"This is enough!" shouted Sybil. "Drumknott can't talk out his arse on this one! They almost died!"
"Or worse. They could have not died! Failin' to live in an un-death like way. The 'ole disk could have stopped working!" Mrs. Cake was trying to cool her head with a washcloth. She had never needed to use so much of her power like this.
"This secrecy tactic isn't working anymore," continued Sybil. "I didn't want to make a scene but we can't let this go any further. Drumknott is going to give me the whole story. Just my existence is a threat to his position. Perhaps it's time for me to remind him of that fact."
"Be careful," Dr. Lawn interjected. "The Patrician's disappearance has caused a disruption in the balance of power in the city. If you confront Drumknott now then Sir Samuel's absence could be revealed too. He is an influential public figure. He can't stay here just working on traps anymore if there's a power struggle."
"Corporal Ping isn't a good enough double for that." Willikins said.
"I don't care anymore! I'd rather tell the city Sam's missing than watch him die!" said Sybil. "I need to be seen. I can make people remember that I'm just as powerful as Sam is."
"Oi hate to say this dear but you're way more powerful than your 'usband. You just don't brag." Mrs. Cake said.
"Well then I will brag! Recklessness always seems to work for Moist von Lipwig."
"Are you going to put on a golden gown then?"
"Sod off, Lawn."
"He has a point, dear," said Mrs. Cake. "Lipwig's a master of makin' a scene. Take some of 'is ideas. It's not like you need to back 'em up. Vetinari's not actually dead."
"I don't know, some of that man's tactics are questionable," Willikins added.
"I can make a scene without involving myself in criminal activities, thank you, but I'll need you two to go make Drumknott talk, Willikins. Go with Mrs. Cake and give Havelock's clerk a little motivation. While you're at the palace, I'll head to the bank and mix things up there."
Even before Mrs. Cake and Willikins had left the room, Sybil turned her attention to the doctor.
"You make sure to keep them hydrated."
Lawn glared. "I know how to take care of coma patients. You've only given me one job to do all day. Do you truly think I could screw this up?"
"Sam told me you were slacking."
Lawn glared at Young Sam.
"Just because you helped me once doesn't mean I couldn't have done it myself."
Young Sam hid behind his mother. Sybil knelt down.
"I'm counting on you to keep the doctor honest. Make sure he keeps them safe."
"You're asking a six-year-old to supervise me? That's degrading."
Outside, Ping watched Mrs. Cake and Willikins leave in the carriage. He walked over to Dorfl.
"I wonder what's going on. Maybe we should check in on Lawn just in case."
"No. They Would Have Told Us If We Could Be Of Any Assistance. We Should Just Keep With The Task At Hand."
"But what if they just forgot about us and we really can help?"
"Lady Sybil Does Not Forget Assets. You Should Get Back To Work."
Corporal Ping grabbed the next blueprint with irritated reluctance. Even though he was technically Mr. Vimes, he still didn't get any respect. How did the Commander do it?
"You're not an asset. You're an ass hat," he grumbled and plodded off into the back yard.
At that moment, Adora Bell Dearheart arrived at the gate. Dorfl cringed as much as a man made of clay could cringe. He hurried and cut her off from entering the house.
"Hello Mrs. Dearheart Is There Anything I Can Do For You?"
She puffed a trail of smoke at him. It drifted lazily past his eye sockets completely unnoticed.
"I'm looking for Vimes. He's inside isn't he?"
Golems aren't able to lie. It's part of the holy message in their heads. Dorfl however didn't have one. He had purchased himself and so the receipt lay there instead. Dorfl owned himself and could order himself to lie. It's one of the great loopholes in life that politicians love so much.
"He Isn't Here."
Dearheart glared at him. She always glared. It was her natural state of being.
"You are not to lie to me Dorfl. You owe me a great deal. I know when you're lying."
"I Will Help You To Find Him If You Wish."
He dodged away from the accusation. She tapped her nail against the cigarette.
"You know where he is already."
Adora stepped around him and spotted Commander Vimes' helmet beyond a hedge. She walked towards it. Dorfl got in her way again.
"He's Gone To The Palace. He Said Something About Straightening Out Some Rumors."
"Oh he has, has he? There are some nasty lies flying around. Some of them have even gotten into your skull."
Adora tapped her finger between the golem's eyes and walked around him. She stepped behind the hedge to where Ping was a moment ago.
"Commander Vimes?"
Corporal Ping was gone.
Adora Belle Dearheart spun on her impressive heels and faced Dorfl. In the process, she dug deep puncture wounds in the sod.
"I saw him. You are not going to stop me. I want my answers."
Her heels impaled the soft ground as she stomped off into the backyard.
"When I find that man, he won't be a man much longer."
Ping screeched and jumped up from behind a stone cherub.
"I'm not him! I'm not him! Don't hurt me!"
Adora scowled and shoved Ping over into the fountain.
"Huh, so you weren't lying," she said to Dorfl.
"I Did Attempt To Explain."
Adora placed her boot firmly on the ledge at the base of the fountain and adeptly tipped Ping back into the water as he struggled to stand.
"So then where's the real one?"
She pushed Ping over again.
"Stop that!" Ping sputtered.
"Oh keep floundering you red herring."
Adora grabbed Ping's mask and yanked hard. The cheap elastic band snapped in the back and stung his face with a long red mark.
"Commander Vimes Is Addressing The Cause Of Some Rumors."
"You said he was at the palace. A lot of crap comes from there these days. I wouldn't be surprised if this whole fiasco was the Patrician's idea of a joke."
"His Lordship Is A Complex Man."
"You and I should pay him a visit. That is if he hasn't kidnapped the Chairman for ransom or something equally preposterous. Who is coming up with all these stories?"
As they turned the corner onto the street, Dorfl glanced back. Corporal Ping dashed through the servant's entrance and into the mansion. He ran through the halls until he found Sybil.
"Um, ma'am—"
"Ping, I need you and Dorfl to help with something," interrupted Sybil.
Corporal Pin saluted. "Dorfl left ma'am. Some lady showed up and took him away."
Ping hurried to follow Lay Sybil as she rushed through the house.
"Did you get a name?"
"Dorfl called her Dearheart."
"How convenient," said Sybil with a sly grin. "Now I have a reason to be angry at Moist."
"Um, you mean the postmaster?"
"The very one. Now, grab two buckets of water and some rags. Meet me out back by the storage shed and start cleaning. It should be under a green tarp. The horse livery should be in one of the wooden crates."
When Sybil appeared at the gate stables she was wearing the most beautiful shimmering ball gown. It was silver and shone like a pile of spoons in the light of a nuclear bomb. Ping stared with his mouth open. He dropped the rag.
"Um. You look—"
"Help me get this on the horse and we'll get going."
"We?" Ping grabbed the regalia and got to work.
"Yes, you're coming with me."
"I still have the mask if you need it. It's just that Dearheart tore it off."
"Actually, the costume would be bad for my plan. It's best you keep it off," said Sybil. She took the horse's reins. "Get behind me. I'm going for a dramatic entrance. Maybe I can out dazzle Anhk-Morpork's golden boy."
"You mean Harry King, the bloke who does recycling? They call him the King of the Golden River."
"That's a horrible nickname and no, I meant Moist von Lipwig."
The horse pulled forward. Sybil was driving a chariot.
Young Sam was feeling distinctly odd. Something seemed to be plugging his ears ever since he had helped stabilize his father. His thoughts were blurry and he couldn't even understand what it was that he was thinking. He sat down next to Vimes' body and held his hand until the weight vanished.
The Guarding Dark awoke and immediately screamed. It was a high piercing relentless scream that you only hear when the wife has just found the dead body. He gasped for breath and started screaming again.
Young Sam threw a pillow at his head. It sat there on his face blocking his vision. The Guarding Dark took in panicked gulps of air. He couldn't move a muscle which played second fiddle to the realization that he couldn't feel his body. Then those facts were shuffled to the back of the percussion section as he recalled what had happened, but all that was kicked out the back of the concert hall and sent on an impromptu tour of Klatch when he worked out the only possible place he could be.
The Guarding Dark screamed louder.
Dr. Lawn burst through the door. He skidded to his knees beside Vimes' body and attempted to calm the man down. It took a lot of coaxing. There was a troubled moment there when Lawn tried to take the pillow off and the scream turned into an earsplitting screech. Eventually the cries stopped and Young Sam took his fingers out of his ears. Dr. Lawn sighed in relief.
"Care to tell me why you're suddenly a banshee, Vimes?" he asked.
"I'm not a banshee… I'm not Sam for that matter," said the Guarding Dark fearfully.
"You're sure as spit not Vetinari. Who are you then?"
"I'm the Guarding Dark. I protect Sam from himself… I tried to at least."
Mrs. Cake and Willikins were sitting side by side in the driver's seat of the carriage. They had hit a bit of traffic on the way to the palace but it had cleared up and they were well on their way.
"Hold up. There's somethin' going on," said Mrs. Cake.
"This is Ankh-Morpork. There is always something going on. We need to get to the palace."
"Not anymore we don't."
She yanked the reins away from Willikins and set the horses down a side street with an uncharacteristic amount of finesse.
"I thought he would be at the palace," said Willikins. "There's no reason for him to leave especially now with all the rumors."
"Says you. Drumknott's gettin' away. He's def'nitely out and about. Hop to it." She cracked the reins and the horses sped off as quickly as they could in the crowded afternoon streets. "We have to catch 'im before he gets to where he's goin'."
"And that is?"
"Gimmie a second to divine that. Roight now, Oi just know we need to stop 'im or else the futures don't add up to much if you catch my drift."
"Quite clear madam. Can you tell where he is right now?"
"Hush, Oi'm thinkin'."
Mrs. Cake's face screwed up like she had been attacked by bees. She thrust her fingers in her ears. Willikins snatched up the reins. An array of new futures spread out before her unexpectedly complex and unnavigable.
"Oh no," Mrs. Cake thought out loud. "That idiot! Why does everythin' have to be so complicated? Damn it, Oi think he's going to the University!"
She took back the reins and pushed the horses faster.
"Drumknott isn't the type of man to get along with wizards," said Willikins. "Could he be going anywhere else?"
"Well, yes. Could be goin' anywhere from the Tump to Dolly Sisters. Nap Hill any the guilds, Sator Square, Plaza of Broken Moons. The list just keeps goin'."
"But the biggest draw in that part of the city is the University."
"Got it in one. Problem is that no good'll come from wizards. It rarely does. If we get there first and cut 'im off before he gets their attention, then things might go better. Otherwise Oi can't promise the dungeon dimension won't get involved."
"And if it turns out he really isn't going off to see the wizards, then the University is still a central point to track him from."
"Sharp as a stick you are."
"Give me the reins back."
"Heck no, this is fun!"
Mrs. Cake drove the carriage up onto the sidewalk to avoid colliding with a cart full of chickens. People scattered. Willikins covered his eyes as she narrowly missed running into a troll.
"The watch has a traffic division now you know!" he shouted over the sound of the wheels on the broken cobbles.
"Bah, Fred and Knobby are off gettin' stuff on that list remember? They'll be too busy."
"It's expanded beyond just two officers."
"Roight then, better turn my precognition back on so is Oi see 'em comin'." She smacked the side of her head. "Of course it has. I'm not daft. There's more 'an one setting."
Willikins raised an eyebrow before he realized what it was he was supposed to say. He couldn't risk not asking now that she had already answered.
"You've been dodging carts and people. Hasn't your precognition been on this whole time?"
Willikins had the urge to ask for the reins back again, but decided not to say anything. The more he said, the more he would have to think about saying. Mrs. Cake drove like crazy, but she hadn't run into anything yet. They careened onto the New Bridge.
"Brass Bridge is blocked. It'll be easier to pass through the guilds," said Mrs. Cake.
"Why are we going this way?"
Willikins reversed the order of the conversation.
"Yeah you do that," she answered prematurely.
"I'm just going to keep my mouth shut," Willikins grumbled.
Mrs. Cake barreled down Peach Pie Street and turned into a tiny alley towards Sator Square. It was barely wide enough for the coach. Boxes and carelessly discarded rubbish were devoured by the speeding wheels.
"That door the bluish gray one on the right, shoot it with your crossbow."
Willikins didn't bother asking why or how she knew that he had a crossbow with him. He followed the order. A man stepping through the doorway found his nose a hair's breadth from a quivering crossbow bolt and fainted, falling backwards into his shop. Mrs. Cake cracked the reins and safely ran through the space that the man would have been standing if he had taken another step out his door.
"He's not goin' to Dolly Sisters or the guilds. Roight now the best would be if he was goin' to Mort Lake, but that sure as hell ain't gonna happen. He's goin' to the wizards."
The carriage burst out at the end of the narrow alley like a cork from a popgun and took a sharp turn. Mrs. Cake directed the horses skillfully, avoiding obstacles as they tore along the back wall of the University.
"Sugar! He's gotten to Sator square!"
Willikins had never actually heard anyone use the word sugar as a swearword before.
Mrs. Cake's precognition alerted her to an oncoming farm cart and she swerved onto another road that was not a direct route. The cobbles were in disrepair and Willikins could barely see where they were going because of all the shaking.
"Doesn't look like he's gonna stop at the main university building, but there's loads of others. If he stops at the High Energy Magic Building then we're gonna get a burnin' swath of superheated magic all the way back to the Ramkin Estate."
Mrs. Cake emerged into Sator Square which was busier than her premonitions had hinted at.
"Hold on to your britches, kid," said Mrs. Cake deftly avoiding a head on collision with a small herd of cattle.
The wheels kicked up sparks after she executed a masterful evasive maneuver between a group of industrious beggars and a well-to-do elderly couple. The wind behind them kicked off the old man's top hat which was quickly snagged out of the air by a merchant who added it to his stock with impressive nonchalance.
Mrs. Cake hauled on the reins and brought the carriage to a jarring halt. She turned the cart the wrong direction.
"That's why," she said.
"Why are we going this way?"
Willikins turned dizzily towards where Mrs. Cake was looking. Drumknott was standing in front of the Royal Bank of Ankh-Morpork.
"This can't be good."
Samuel lay on the ground groaning in pain and exasperation. Trying to move had given him a bad turn of vertigo and getting up at this point seemed impossible.
"How are you standing when I can't even feel my toes?" asked Vimes.
"Karma," said Vetinari flatly. "Now lie there and let me help you. I will not let you die when the Weaving Dark put so much effort into saving you."
Vetinari sat down so that his back touched Vimes' legs. The Weaving Dark proffered a small hairbrush from one of the pockets of her white dress. Vetinari took it from her hand and she sat down in front of him. He lifted the ends of her hair and tried to brush the tangles out. He started at the bottom and slowly worked his way up her long hair carefully avoiding the worst of the matting.
Vimes looked up at the Summoning Dark. It looked tired and floated only a few inches off the ground. It gave him a complex glare that meant 'if you say anything, you will burn.' Vimes decided that silence was a prudent action to take at the moment.
Vetinari pinched a section of the cobbles and pulled. The faint grey lines lengthened and split. They rearranged themselves into an entirely different shape that quickly became a fluffy towel. The surrounding pencil lines sketched over the missing area of street. The cobbles sat there innocently as if nothing had happened.
"How did you do that?" said Vimes.
"Do what?"
"You pulled a towel out of the ground that's what."
"The rules are not the same here. I can alter this world as I wish. It helps me to test out certain ideas that would otherwise be impossible. I can also set restrictions."
Vetinari draped the towel around the Weaving Dark's shoulders. He pinched the cobbles again. A bottle and a wide toothed comb grew from the ground. Vetinari poured the oil into the Weaving Dark's hair.
"Actually," she said. "I'm usually the one who sets the rules. It stops Lucky from cheating during his simulations."
"Lucky?"
Vetinari shot Vimes the cold stare of a killer. Vimes decided to forget he ever heard the Patrician's nickname.
Vimes and the Summoning Dark watched Vetinari gingerly separate the matted hair with his fingers. Vimes felt a pang of sorrow. He thought of Young Sam and Sybil and turned his face away from the happy duo. The Summoning Dark rotated lazily in the air idly feeding off Vimes' sadness. It didn't taste at all as good as anger but sometimes the Summoning Dark liked sampling Vimes' different states of mind, just in case it was one of the combo moods that have that spicy tangy taste. This one, however, tasted wrong, very, very wrong.
Drumknott stood resolutely in front of the Bank. He did not call out or issue any challenge but the threat was there nonetheless. A crowd was gathering. The citizens of Ankh-Morpork loved a show. A man with a rubber hose around his neck stopped and watched curiously.
"This can't be good, but it's unlikely to end in the apocalypse," Mrs. Cake mused. "But I don't get it. Why is Drumknott here?"
"Drumknott needs to have his presence known also or else the city could break down into more anarchy than normal. I didn't expect he would use the same tactic as Sybil."
"Anarchy? Drumknott isn't the type of man who would go for that."
"It's not like that. Drumknott is fiercely loyal. He will not try to take the Patrician's place. He's reminding us that Vetinari will not be gone for long and will not be happy when he returns."
"All right then. I'll add complete chaos to the long list of things we want to avoid," groaned Mrs. Cake.
It was some time before Lipwig appeared from the double doors.
"Moist von Lipwig, you have gone too far!" shouted Drumknott as if he were reading a script.
Lipwig was infamous for his reckless high-stakes behavior. He was unpredictable, creative, charismatic, and spectacular, in other words, a perfect distraction. Drumknott had come to the right place.
"Er…" Lipwig glanced around at the crowd gathering in Sator Square. His instincts told him to deny any accusation. His sense of self-preservation reminded him that denial is suspicious. "How could you question my methods at such a time as this?" When confronted, you turn the beat around.
"Your methods? You can't excuse your actions by claiming they were a means to an end!"
Lipwig searched for something to say that was vague enough to further the conversation without revealing his ignorance. "With my unconventional ways, I resurrected both the Royal Bank and the Post Office. Haven't I earned your trust?" Even with absolutely no clue what was happening, he could string words to his favor. "What is this really about?"
"Don't play dumb with me," said Drumknott. He was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. He wasn't a very creative man and rarely raised his voice. He couldn't remain reserved in this sort of situation and it scared the bejesus out of him. Moist walked towards him impudently.
"You've never questioned my decisions before," he said nonchalantly.
"You've never abducted the Patrician before!"
The onlookers gasped. On the sidelines, Mrs. Cake gasped for a very different reason.
"Shit, not again!"
"What?"
Mrs. Cake gave Willikins a truly frightening look.
"I'm crunchy!"
"Uh… Hold on! Where are you going?"
"Don't ask!"
"But you need to…"
His words were stifled by the sound of the carriage as it drove quickly back the way they came.
Dr. Lawn scowled at Vimes' body which until recently had been lifeless. Now a different personality had taken control. Lawn was almost certain that was a bad thing.
"Where the hell did you come from? Where's the real Vimes? Why did you have to go and break my eardrums like that?"
The Guarding Dark held the pillow over his eyes with his free hand. His voice was muffled but Dr. Lawn could still understand him. He had done dental work for a while and had gotten used to deciphering inarticulate grunts. This was nothing compared to that.
"This is awful!" groaned the Guarding Dark. "How does Sam even stand this? It's no wonder he's angry all the time. Just being here hurts like hell."
"Pain is a byproduct of the human condition. I suggest you get used to it," said Dr. Lawn offhandedly. "Now do you care to tell me what's going on?"
"I… I'm not sure. Do you always live in a place this bright? How do you stand all this light? I've seen color before through Sam's eyes but damn it's a whole different shebang in person."
"Well Mr. Dark, I'm sure that if you gave light a try then you would like it, but that's inconsequential. Are you going to explain why you're suddenly not Samuel Vimes?"
"I'd rather not," said the Guarding Dark desperately clinging to the pillow.
"What do you mean you'd rather not?" shouted Dr. Lawn. "This isn't some trifling slip up that happens every day! Who the hell are you?"
"I'mtheGuardingDark! IliveinsideSam'shead!" The Guarding Dark spewed out fearfully.
"Oh great, Vimes is a schizophrenic now. This is the last thing I wanted."
"But I'm serious! Why won't you believe me?"
"Because the implications are terrifying!"
"Well I'm scared too okay. Stop being so mean to me. I don't like this at all."
"Can't you just change into him or something? I don't want to have to deal with your whining."
"I could pretend I'm Sam. I've been with him since he was young."
"You? You don't act a thing like Vimes! How can you be so different if you've been living in his head all this time?"
"I'm not exactly the most complicated of entities here! I'm self-aware but I've never had to do a lot of heaving thinking for myself. I just know what Sam needs me to do and what I feel is right. I don't need his skill set and I don't have the same needs as a human. I've just been there to help him when he calls me or when the Summoning Dark shows up. I also do a bit of housekeeping. Some of his memories are quite disturbing. I try to keep them occupied."
"You're not a guard, you're a nanny."
"Hey, I'm stronger than I look! I have to keep in shape. Each day it's gotten harder to help him because I have to deal with all the other skeletons that clutter his head. I had a system going for a while there and then the Summoning Dark showed up and it's all gone pearshaped. I've had to learn how to be complicated really fast when it got in. That thing is always waiting for the worst moments to trip me up."
"You're petty metaphorical rivalries aside, you can't pass as Vimes and you're going to have no job left if you don't start thinking of how to get him back fast."
.
Suddenly Mrs. Cake burst through the library door.
"Lawn, I need ice, lots of it, downstairs turn left! Sam, go get some wet towels!"
Cake yanked the pillow off the Guarding Dark's face. He screamed.
"Shut up, you pansy. You're not Vimes, are you?"
"Yes and no," he said blinking furiously.
"No time to explain. Take your clothes off. Just do it!"
"But I can barely move!"
Mrs. Cake shot him a terrifying look. The Guarding Dark flinched. He tried to make his free arm obey him and managed to get it on his chest. It was quite the accomplishment. He looked blearily over at Mrs. Cake.
"Hold it, what are you taking of Vetinari's robes for?"
Mrs. Cake didn't answer. It was best not to explain things in situations like this. That way she could use her precognition without getting a headache. Young Sam tottered back into the room with a heavy load of wet towels. He dropped them on the floor in a way that looked remarkably like poo. The towels went squwelch.
"Bring one over here, and help the man who's not quite your father take his shirt off."
Dr. Lawn's rear entered the room. He was dragging a large block of ice using tongs.
"That's too big! Get a hammer and break it apart. Sam, get me a pair of scissors. And you, the bloke formerly known as Vimes, sit up and let me put this towel under you."
The Guarding Dark gave it a go. He could barely get his head off the pillow. Mrs. Cake smiled in relief.
"Not yet eh? We've still got time then."
Mrs. Cake pulled Vetinari's robe and shirt out from under him as best as she could without separating their hands. The Guarding Dark watched her curiously.
"Don't say a thing!" she commanded. "I'm not gonna get a headache because of you asking inane questions."
Sam returned with the scissors. Mrs. Cake snatched them out of his hand. She glared at the Guarding Dark.
"So what? Shut up!" she said and started cutting Vetinari's robe down the sleeve to his wrist.
"Stop it! Vetinari's going to be furious!" The Guarding Dark blinked as he realized he already got the answer.
"Sam, get a towel and put it on Vimes' evil twin. Lawn, get the ice over here!"
"We have to do it here then, but it needs to be darker," said Vetinari. "I'm not comfortable starting when the ghosts are so strong,"
"I'll do it," said the Weaving Dark cheerfully. She turned to Vimes who was still sitting on the ground recovering. She put her hands on her hips, and said "You're just a horrible man! You're butt-ugly and you smell!"
Vimes stifled a laugh. He could see the mirth in Vetinari's eyes as well, though he tried to hide it.
"It was a good effort" said Vetinari "but, Vimes doesn't anger at those kinds of insults. Trust me. I've been irritating him for years. However, you are an angry man by nature, Vimes. I trust you can do it without my help."
It was true. Vimes had a lot of things to be angry about. He latched on to the thought that he had no mind anymore. In a world like this, it was a safe and realistic concern. The shadows around them darkened.
"That should be enough for now," said Vetinari "I'll start sorting them again. It won't take as long this time."
Vimes watched as Vetinari conducted the white figures. She sat beside him and held his hand. Her warmth was not as strong but Vimes was in no position to be picky. He had regained most of his strength and the pain had lessened. The Weaving Dark pulled a shirt out of the ground and handed it to him.
"You were there when I began," she said "I remember you."
"What do you mean by that?" said Vimes. He put on the new shirt over the remains of his old one. He didn't want to look indecent in front of a young girl by taking it off.
"When I became me, when I stopped just being the Weaving Dark, you were there too."
"Er, so you're not the Weaving Dark?"
She giggled and beckoned to the Summoning Dark. it floated lazily around her.
"When Lucky first made me, I looked a lot like the Summoning Dark. I had no real shape or identity."
She reached out her porcelain hand and caressed the black mist and wispy tendrils that made up the Summoning Dark.
"Then something just clicked and I knew I was me." She smiled at the Summoning Dark and held on to its tail. She spoke softly to it. "I'm sure you'll figure it out too. It must have been awful to not have anywhere to stay. You've been alone since the beginning of time. That's not nice. You deserve better than that."
Vimes blinked and looked from one Dark to the other. The whole situation was incomprehensible.
"So, wait, you're saying that you realized you were you and I was there?"
She nodded. "Do you remember when the dragon attacked Ankh Morpork? When you were locked in the dungeon with Lucky, he had some books."
Vimes thought for a moment. The memory was clouded in adrenaline and fear, but he did remember Vetinari being way too comfortable in his cell.
"Um, sort of," said Vimes.
"The book he was reading was about making lace," said the Weaving Dark. "I saw you using your knives to climb the wall. I realized that things don't always have to be used for the purpose they were made. I saw myself in those knives and I became me. I reached out to the lace and found the sand, a source of life. I grabbed on to new things that I could do. I was not just the Weaving Dark anymore. I am much more than that now."
"I guess that makes sense. I'm glad I could help?"
The Weaving Dark smiled softly and stared at her shoes. Vimes fished for something more to say.
"Where is the Guarding Dark?" he asked the little girl beside him.
"He stayed behind," she whispered solemnly. "He said he had to. He didn't want you to die. I don't know what happened to him but I think he's okay. You're still here aren't you?"
She smiled faintly then blinked in recollection. She searched the ground around them and picked up some grey thread.
"Help me find the rest of him. If this all goes wrong, I'll have to weave him here."
Vimes raised an eyebrow but didn't ask. They collected the grey strings and the Weaving Dark counted them.
"That's all of them…" she said sadly.
"What's wrong?" Vimes asked.
The little girl put her arms around his waist and cried.
"I'm sorry I used your son as a bridge! I was so scared! I didn't want you to die because it meant everyone would die with you and I just didn't want to be alone again."
She was shaking all over. Vimes put his hand on her shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner.
"I don't die all that easily, kid. Coppers don't get to be my age if they're easy to kill. We're a bit like cockroaches."
Mrs. Cake suddenly froze. Her face contorted with confusion. "What the hell are they planning to do?" She sat back and closed her eyes. "I don't get it."
Lawn looked sideways at Young Sam. He shrugged.
"So, we don't need the towels?" he asked.
Cake didn't answer. She was in her own little world. Her mouth moved like she was grumbling about something, but no sound came out. She turned her head slightly at different angles trying to tune in on the best reception. Lawn and Sam just sat there watching her. The ice started melting.
"I can't tell if they should be wet or dry," mumbled Mrs. Cake. Suddenly her eyes snapped open and she grabbed her head. "I'm feeling crispy. Crispy! You have no idea!"
Dr. Lawn backed away cautiously.
"It feels almost like dead leaves?" she whispered feverishly. "But it's not like that. So cold it's hot? No, it's like a frosted window without the window."
"You're not making any sense," said the Guarding Dark. He had gotten marginally more comfortable with the light.
"Of course not! The future is all weird! It's all cold but dry at the same time. Its thin and crisp but needs to be absorbent too."
"Mum, uses starch on the sheets," said Young Sam. "They crinkle and stick up."
Mrs. Cake wasn't listening. Dr. Lawn left to find an ironing board. After a while Sam went down to the kitchen.
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.
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The crispy line comes from a trippy flash animation I saw years ago. It had a skeleton and a cup of coffee with a portal in it and these two European guys and a broom closet. PM me if you know where to find it.
