viewpoint, the goblins had fled the train, and there were only two trolls left on the flatbed, both watchmen.
Stoker Blake leapt from the tender onto the footplate. He swung one stiletto and had it shatter against a delver's armour; the reverb travelled up his arm and he dropped it. His hand tingled, and he snatched at his thigh-belt for the shovel.
His other arm swung out and caught a grag through its beard—he/she—giving him a, a, a throat-trim. Stoker Blake ducked and caught the axe blow on the sole remaining stiletto, still at arm's length.
Two dwarfs, kitted up, abseiled onto the roof.
He fumbled for the shovel's handle, caught it, and heaved it into his right palm. His fingers closed around it, and he jutted it out to the side, throwing one dwarf onto the tracks. He juggled it in one hand, dropped the stiletto—which was useless against the micromail—and both-handedly thrust the shovel into the dwarf's eyes.
Blinded, the dwarf yelled a battle-cry and waved his axe. Miraculously, he caught the blow on the shovel's handle. Two more inches and he would've been thumbless.
Havelock Vetinari's head swung. Commander Vimes' voice was heard, yelling up and down the train's length. They hadn't gotten to Rhys yet, and Moist was defending but missing.
He smiled. The Iron Girder goblins were swarming up the cliffs, jumping from rock to rock, taking out the delvers and soldiers. As the train curved round on the last of the track—something like that—he caught sight of Bluejohn bashing dwarfs together…
He caught the next attacking delver on the arm with one kick. He lashed out again, throwing his weight into it, and managed to bowl him over onto the tracks.
Vetinari grabbed hold of the tender, and scrambled back onto the train. He was missing one trouser leg and his hand burnt. He opened the furnace, stoked it automatically, and as another dwarf appeared, heaved the giant poker out and skewed the dwarf through the head.
The poker was whipped back into the flames, and the temperature gauge wobbled.
Vimes automatically arrested as many unconscious as he could. The train had to stop and pick up the goblins, and it was very tempting to back up the train like a carriage and run over as many grags as possible.
Out of the men—personnel, he corrected himself as Cheery approached—all but seven had survived. A handful of cleaners, engineers and misc. had scraped through, and the rest needed the usual amount of bandages, soup, and sleep.
Cheery said, "We found Moist with her majesty after all. Bluejohn thought he'd seen him fall off."
Vimes felt the bandage around his leg loosen. He leaned against a wall.
"Get these lot arrested to be in front of me later. We need to find out names, Cheery."
"Yes, sir." She saluted.
"The guard's van," said Vimes. "Put them in there, and warn Detritus."
Stoker Blake limped into his view, cream bandages over his hand.
Vimes, with regret, remembered the raw sausages and tomato ketchup he had planned later.
He bent over and tapped one dwarf on the helmet; it rang.
"Some are wearing micromail," explained Stoker Blake lightly. "Weapons were all but useless."
Crouching, Vimes looked around. "I had no problem. You-you did what?"
Stoker Blake smiled under the grime and soot, and said nothing.
Vimes glared. Cheery said, "Anything else, Mister Vimes?"
He handed her a food packet. "Put this in my quarters. Oh, and get everyone awake. Well, some of the rail workers will have to sleep on seats. We need locked rooms for the prisoners. The goblins won't like it having to share with the humans." Vimes managed a grin.
Cheery nodded. "Yes, sir. The next clacks tower is two miles away, unless we get the temp tower up after the second tunnel."
"Don't risk it," growled Vimes. "Wait and report it at the next tower."
After Cheery had left, Vimes felt a space welling up behind him. He turned and Stoker Blake unusually these days was wearing Vetinari's blank expression.
Vimes felt thankful Cheery had removed the ketchup. His old fear-tingle was back. The best way to cope was to stay in character.
"Yes, Stoker Blake?" he demanded.
Don't I get a say in the matter? said Stoker Blake's adjusted mien.
"Come on, spit it out, man. I've got grags to interrogate."
With one raised bleeding eyebrow, Stoker Blake conveyed the number of unconscious dwarfs being hauled into the diner carriage and dumped under the tables.
I killed mine, said Vetinari's face.
So did I, postured Vimes back. So did everyone. These lot went down like dominoes.
Dom-ma-what? asked Vetinari with an eyebrow.
Dominoes, gestured Vimes, giving him a hint as he mimed toppling them with a finger.
"I see."
Out loud, Vimes said, "You smell. I had sausages planned after your shift."
Vetinari said, tightly holding onto his hand bandage—the left, which was going to make it awkward for the cane later, and for shaving—"I'm feeling very spritely after the goblins dosed me with Moist's magical medicine. Do you know what it is?"
Vimes said, after a double-take, "Detritus says it's made from mushrooms, not Slab, not Slither, not Silky, not pollen after Cheery tested it for hayfever. It's psychedelic, but an important part of—" he spat on the floor "—goblin culture."
"Ah, I wondered… up and down the train… why there were so many rainbows in this region, especially as we've left most of the waterfalls behind in the Paps of Scilla."
He carefully brushed some of Vimes' last meal off the seat and sat down. "How many of us died?"
Vimes said, "Seven, at the last count. Twenty-one injured, including us and Cheery. I don't think anyone was unscathed after they rushed the armoured carriages. D'you know they came through the floor? We had one hanging underneath with a blow-torch."
"A dragon?" asked Vetinari, touching himself up with soot. His forehead had stopped bleeding.
"No, a tool. It exploded, and he or she is unconscious in here somewhere."
"By der door," said Detritus, looming into the diner. He dumped two more kits of abseiling equipment down on a diseased dwarf with a severely pocked face.
Vimes resisted giving the dwarfs a kick. Vetinari noticed his leg twitch.
"You're injured there," said Vetinari simply. To Vimes, however, who was used to political iciness from the man, he sounded fired up and ready to fight again.
Vimes said, "I want you back on the front. Not the damn firebox again, but nearer the tender. Keep an eye out until we hit the clacks tower. And keep Dick Simnel away."
"Yes, sir," said Vetinari, rolling his eyes. "Understood at once, sir."
Vimes stood up and followed Detritus.