A/N PLEASE READ THE DISCLOSURES IN CHAPTER ONE.

Wowzers! More than 1K hits on my story in less than two weeks! (Dances minor jig.) Of course, my Cthulhu fic has had less than half the hits and it's been up twice as long. (Pouts.) Either you like humor, or dislike horror (or I'm lousy at writing one of these stories). Either way, you know there, lads (-ies), you can review as well as read (hint hint)! I've lots more of the fine product of Loretto, Ky., to doll out t'y'all!

OUT ON THE CUTTING EDGE

Harry finally woke up feeling as if his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, and found it to be true. The pounding headache he was used to from years of fighting off mental attacks from Voldemort, but the ramifications of Roundworld/Discworld travel, the botched stake out from last night, the hideously uncomfortable bedding, and the drinking late in the evening had sent him to bed feeling lousy. All of the former might have been justification for his ill-feeling, but what really sent him over the edge was the ban on magic.

As soon as he'd arrived back in Carrot's room, he'd gone straight for his mirror, intending to contact Hermione. But reflecting on things, he decided not to use it. It was a magic device from his own world, and he'd given his pledge to Commander Vimes not to use magic. He hadn't fully made a wizarding oath, it was true, but to Harry he felt obligated to keep his word regardless, and mournfully kept the wooden case shut and not spoken to his lady friend.

In his painful morning half-daze, he wandered into Carrot's combination welcome room/bedroom/dining area. There was a mug and a pot of a coffee-like substance on the table, and a note.

"Dere, Hairy,

I wille meet you at, the Watche Housee, Butt I must go to Cable Street firste to get, some papers. Period. Then I will meet you at the Watche Housee for the Squad Meeteing. Period. Have, some coffee. Period.

Carott. Period."

You don't need papers, looks like you need some help with writing, Harry thought. But he poured out some coffee. It was lukewarm, bitter and sour at the same time, but still clearly caffeinated. Oh well. I guess Watch coffee is the same the world – the Disc – over, Harry thought.

He pulled on his uniform and shuffled through the streets across the Brass Bridge and first went to behind the station to the latrine – right this time. It was indistinguishable from the one he had been on the left side, but still serviceable.

He entered the squad room. There were a few dwarfs, Detritus the troll, Dorfl the golem, Angua, and a few humans … except maybe for the … monkey? … missing link? … over in the corner.

Harry was tapped on the shoulder, and he turned to meet a tall, thin human. "Greetings, Harry Potter, I am glad to meet a new Watchman," said the stranger. Harry noticed other people in the room shudder. "Pleased to meet you," Harry said. "You are-"

"Constable Visit-the-Infidel-with-Explanatory-Pamphlets," Visit said. Harry stretched to catch this.

"Visit-"

"-the-Infidel-with-Explanatory-Pamphlets," Visit finished.

"I see," Harry said, not seeing at all.

"May I ask, Harry, whether you have considered the damned state of your soul? Are you perhaps a follower of the Almighty Om?" Visit inquired.

"Of – who?" Harry asked.

"Don't mind Washpot," said the monkey-looking man. How can you speak grubbily, Harry wondered. "He just wants to give you some of the pamphlets what he leaves in all the other temples."

Visit looked hurt. "Would you like a pamphlet, Harry?"

Harry had been through enough to realize that the fastest way to get rid of most unpleasant visitors was to give in to their demands as quickly as possible and then avoid them. "Oh, certainly Constable Visit, I'd appreciate that." I haven't found any toilet paper so far.

Visit almost cried. "Here, Constable Potter, here!" Visit stuffed about four greasy pamphlets into Harry's hands. They bore titles like Smiting the Inner Sinner and The New Revelations of the Old Prophecies Which We Now Think Are Probably Not Heretical. "Should you wish to go out Exhorting with me, Harry, I would be most honored, Om be praised in a tasteful manner to other religions."

"Er, yes, well, perhaps some other time," Harry said. It seemed to have the right affect, since Visit wandered off to torment another youthful watchman. At that moment, Vimes and Carrot strode in.

"Attention the Watch!" Sergeant Colon bellowed. Harry rose along with the rest of the Watch house.

"At ease," Vimes said, lighting a cigar. The Watchmen sat down. "Right. Listen up. Carrot has details regarding last night's attack on the Temple of Monolith, as some of you may have already read in this morning's edition of the Times. We'll start with that." He nodded in Carrot's direction.

"Last night, four Watchman were involved in an operation to stop the wanton destruction of sacred property that has allegedly been occurring by the group the Grave Gourmands," Carrot began. "The attack on the Temple of Monolith was largely unsuccessful, and the sacred statue and premises were not badly damaged. The perpetrators were using a siege weapon of relatively recent construction. Unfortunately, none of the alleged perpetrators could be caught."

"What types of rock and timber were used in the device, Captain?" asked Cherie Littlebottom.

"Cable Street has some of those over there, Corporal Miss Littlebottom," Carrot said. "We'd appreciate your expertise on them. It might help us locate where the mangonel was constructed, and thus where the base is.

"Now at the present time, our informant has alerted us to the fact that at least two other temples are likely to be targets. Since the Grave Gourmands will be expecting Watchman, I would like to propose that Constable Downspout and Constable Reg Shoe take the lead on surveillance for the other two temples, with two teams of Watchmen in reserve, who can be there in a minute's notice should attacks occur. I will be putting together a list of Watchman who will be drawing double duty today to protect these sacred spaces."

There was a general groan at this. No different if I was in Auror headquarters and Shacklebolt just announced an extra shift, thought Harry glumly.

"As always, keep your ears open and keep Watching," Vimes said. "I want this group badly."

"Next item. As many of you know, reports have come in from all over the city regarding the strange behaviour of the Igors. I have asked Igor about Igor, but it doesn't appear at this time Igor was involved. Still, you will all remember – particularly you, Dorfl – the last time we had something like this happen. People ended up dead. I am not expecting any funerals over this, Watchmen. Igors are supposed to save lives, not take them."

"Sir, what is it that Igor is doing, exactly," one of the dwarfs Harry had not met asked.

"Good question. As you know, most of the Igors communicate with their entire community, but they do not have to share their communication if they choose not to do so. Igor has been left out of the loop on what Igor initially asked, but it seems that Igor and Igors after that Igor have been ignoring their usual trade to deal with … necromancy."

There was a shudder throughout the Watchroom. That shook them up, Harry thought. But which Igor is which? Of course, if it is necromancy, that means that Igor is a witch, unless Igors is a witch … which Igor is witch?

I have got to talk though this with someone, he thought, shaking his head.

"Question, Constable Potter?" Vimes asked.

"Er – not at this time, sir. I just don't think I've met Igor," he said, in what was probably the only safe thing to say.

Vimes looked at him sharply and nodded. "I don't think Igors are very common on the Counterweight Continent, are they?"

"No, sir, at least not in Lon-" Harry responded.

"Right, I'm assigning you to work with Littlebottom on this at present, Potter," Vimes said. "You'll learn more about the facets of Ankh-Morpork that way. Interview Igor and Igor, and Igor, too, if necessary."

Seems a safe enough cover, thought Harry. But I still have no idea what he means.

"What else, Carrot?" Vimes said.

"Two more muggings and three rapes last night in the Shades," Carrot said. "Plus a bit of GBH over by the Misbegot Bridge. I don't think it was raining, so that seems very quiet. Sergeant Detritus?"

"Was quiet last night. Too quiet," Detritus said. "Someone know sumpin', I fink. Come to fink of it, der usual squad of gang boys seems a bit smaller – not so many of 'em to clump around."

"This might follow the pattern that more seem to be joining this new splinter group the Grave Gourmands. Reg? Any news on your end on that?" Carrot asked.

Harry looked – a zombie? Merlin, these guys have everyone. Talk about your affirmative action program.

"'Sno news from the newly inhumaned," Reg said. "If they're takin' body parts, it's not from the main three cemeteries in the city."

Vimes puffed his cigar. "Littlebottom reported that several horses were dead or reported dead from the track. Although horse flesh presumably wouldn't be used for necromancy, the weight might, if they were trying to put a few hundred pounds weight of flesh into coffins. So keep your eyes open if there are a lot of sudden closed-coffin burials."

"Anyone else have a report?" he asked.

There was silence. "Right, that's it." The room began to move.

Colon barked up. The room lapsed back into rigidity. "Right you lot, the Watch! Let's look out for each others' backsides out there!" A small ragged cheer went up. The meeting was over.

Littlebottom sought out Harry. "Lance-Corporal Cherie Littlebottom. Forensic Alchemy," she said, offering out her hand.

"Constable Harry Potter, Lon-," Harry said.

"Right," the dwarf said, looking at him appraisingly. "So you've never met an Igor before."

"That's right," Harry said.

"Had breakfast yet?" Littlebottom asked.

"Not really," Harry said, truthfully. The pizza seemed a long time away. Maybe they would be able to get some baked beans on toast, or eggs and bacon, with any luck.

"Best way, then," Littlebottom said cheerfully. "We'll eat around lunchtime, but I'll probably grab myself a rat on a stick on the way. Let's go see Igor."

They walked out the Watch house parallel to the Ankh. Halfway down the street the dwarf strolled over to a vendor selling food out of a cart. "Morning, Mr. Dibbler. One rat on a stick, please," she said, then glanced at Harry. "Or do you want one, too? My shout," she offered.

"Er … no, not just now," Harry said. He looked into the cart and found Littlebottom to be telling the absolute truth. The man had a selection of deep-fried rats impaled on skewers.

"Right, that'll be a dollar," Mr. Dibbler said.

"Come, Mr. Dibbler, the price is always 50 cents for the Watch," Cherie said smiling firmly.

"Well, yeah, I guess, that's true," he admitted. "But it's cuttin' me own throat."

They exchanged specie and species and walked on, with Harry trying very hard not to watch the Watch sink its teeth into the rat with obvious relish.

"New to Ankh-Morpork, then?" she said between bites.

"My first time here," Harry said.

"Yeah, I thought you looked a bit dry behind the ears. Good nip in the Ankh'd fix that. Mind you, you might have to wash off, afterwards," she said, finishing off her nibbling on the tail. "Here we are," she said, walking towards a building whose marquee read 'Prosethetic Igorring – Military and Watch Service Our Specialty.'

"Igor runs the store ostensibly for all citizens, but in fact exclusively works for us at the Watch," she explained. "He hasn't joined the Watch officially, but this gives us both a good sense of work duty. Now one thing – don't mention his speech impediment, okay? Not word one."

"Got it."

She opened the door and walked inside. Harry followed her into what he believed was the cleanest area he had seen in Ankh-Morpork so far.

"Igor?" she said quietly.

"Yes?" said Igor, emerging behind them. Harry jumped – and something in his brain screamed run. He then dashed past the counter into the back. He looked back to see Cherie and someone – presumably Igor – staring at him.

"How did you do that?" Harry asked.

Cherie smiled. "It's just one of those things Igors do," she said. "Why don't you come back and let's talk."

Coming to them, Harry looked closely at Igor … or was it 'the' Igor. The Igor was ... well, at least human looking, certainly. The man had three noses, innumerable scars, an extra ear, and … an extra arm? His face looked like ... the worst mass of tissue from the worst traffic accident imaginable.

"Tell Commander Vimes the noses are almost done, it's an extra week on the ear, and the arm will be ready by the end of Grune," the Igor said.

"Ah … what …" Harry said. He felt bile in his throat. It was a good thing he hadn't eaten.

"Harry, Igors are expert at creating regenerative body tissues," Littlebottom explained. "When we were dealing with this gang from Ephebe last month, they liked to waylay Watchmen and cut their noses or ears off. Igor grows one back on his own body about 80 percent, cuts it off, and then transplants it onto the recipient. With a bit of curetting, within about a month, you can't tell the difference. And it's a new appendage, so it works even better than the old one."

And here about all we have worthy is Sekele-grow, Harry thought. He was impressed, in spite of himself. "Can you do internal organs as well?"

"Of course," said Igor. "They are harder to replace, though. More infections during the process."

Because you don't have the antiseptic environments we would in a hospital. Blimey, if muggles ever found out about this place … there would be a rush for it. Anyone who ever had a traumatic injury. Or was in an accident. The plastic surgeons would have a field day. "Sorry, Mr. Igor, how exactly do you do this? Is it magic?" Harry asked.

"No magic involved in the way you think. We do need fat, though. Lots of it. About half a pound was involved just in this one ear," Igor said.

"We get most of our fat from Uberwald, where the fifth elephant landed," Littlebottom explained. "That's actually my home. The fat is mined by dwarfs deep underground, and then shipped to Ankh-Morpork."

"Very impressive," Harry said. "You're really on the cutting edge of traumatic medicine. Mr. Igor, how many other people are you in your profession?"

Igor looked confused. "You mean how many other Igors are there?"

"Er, yes, how many people are Igors?" Harry asked.

"No, Igor. Igor is dead," Igor explained.

"I see," said Harry blankly. "I thought you were Igor."

"No, no, I'm Igor. You mean Igor," continued Igor.

The reality slowly dawned on Harry. "All of you are all called Igor? How do you know which Igor you want?"

"You just ask for Igor, of course," Igor said.

Littlebottom gave him a knowing look. "I heard Constable Littlebottom explain that there was a recent meeting of Igors. You didn't attend, I take it. How many Igors did attend?"

"About eight, I think. That means all the Igors in Ankh-Mopork save two," Igor said.

"Ten total in Ankh-Morpork," Harry said aloud. "And … where you're from … how many?"

"Not so many, any more. Only about 30," Igor said calmly.

"You didn't attend, but the others did," Harry said. "Why didn't they have you attend the meeting?"

For the first time, Igor looked uncomfortable. He maintained his silence and Harry persisted. "Perhaps they felt you and the other Igor weren't capable of helping them?"

"There's naught wrong with Igor! He's just a young Igor, he's only been Igoring about 50 years now," Igor shouted. "How was he to know that he couldn't …" his voice trailed off and Harry felt an inward glow of satisfaction.

"That he couldn't what?" Harry asked.

Igor's eyes narrowed. "Nothing, that's what."

Harry smiled. He knew this tactic. "And so you couldn't do it either, which is why they didn't invite you?"

The Igor was ready for this question, however. "No, I can do it, all right, but … it's bad enough that I work for Vimes. Igor doesn't really trust me anymore. Look, I really can't say." He looked at Littlebottom. "Igor drinks a bit too much now," he said finally. "He goes to the pub a lot. You know which one. He's depressed. If Igor wants to say something, fine. I had nothing to do with it."

Harry realized they were being asked, politely, to leave. He was trying to think of any last questions, when suddenly he got another piece of the jigsaw to fit.

"Igor, did you say it took half a pound of fat to grow that ear?" Harry asked.

The Igor's face was impassive, but he responded to his craft. "Yes, that's right. Could've done with less, but I really wanted it to look nice."

"Where do you store the fat?" Harry asked.

"It's officially purchased by the Ankh-Morpork government," Littlebottom said. "The carts bring it to a store room that's kept cool in between …" suddenly the dwarf's eyes narrowed. "In between the Patrician's Palace and the race track."

"Anything … unusual there recently?" Harry asked.

The Igor stared into space. Littlebottom stared at the ceiling. Finally she said "The Watch will be making inquiries, of course, in the normal course of our duties. Of course, it is a large area..."

Igor continued to stare into space. "Yes, I'm sure that everything is normal. I'm sure the Watch will find that everything is in order, particularly in the store rooms nearest the loading docks, where the carriages alight and toss off anything … damaged in shipment."

"Well, thank you for your time, Igor, I'm sure Commander Vimes will be encouraged about the situation regarding the appendages," Littlebottom said. "Let's go, Potter."

They walked for some time in silence. "That was good questioning back there," Littlebottom said.

"I only asked out of ignorance," Harry said. "I really didn't know anything about Igors."

"They were still good questions. Questions I wouldn't have thought of," Littlebottom said.

"What's next?" Harry asked.

"Cable Street to see the mangonel and send a clacks for a routine check on the fat deposits. Then we'll need to get Angua's help for tonight to talk with Igor," Littlebottom answered. She looked at Harry. "How about an early lunch, then?"

"Sure … is there somewhere we can get … um" Harry began.

"Not rat?" Littlebottom said, trying her best to look hurt.

"Please," Harry begged.

Cherie smiled. "Angua's a vegetarian, and so there's a nice place that does a lovely Ephebe salad with olives and cheese. You might prefer meat. Like most dwarfs I consider myself vegetable friendly, but right now I could sink my teeth into some bangers and mash."

"Lead me to it," Harry said.

"King's Head. Not too far," the dwarf replied, and led him towards the city center.

"By the way," Harry said. "You mentioned Igor had a speech impediment. I didn't notice it at all."

"Igors lisp, mainly. He doesn't," Cherie explained. "Ergo, a speech impediment."

Harry let this float over him. "You mean, he doesn't have a speech impediment, so that's a speech impediment?"

"Precisely," she said.

Harry was silent for the rest of the walk to the King's Head.

"What are you thinking," she asked as they sat down and a waitress came to take their order.

"What an amazing amount I'm learning about Ankh-Morpork," Harry said. "It's like an onion."

"Smelly, prone to rot, but easy to stew and spice things up?" Littlebottom asked.

"I meant more that there were a lot of layers, but your statement seems accurate, too," Harry said. "We'll, let's eat, and then see where this lead takes us."