Corporal Ping had managed to get some legitimate work done on the shifting drainpipe. He dusted off his hands proudly and carefully leaned over the edge.

"Dorfl?" he called down.

"Yes Sir?"

"I'm hungry."

"Shall I Alert The Media?"

"Hell no, what are you crazy? That's the whole point of me doing this is to not attract that kind of attention."

Dorfl sighed as well as a golum could.

"What Do You Want, Sir?"

"Make me a sandwich."

"No."

"I'm your commanding officer you have to do what I say now make me a sandwich."

"You Are Not My Commanding Officer."

"That sounds like insubordination. I'm Mister Vimes now and you have to treat me like him."

"Yes Sir, But I Am Not Your Butler, Willikins Is. You Will Have To Ask Him Directly."

Ping thought about it for a moment. He glanced over at Willikins. He shivered and got back to work.

Vetinari was finally ready. The white figures undulated in neatly separated sections. They ran in single file lines through the openings between the mounds of waste.

"Vimes, I need you to help with the weaving. I can finish this in half the time that way."

"Weaving? You want me to knit you a scarf or did you bring me here to darn your socks?"

"I only ask you to assist the Weaving Dark in her task. She will need you to spool the threads, keep them bound until she has time to get to them."

"Fault me for trying, sir, but is there any chance you might, oh I don't know… tell me what the hell you're doing!" said Vimes. He glared at Vetinari.

"No."

"You're damn well going to tell me! I've gone along with all this insanity on good faith or at least something roughly equivalent. I'm not going to let you dismiss me like you've done so many times before."

"There are some things that mustn't be shared."

"You gave up you're right to secrecy the moment you touched my hand. You said you trust me! I protected you and after that incident on the tower, I even made it a point to stop myself from hurting you. That isn't easy even back in the real world. I have a right to know what's going on in my own mind! This isn't your Ankh-Morpork, its mine, and in my world, you have to follow my laws."

The Patrician scowled. Vimes stared back equally determined. With Nobby filching speed, he grabbed Vetinari by his collar and pulled him forward. Nose to nose they glared at each other. The sky darkened and the white figures stirred anxiously. Neither man moved.

"Tell me something." Vimes whispered. "Who will you go to the next time this happens?"

Vetinari's mask of calm didn't falter. He remained silent. The white ghosts grew increasingly restless. Vimes pushed on mercilessly.

"Why does my wife call you Havelock?"

Vetinari turned his head away from Vimes' gaze but to his credit, did not fall down this time. The white figures crept closer, surrounding them.

"Back off!" Vimes barked at the imposing figures. They stopped. "Maybe a better question is: why does she still call you Havelock?"

Vetinari pushed Vimes away with all the strength he could muster and dropped to one knee breathing heavily. The figures started closing in again.

"I said sod off!" Vimes shouted.

Vetinari stared blankly at the ground. "Lady Sybil calls me Havelock simply because she wants to," he said quickly.

Vimes glared at Vetinari distrustfully. "I thought you said you couldn't lie here. You wouldn't have reacted so strongly if that were true."

"It is true. I never asked her to use my first name, but I can't bring myself to tell her to stop when it's the only thing that proves that I'm not just the Patrician to her."

The air froze. Vetinari shut his eyes. The grey world wrenched the truth out of him. It wasn't fair.

"Whenever she calls me that, I think about all the things I don't have."

Vimes' anger blazed into a sudden inferno. The world darkened ominously and black lightning erupted from the ground around him. Vetinari had exploited him, but this… This was so much more.

Vimes lunged at Vetinari knocking him to the ground and pinned him face down with a practiced movement. He was breathing heavily with barely contained rage.

"YOU STAY AWAY FROM MY WIFE!"

The Summoning Dark rose from the ground, drawn to the tantalizing spike of anger. The Guarding Dark was not far behind.

"THAT'S WHY YOU PROMOTED ME? YOU WANTED TO GET CLOSER TO HER!

"No, that's not…"

The Guarding Dark lit his lantern but it was not enough. This time the Summoning Dark was ready. It fed off of the fury and grew stronger. Its tail lashed out at the Guardian. He dodged and brought down his sword but it was useless. The Weaving Dark stood behind him trying to hold back the white masses that rushed towards them.

"You could have married her before me, BUT I'm just part of your bloody puzzle! What's the point in having her if there's no CHALLENGE?"

"She was…" Vetinari froze, his eyes glazed over.

The Patrician absorbed Vimes' hatred. He had miscalculated the power of the distilled anger that he had in abundance amplified by the fact that Vimes didn't tire in his own mind. He could do nothing to stop him. Vetinari's eyes closed and he went limp.

"YOU'VE BEEN WATCHING HER ALL ALONG! I KNOW YOU TALK WITH HER BEHIND MY BACK! YOU'VE BEEN MANIPULATING HER JUST LIKE YOU MANIPULATE ME!"

The white storm returned with vengeance devouring everything in its path. The Weaving Dark's power had as much effect as blowing bubbles at a charging lion. The Guarding Dark pushed her behind him and met the wave of pale bodies head on. He attacked with the same strength of will that Sam would use to protect his son. The Weaving Dark darted forward and tried to help the Patrician but Vimes did not see her. The Summoning Dark had taken ahold of him.

"YOU THINK IF YOU BERATE ME ENOUGH, YOU'LL BREAK ME? YOU SEND ME ON DANGEROUS MISSIONS HOPING I'LL DIE!"

Vimes' pure human rage resisted the Summoning Dark's demand for immediate death. To Vimes, simply killing Vetinari would not be enough.

"WAKE UP AND FACE ME, YOU COWARD!" Vimes roared. His fist hit Vetinari with all the pent up rage gathered over years of deprecation and criticism. "YOU USED ME! YOU MONSTER!"

And, for one hideous moment Vimes became more than the Dark. He assailed the limp body breaking bones and leaving deep gouges in the skin. Vetinari did not scream. He did not try to defend himself. He knew it was useless.

"Oh shit! Lawn!"

"This had better not—"

"This is important! Get me a bed sheet now! Two doors on your left!"

"Should I fetch some hot water too?"

"Just get the damn sheet!"

Mrs. Cake ran to the balcony doors and opened them demurely.

"Willikins?" she asked politely and smoothly, "would you be so kind as to come in and help me with a little something?" Mrs. Cake's usual accent didn't allow for such flowery pleasantries except for when communication is of utmost importance. Willikins got the hint and walked casually to the back door of the house, closed it, and ran like a cat on fire up to the library. Mrs. Cake met him in the hall.

"String, ribbons, anything you can tie in a knot! As much as you can! Yes! Five Minutes!"

Willikins only took a second to rearrange his questions to fit with her precognitive answers. He dropped his garrote and bolted up the stairs to the attic. Sybil skidded on the rug outside the room and didn't even take a step before Mrs. Cake gave her orders.

"Get Young Sam and bring him here! Tell Lawn the white sheet not the pink one!"

Mrs. Cake's mind raced and spun calculating possible paths to this unexpected change in the timeline. She frantically dug through bits of time searching for one that had the possibility of not ending in a tear in the fabric of reality or something much worse. Actually, just having both of them die at this moment was better than half the other outcomes.

Lawn rushed into the room.

"Spread it out on them! Get rid of every pen in this room! Leave the pencils!"

Sybil returned with Young Sam.

"Oh, Sybil, I can't do this there are too many—Lettuce! Any kind of vegetable! Not Cabbage!

"Sam, you have a sailor toy, get rid of it! Your dad's in trouble! Then run and get the newspaper from the lavatory!"

Sam nodded.

Willikins rushed into the room carrying a box of Hogswatch ribbons, crochet yarn, mending string, a measuring tape, the tassels off a curtain, a basket of thread, a bolt of fine wire, and five pairs of lady Sybil's stockings.

"That's not enough!"

Willikins disappeared.

"Lawn, tie those strings to Vimes. Anywhere you can tie a string to!"

"Where?" asked Dr. Lawn before realizing he had already gotten the answer.

Mrs. Cake's ears were practically spewing smoke. She clapped her hands over them as much to stop the smoke as to fend off sensory overload.

"Damn it! Nothin' makes sense! Oi can't see quick enough!"

Then a new route appeared.

"Get me booze Sybil, as much as you can carry! Not zinfandel or anything from Quirm!"

Sam ran back into the room with the times.

"Go get… go… You have rat poop in your room? Don't answer that. Just go get it!"

Willikins ran into the room with ten feet of rope, six bootlaces, a clothes line, a dog leash, and an armful of lace trim.

"Lace perfect! Lawn focus on tyin' the lace! Get the dog leash on but chuck the shoestrings. Willikins, you help too."

"Argh Sybil, you're too much of a wild card, too many variables! Put down the alcohol quick and wait in the hall. Lawn grab the olive book in the second shelf of the bookcase left of the fireplace and give it to Sybil. Sam, take off your socks and shoes. Lawn, do the same for Vimes. Sybil, take the book and read it in the chintz chair by the window in the next room. Willikins get rid of those swords on the wall and close the door. Sam, throw that narwhal out the window, now!

Tick.

Tick…

Everything stopped.

He was bound, frozen in mid punch. The rage disappeared like smoke leaving only emptiness behind. The strength was sapped from every muscle in his body and he fought to stay awake. Not like this. It wasn't supposed to end like this. In his muddled senses, He heard something else.

Is that my breath? Why does it sound so far away?

He only had strength enough to move his eyes. Countless threads restrained him. He felt someone's arms around him, firm and unwavering. He saw a little girl, melting like a candle, the stubs of her fingers weaving desperately, her eyes sealed shut. She was leaning fearfully on the body of the man holding him back.

He looked beyond them. There was nothing, no color or light, just endless nonexistence that extended outside the walls of infinity.

He looked past the beaten body below him. The only thing that separated them from the void was a circular black cloud of mist. The silence beat down on him.

So this is it. This is how it ends, surrounded by oblivion and accompanied by the dead.

One of the threads holding him up snapped. His hand fell, but it caught on another string and stopped just above the other man's battered face.

Not knowing why, he strained to force his fingers to move. He needed to touch him, and then everything would be peaceful. Everything would disappear.

But the strings restrained him. His face contorted with guilt and fear. He parted his lips to form words that no one could hear.

0

Mrs. Cake screamed as the array of possible futures crumbled. Potential moments in time were snuffed in waves like a gust of wind over a rack of veladora candles, a tiny prayer disappearing with each one.

"NO! Nononononono—"

The house of cards was toppling. Time was running out and nothing made any sense. Then something worse happened. Mrs. Cake's premonitions blurred with blue static.

"GOD'S DAMN IT!"

"Your ears are bleeding," said Dr. Lawn.

"SHUT UP YOU PONCE!"

Mrs. Cake was forced to shut down her precognition and start it up again. It hurt like someone had kicked her in the head with a boot. The possible outcomes flickered back on in her mind. There were precious few left and more were disappearing each second. In a burst of clarity, Mrs. Cake noticed a hint of a pattern. Some futures were surviving fractionally longer than others.

"Ah ha! It's um… argh Oi can't see them quick enough. Sam!"

She looked at Young Sam in a last desperate hope.

"Do somethin', Sam! Oi don't know what you're supposed to do, but you got to do it now!"

Young Sam blinked and without even consulting his brain, he did what he had been doing before the interruption. He scrambled under the sheet and lay down between Vimes and Vetinari. He rested his head on his father's arm and took hold of the Patrician's sleeve. He put his thumb in his mouth and closed his eyes.

"She didn't mean that!" said Dr. Lawn. "You can't sleep there, you might never wake up!"

"Don't touch 'im, Mossy! He's openin' up new futures."

The drastic loss of timelines had slowed significantly. Mrs. Cake knew that Young Sam couldn't keep touching them for much longer, but right now he was buying her some time to think. She hated endangering a child like this, but there were no other options left.

"Willikins, roll Sam closer to the Patrician… keep your hands on him. Be ready to pull him away when I says to."

The trousers of time stabilized.

Tick…

In the void between lies and truth, a man floated, held in place by thousands of spectral threads that extended into oblivion.

Awareness passed through him.

I'm me.

In the silence, a low brief note passed through his consciousness.

The sound echoed back.

I belong to me.

The tone came to him again.

It echoed back.

Sam.

He heard the sound again.

Is that my name?

The echo came quicker this time.

Where am I?

Note and echo.

I need somewhere to be.

Note and echo.

A thin film of grey formed below him.

That's not enough.

Note, echo.

The grey thickened and spread. The strings around him started to snap.

Note, echo.

What's that noise?

For the first time, Sam noticed the body below him. The grey grew around the man like a wicker cradle.

I know him… but… he isn't me. Who would be here other than me?

The sound came quicker. The grey grew stronger. It spread out in quivering strands and started distinguishing areas of lighter grey.

"Havelock…"

Is that my voice? I think it is. Who's else could it be? Maybe it's his.

"Havelock, say something."

A new sound appeared, slightly lower than the other.

"Is that sound yours? I don't think you're doing it right. It's supposed to echo."

The new sound echoed.

"See, I told you it would."

The strings slowly gave way on Sam's left side until his shoulder touched the ground.

"Hey, Havelock, I moved… I think you're supposed to make that sound again, just sayin'."

Havelock's heart beat again. More strings snapped.

"I moved again. You should try it. It's kind of fun."

"No." Havelock said.

"Ah so I'm not crazy. This must be my voice, because you just talked."

The heartbeats became louder.

"Shut up, Sam. I hurt."

"Oh, now that you mention it, these strings hurt too. They're cutting into my skin. Listen, the heartbeats are steady now."

"Forgive me if I withhold my enthusiasm."

The last of the strings snapped. Sam fell. Havelock screamed.

"What happened? What's wrong?"

"Get off me you bastard!"

"I don't think I can do that. I'm out of string."

"You had better learn fast!"

Sam tried moving.

"Hah, it worked. I'm getting good at this being alive thing."

"You're still on me."

"Just a little. Does it hurt?"

"No, just don't move."

The two stayed silent for a while, neither could tell how long.

"Havelock?"

"What?"

"Do you feel better?"

"No."

"Anything I can do about that?"

"You can shut up."

Something passed.

"Havelock?"

"If you talk to me one more time, Sam, I will hurt you."

Something passed that was very similar to the last something.

"I'm bored."

Havelock screamed.

"I don't think you should try that again," said Sam.

"Thank you, Sam. I'll keep that in mind."

"... I'm sorry," said Sam. He touched his head to Havelock's arm.

"I assure you, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Hey, I thought you couldn't lie!"

"Don't tell me what I can and cannot do."

Sam was pretty sure that it was time that was passing. It felt a bit like time.

That's got to be it. I think I remember time being important.

"Havelock?"

"What!"

"Wasn't there someone else with us?"

There was another pause. It really felt like time.

"The Weaving Dark." Havelock replied softly.

"But, there was someone else."

"I remember the Summoning Dark was there."

"I don't think I remember that one," said Sam.

"It was there, believe me, and I didn't see anyone else."

Time definitely passed.

"The Guarding Dark," Sam whispered.

The broken strings around them began to move and change. They slithered off his body and joined together in vague clusters.

"I don't think that's supposed to happen." Sam commented.

"What are you talking about? I can't see."

"The threads are… doing… something."

"That's very descriptive, Sam."

"Now, I know that's a lie. Why are all…"

Suddenly Sam started choking and shivering, fighting for breath, as his strength drained from his body. His finger nails dug deep into Havelock's side and he screamed in agony. From the fallen threads, The Weaving Dark stitched herself into existence. Havelock opened his eyes and gazed softly at the little bone white girl with matted hair.

"You came back," he whispered.

She smiled weakly as her knitting slid around him like a comforting scarf. Havelock let the cool fabric soothe his wounds. He gasped and everything became clear. The buildings and streets of Ankh-Morpork suddenly burst into the existence with a blazing white light. Vetinari froze in terror as The Palace emerged behind him shining white.

"This is my mind." Vetinari said horrified.

Strengthened by the restored world, the Weaving Dark redoubled her knitting speed so that her hands were barely visible. Her melting body had mostly solidified and was now slowly regaining shape. The light shined intensely. There were no shadows here, only subtle shades of white delineated the positions of the houses.

"I shouldn't be here."

The soft cloth of the Weaving Dark nuzzled his skin causing all his wounds to start disappearing. She ended it sufficiently satisfied at his rate of recovery. She quickly gathered the black threads that had fallen off of Vimes and began to carefully interlace them.

"Vimes?" said Vetinari.

Vimes answered him with a cough and a weak groan.

All at once, the glaring light retreated to a more subtle glow. Grey lines etched themselves into the buildings and streets. The world inside Vetinari's head looked like an intricate pencil drawing; each detail preserved, yet could be erased and changed at any time.

Vimes clutched Vetinari's arm feebly. The heating blanket effect of touch worked both ways but he could barely keep his eyes open. Vimes struggled to breathe through the pain. His skin was covered in crosshatched cuts left by the binding thread. They had sliced through his clothes leaving them tattered.

Vimes closed his eyes and remained motionless. He could feel the presence of the Summoning Dark press on his mind as it was woven into existence behind him.

"It's gone isn't it?" said Vetinari.

The Weaving Dark looked down and nodded. "I'm sorry," she said, "it was all I could do! I saw an opportunity and I took it. I was afraid we would all die if I didn't."

"You did what you had to," said Vetinari. "You don't have to apologize for saving us."

"Yes I do," she said shamefully. "I exploited Young Sam doing this! I put him in danger. I don't even know what will happen to him!"

Vetinari glared at her coldly. Vimes' eyes snapped open.

"WHAT!" Vimes shouted then choked. His body hurt worse than hell.

"We don't use children Weaving Dark. Never," Vetinari said firmly.

"You think I don't know that!" she answered. "I wouldn't have done it if it wasn't an emergency!"

Vimes' hatred bubbled over. He tried to get up and failed. He resorted to grabbing Vetinari's ear and neck. His fingernails dug into the soft flesh.

"You depraved psychopath! Now you've taken advantage of my son? How much of my life do you plan on destroying before you're satisfied?"

Blood welled up under Vimes' nails and trickled down Vetinari's neck. The Summoning Dark floated wearily above them gathering its lost strength from the force of Vimes' anger.

"I'm sorry…" muttered Vetinari with genuine remorse.

"Sorry isn't enough! What makes you think I'm going to just let you take my world from me?"

Vimes' shifted closer. His fingers wrapped around his throat and squeezed, but Vetinari didn't fight back. He closed his eyes and moved his hand up to touch Vimes' face.

"There is nothing left… You're already dead. Your mind doesn't exist anymore."

Vimes let go of his grip and yanked Vetinari's hand away.

"That doesn't make sense! My mind has to exist or else I couldn't be here thinking about my mind not existing!"

"You're only here because the Summoning Dark wants you to stay alive."

"Well, you can tell the Summoning Dark to stick it where the sun don't shine."

The black mist around Vimes' body sparked soundlessly. With the situational awareness of a randy dog, the Weaving Dark giggled.

"It says that it's always where the sun don't shine."

.

This chapter was so fun to write!