The Weaving Dark had finally finished her project. She twirled around and stroked the Summoning Dark. Its tail twitched for a fraction of a second. It followed the little girl and carried the lace that her arms were too small to hold. She ran over to Vetinari and unceremoniously stuffed them into his lap.
"I'm done." she said, proud of her work. She smiled ear to ear and rocked back and forth on her heels.
Vimes peeked over Vetinari's shoulder. He was curious but didn't want to intrude.
"They're stunning. You made ribbons too," said Vetinari soothingly. He ran his fingers through the bundle of delicate ribbons and lace that she had spent so much time on. "Thank you." He whispered. His face displayed a level of gratitude and sincerity that the rest of the world would never see.
The Weaving Dark hugged Vetinari's shoulders. She was a little embarrassed at receiving such genuine praise and decided not to mention the fact that she had switched to making ribbons because the lace was taking too long.
"I've tried some new techniques that I never thought of before. Do you see here? I could never make that before because I never had a string long enough."
Vetinari smiled softly. "And, this one, it's truly exquisite. The colors seem to shine brighter than usual."
"The Summoning Dark helped me with that one."
Both Vimes and Vetinari looked at the Summoning Dark incredulously. If a floating haze of pure evil could blush then it would look a lot like that.
"It told me that different shades of black look really nice when they're next to certain colors. It showed me how to tell one black from another. See this one?"
The Weaving Dark held out a jet black ribbon. Vetinari hesitated. He didn't want to touch it.
"Come on, at least try it. The Summoning Dark worked so hard."
Vetinari delicately drew his fingers along the length of the black ribbon. When he got to the end, he bent double and started coughing like a man just saved from drowning. Vimes gave him a stiff pat on the back.
The Weaving Dark waited anxiously for Vetinari's judgment. The Summoning Dark floated backwards a little. Vimes watched it cautiously. He thought it was strange to see his beast so calm. This little girl had tamed a lion and she had said the Guarding Dark was stronger than her?
Damn, what has been living in my head all this time!
Vetinari recovered and slowly lifted his head astonished.
"That was…" He didn't finish the sentence, he just handed it over to Vimes.
Vimes held the ribbon gently as if it would break. He ran it through his fingers.
"Wow, that's," Vimes fumbled for a word to describe it, "elegant."
"Elegant, Vimes? That's hardly what I would consider elegant!"
Vimes scowled at the Patrician's insult. The Summoning Dark's tail curled in annoyance. It drew closer.
"Beat it, Fuzz Face!" Vimes snapped to the Summoning Dark. It narrowed its single eye at him and flew behind the Weaving Dark.
Vimes returned his attention to the ribbon in his hand. No matter how Vetinari felt about it, Vimes could see how beautiful it really was. He smiled. It was truly a masterful piece of work. Vetinari watched with incomprehension as Vimes inspect the ribbon closely.
"What is it about that ribbon that has you so captivated?"
"I'm… I don't know," said Sam, his finger trailing swirls on the surface. "I just want to hold it for a while. It's, well… it's hard to describe."
"Try me."
"You know I've been angry most of my life, and I think I might count as a connoisseur of sorts."
"I'm sure you have trophies in competitive seething and a PHD in applied argumentative theory."
"Thank you, sir," Vimes said, rolling his eyes "I meant that I know a lot about anger and I can tell you that this is high quality anger."
The Summoning Dark puffed up a little at the complement and tapped its tail on the cobbles, the deadly miasmic equivalent of a fist pump.
"It just looks black to me," said Vetinari raising an eyebrow.
"It's more complicated than that." Vimes paused for a moment. "There's a lot of power in anger, see, and you can't leave loose loops and such like in lace, because one part would tear and unravel the whole thing. I can't really explain it properly. It's like every thread is trying to attack the ones next to it. It doesn't make much sense to me since I've never seen anything like it before but in this ribbon all of the anger is defending and attacking at the same time. They're even working together somehow."
Vimes smiled proudly at the Weaving Dark. She looked at the ground.
"You've managed to pair together rages of similar strengths in a way that keeps the ribbon from falling apart. It's… balanced."
The Weaving Dark smiled softly at her toes. She fidgeted a bit and glanced up.
"Do you… like it?"
Vimes nodded and handed the ribbon back to Vetinari who stared at it in disbelief.
"You can get all that just by touching it? These aren't even your memories."
"I told you I'm an expert. I deal with anger all the time. It's what I'm good at."
Vetinari ran the ribbon through his fingers slowly this time. He tried to focus on the positions of each thread and as he touched them, the anger rushed at him violently like river rapids, but it was different this time. He could feel the forces fighting against each other diverting the flow around him. The river was still there but all its lethal strength had been weakened. Vetinari blinked in astonishment.
"That was… exhilarating. I always thought…"
The girl beamed "It's nice to know that you can always be dead wrong."
Vetinari laughed. He didn't really understand why he was laughing but the happiness was real and for a short time even this crazy world was heaven. It was a perfect moment, a nascent dream deep within foreboding chaos.
.
.
The Guarding Dark learned what food really tastes like, not just the memory of eating. He learned what it felt like to hold Young Sam and understood completely why Vimes would risk everything to protect him. The Guarding Dark didn't want to let go, but the draining effect of his touch could not be ignored. Sam wiggled out of his arms and the Guarding Dark learned of a different kind of pain. In fact there were so many different kinds of pain that he got confused as to which one was related to what action.
After a while, The Guarding Dark desperately wanted to get up and go exploring.
"No, Sybil said you had to stay here and keep hold of Vetinari," said Dr. Lawn.
The Guarding Dark was torn between his loyalty to Vimes and his desire to simply swallow the disc in order to find out what it tasted like. In the end fear of the unknown settled in and made the decision for him.
"I think I'll stay here then."
"Good choice. I would have had to knock you out otherwise, and then you wouldn't be able to make more memories."
.
.
Corporal Ping had been watching from behind the chariot as Lady Sybil confronted Dearheart. He had been trying to stop people from stealing it and had been only somewhat successful. Then Willikins had taken it from him saying something about dragons and now he felt more useless than normal. He wanted to help the Commander but those golems were blocking his path to Lady Sybil. He would have joined up with Dorfl again but he wanted to stay well away from that Dearheart woman.
Bereft of options, Corporal Ping decided it was best for him to go back to the mansion. He wasn't running from his duties at all. He was simply reassigning himself to a different front. That's right. Dr. Lawn needed protection. He was an integral part of this operation. Nothing wrong with a defensive post.
He didn't get very far before Angua cornered him.
.
.
Vetinari sat looking through the ribbons and lace. He touched each one separately and put them into piles. A few of them he tossed aside. Vimes picked those up and tried to figure out why they were apparently useless.
"Do you remember the moving pictures fiasco, Vimes?" asked Vetinari.
"I had blissfully forgotten until just now."
"I was there at the theatre beside them, the two actors. They weren't very special people but I could feel something peculiar. There was a certain kind of glow that came to me simply because I was near them, close to someone who was loved by so many. It was… a memorable emotion.
People love and respect you, Vimes, not because of how efficient you are, but because of who you are. It's the same way with Sybil, and to a greater degree, Young Sam. I want to be with you, to be part of that. I want to feel that faint yet overpowering emotion again.
"So you want people to love you?"
"Oh gods no! Being hated by the people of Ankh-Morpork does wonders for my distinctive style of tyranny. What I want is for you and your family to love me."
"Should I make Sam call you Uncle Havelock then?"
"No, that would be much too awkward."
"I'm not sure if the added awkwardness would make much difference to the massive pile already on the scales."
Vetinari thought for a moment while twisting a piece of lace between his fingers. He tossed it to Vimes.
"I think I'd like for him to call me Grandfather."
"How the hell is that any less awkward?"
"Perhaps not for you, but it would help me tremendously."
"But you're not that much older than I am!"
"Yet I am still older, Grandfather is a more fitting title than Uncle. I don't want him to assume I am your brother."
"And getting thought of as my father is any better?"
"If I married your mother after you were born then you technically wouldn't be my son."
"But that never happened!"
"Is your mother still alive?"
"No!"
"Pity," said Vetinari letting a ribbon drop slowly from his hand.
"Bloody hell, Vetinari! That's sick!"
"It is sick, but not below my personal limit of depravity."
"Nothing is below your depravity limit."
"Oh ye of little faith. I do have some laws of my own. Otherwise I'd find it difficult to retain my identity."
"I can't believe that you would limit yourself in any way. Why would a man like you deliberately block options for world domination?"
"Because I enjoy living in the game so much more if I do."
"So that's it? The game wouldn't be worth playing without any rules."
"Oh the disc already has enough rules to make things fun. The extra laws are just there to keep me sane while I'm playing. It's all too easy to lose oneself in a fantasy world of lies and speculation. I have to keep myself grounded somehow."
"Really," said Vimes flatly. "Name one of your so called laws."
"I never use children."
"Use children?"
"None of my schemes ever involve children, even if they volunteer. I do not kidnap children for leverage. I do not employ them for spying, infiltration, or distraction. I will not personally order any of my men to kill a child. I do not strike children even if they so clearly need it. In theory, they are the only people I can acceptably be gentle to. I need to be hated by everyone else, but I never actively seek out the disapproval of children."
"Why? A rule like that would be crippling to a man as evil as you are."
"Oh yes, there have been many times that I've wanted to break that rule. Children are more useful than you would think."
"So why even set a limitation like that?"
"Are you really that curious?"
"No, but it's not going to stop me from asking. You never tell me anything. It'd be an achievement to get you to give me a straight answer about cabbage. I'll get a ruddy trophy for this one."
"You keep score? Is there a point system for interactions with me or is it based on crowd approval? I wonder what you do during the off-season. Do you go to the hospital and train in the eyebrow raising competitions in the psych ward? I hear it's quite the spectacle."
.
.
Doctor Lawn had stumbled upon a strange topic of conversation with Young Sam. He had never met a child so well-informed of the intricacies of scatology. It was boggling how two people so different from each other could be brought together by a mutual interest in poo.
Dr. Lawn taught Young Sam the inner workings of the human digestive system. The boy was amazed at how hard a body had to work in order to create the fascinating brown logs that the ignorant disregarded every day. Lawn wrote out a list of foods most likely to give gas. Sam looked at it as if it could turn lead into gold.
Sam listened intently as Dr. Lawn explained in detail exactly why his mother wanted him to eat leafy green vegetables.
"No one told me!" he gasped and hurried downstairs.
.
.
Sybil stood resolutely within the circle of golems. Even with her dragons, the playing field wasn't even yet. She was about to fix that.
"I have a proposition to make," said Sybil. "You step down now and give me back my husband or you're going to have to say goodbye to yours."
One of the dragons grabbed a hold of Moist and pulled him into the center. Adora Belle Dearheart glowered at her.
"You wouldn't dare."
Admiral Raphael Mistonk Tirabathu Sr. snorted a puff of smoke into Lipwig's face.
"Please do what the dragon lady says," Moist pleaded.
Adora completely ignored him.
"I won't let you intimidate me! Golems are indestructible."
"Ah but your husband is not," Sybil pointed out. "Mrs. Tabitha Sailor Germaine is quite skittish. A golem could scare her to death."
Adora held up a hand to stop the golem she had sent out. No human can survive an explosion from a swamp dragon without proper equipment.
"Moist's gold suit may not be dragon proof but neither is your disco ball dress. You'd go down with him."
"I'd rather not go down at all if that's okay with you?" said Moist.
"Shut it! You're the one responsible for this!" Adora shouted.
Dearheart motioned the ring of golems to close in. Moist panicked.
"It's a lie Adora! You know me. I wouldn't do a thing like that! I mean, not without some sort of profit."
Dearheart gave him a cold stare as the golems closed in. Suddenly a burst of orange dragon flame lit up the area. Sybil stood in the center. The golden light reflected off her mirror-like dress.
"Retreat and resume your duties." Sybil ordered in a clear voice.
Most of the golems turned away. They blindly followed the commands of the priestess dressed in gold. They disappeared down alleys and into buildings until only the free ones remained.
"Call them back, Moist."
"Hell no! You tried to kill me!"
"It doesn't matter anyway," said Adora. "Ten golems are more than enough to wipe the floor with you, Duchess."
"What makes you think Mrs. Tabitha is my only weapon?"
"Your magical light show is only smoke and mirrors. Admit it. You have nothing."
Sybil flashed a cocky grin. Madam Cauliflower walked up beside her, and shot out a blast of not fire as expected, but ice. The moisture in the air froze in an instant. Moist von Lipwig froze in fear. He let out a screech and fainted.
"So what? Your little salamander is just like all the others."
"Do you remember the fire at the post office, Dearheart? I'm sure you do. Wasn't there an unfortunate death? Your golems may not wear out but they aren't invincible."
Admiral Raphiel Mistonk Tirabathu Sr. sent a burst of flame towards Lipwig's feet. The heat woke him just in time for him to shuffle backwards with his captor. The cobbles glowed hot. Madame Cauliflower shot the ground with ice causing the cobbles to crack violently. Moist screamed and passed out again.
Adora held back her golems and the game board stabilized. She glared at Sybil with the combined ferocity of a whole pride of lions. Sybil stared back at her undeterred.
"Check."
.
.
Back in the library, Dr. Lawn rolled a pencil across the table out of sheer boredom. Mrs. Cake relaxed on the sofa with a huge grin on her face.
"Shouldn't you be doing something?" asked Lawn irritably.
"Meh, they're pretty stable now. Oi can just sit 'ere and enjoy the edges of probability."
"Fine then," said Dr. Lawn, desperate for some kind of distraction. "Is there anything interesting on the event horizon of impossibility?"
"Ooo oo oo ooooo. This one is nice!"
"What is it?"
"Well, it's fuzzy but the audio is still intact. It seems like Vetinari is gonna let Vimes take some sort of revenge."
"He's just going to sit there as Vimes hits him?"
"Nah he's already done that. This one's just weird."
"Weird for you is completely inconceivable to the rest of the disk."
Mrs. Cake moved her head slightly from side to side, grumbling silently. She screwed up her face in concentration.
"Here's another one with Vetinari coughin' up pieces of some sort of tiny castle."
"And that's not the weird one?"
"Not by far! There's a few in 'ere that involve magic and anythin' goes with magic—"
Mrs. Cake suddenly went quiet. Even the Guarding Dark and Young Sam looked up. Lawn was about to try to wake her when she leapt to her feet.
"Damn it not this again!" Mrs. Cake shouted, grabbing her bag and hat. "Those good for nothin' wizards are gonna mess this up! And the priests too! Well not today!"
Mrs. Cake bustled towards the door but stopped abruptly halfway there. She cursed and closed her eyes again.
"Oi can't go! Somethin' bad is gonna 'appen to the dynamic duo soon," She turned back around. "But if Oi don't go then there's not even a chance of getting' out of this dead! Why does everythin' 'ave to 'appen at once?"
Mrs. Cake searched the trousers of time for something remotely favorable. She landed on a combination with the best chance of avoiding catastrophe and headed for the door.
"You're on your own on this one, Lawn. If Oi'm goin' down Oi'm gonna do it in a world without wizards."
"Wait, what am I supposed to do?"
"Ask the Dark."
.
.
Mrs. Cake took the coach and raced back to her house. She was going to need something to give her that extra edge. She uncovered what appeared to be a simple stick with a black glass box attached to one end for protection.
"Tee hee, I've wanted to use this for years!"
It was by pure chance that she had heard about it years ago. It had been hard to track it down, but eventually she found it in a blacksmith's shop in some tiny hick town. They had just forgotten about it as if it were just another farm tool. On the plus side, Mrs. Cake got a really good deal on it. She grabbed the stick with both hands and charged out the door. She cracked the reins and laughed manically.
Heehaw, futher mucker!"
.
.
Lawn tugged on his hair in exasperation.
"Alright, so something bad is going to happen, we don't know what it is, and the only person who could help us has done a runner," he turned to Sam. "You're a bright lad. I'm open to suggestions."
Young Sam shrugged.
"I don't know. I'm a kid. You're the doctor."
"I'm a doctor not a fortuneteller!"
Dr. Lawn sighed in defeat. He slumped over in his chair and put his head on the desk.
"I need a drink…"
"Dad says that's bad."
"Your father is a bleeding hypocrite."
"He's bleeding!" Sam gasped and ran over to the Guarding Dark. "Are you okay?"
"I feel a bit hungry."
"Oh, shut up!" shouted Dr. Lawn. "You just want me to bring you more pie. I should never have given you that."
"No I mean it."
Young Sam stood up for the Guarding Dark. Young Sam would not be ignored.
"The lady said—"
"I know what she said!" snapped Lawn. He sighed. "Fine what do you want to eat?"
"Well pie would be nice of course but I feel like I should have something different… something crunchy?"
"We already went through the crispy bit. Now it's crunchy?"
"It also kind of feels fluffy but not the good fluffy. It's the kind of fluff that you can't get off your black suit or like that stuffy prickly feeling when you're about to sneeze. No wait I got it. It feels like when you have a sore throat and you're coughing but it still itches and hurts at the same time."
Dr. Lawn put a hand over his eyes.
"What the hell am I supposed to do about that? I'm supposed to cure disease not spread it!"
"Don't look at me. You're the one who asked how I feel."
.
.
Vimes and Vetinari sat together on the front steps of a building. Everything that needed to be done had been finished and all that was left was waiting.
"Vimes?"
"Hmm?"
Vetinari went quiet for a considerable amount of time. His emotional defenses had repaired themselves and now he was back to his usual cold demeanor and blank face. The Patrician sighed inwardly.
"I want to show you something that Sybil shared with me."
Vimes was automatically cautious but held it back. He watched as Vetinari raised his face towards the sky and did the last thing that he expected.
Vetinari started to sing.
Sam recognized it even though he had never heard this particular arrangement before. It was the song of Tears-of-the-Mushroom, the goblin girl who brought justice to her race by opening the hearts of world leaders.
There were no words and Vetinari's voice wasn't all that great but the sound told a tale nonetheless. It spoke of imprisonment and redemption, of a solemn journey to paradise and the guilt earned upon reaching it. It was a story of a lifetime of accusations and regret, but still the gentle kindness of the undeserving. It was a genuine promise of the forgiveness of crimes and the gift of healing to those who had long ago lost something precious, for those people who had given up ever finding it again, and those to whom atonement seemed unattainable.
And when Vetinari could sing no longer, the Weaving Dark sang for him, in a voice so innocent and pure that the music transformed without changing a note. It stabbed through Vimes' chest and choked his heart. Such beautiful music in the loving hands of the Weaving Dark struck him violently over and over, but his protective anger wouldn't answer him. The kind and gentle notes seemed to engulf him. Vimes struggled to breathe.
The Weaving Dark sang of tiny moments of generosity glowing faintly in a torrential sea, of the fleeting hope of potential and the pride at its fulfillment, of those insignificant actions that surface when they are needed most. She sang for the unacknowledged bubbles of happiness that are lost every day, those shards of kindness that are given but never received. The wordless notes told of the raw fear felt by the tormented and their rejection of solace. Suddenly, Vimes couldn't take it anymore.
"Stop it!" he gasped. He gripped his chest and dropped his head protectively around it. The song hurt so much that he couldn't stay standing. He stumbled and landed on something warm.
In the soft cradle of darkness Vimes felt the sadness and pain drip away. He blearily opened his eyes and saw what was supporting him. It was an animal of some sort; its hair was course yet plush. It lowered him to the ground with the utmost delicacy.
Sam felt a hand touch him gently. He knew who it was without turning. Someone silently sat down beside him. He could hear another settle into the lap of the first.
In the silence, the beast let him hold on to its fur, and for a long time, the world stood still.
Sam stared at the single eye of the Summoning Dark. It reached out to him and all Sam wanted was to allow it. The anger and sorrow of the beast flowed around him, through him, and into his heart where the fear and hatred finally made sense. Sam let himself be lost in the bittersweet feeling, the pain and security of the Summoning Dark. The spring of anger that had been curled so tightly inside him began to unwind. The tension creaked and buckled. Soon the fierce intensity of seeing himself in the eye of the Summoning Dark became too much.
Sam blacked out in the warm comfort of its fur.
.
.
"Crap, crap, crap, this isn't fair!" Dr. Lawn shouted.
"What does crap mean?" asked Young Sam.
"It means I'm going to tan your hide if you don't get me some damn alcohol right this minute!"
.
.
.
.
.
.
I assure you I have good reasons for making Sam suffer. Up next: badass Cake is badass. And later: the Weaving Dark gets assertive.