As soon as Constable Visit had taken the protesting Percival down the block and out of sight, Vimes turned his back and allowed Angua the privacy to transform into wolf shape again in the shuttered jewelry store. The werewolf/captain took off down the street, now tracking the less fresh scent of the 'third party' who'd visited Hawksworth to pay him off a few hours before the abduction took place. Once again, she returned much too soon, when this trail crossed an intersection used by the multitudes.
"Sorry again, Sir," Angua grimaced. "Lost him at Brass Bridge this time."
Both trails vanished as they led toward the section of town that contained the largest, most important centers of power in Ankh-Morpork – the Patrician's Palace, Unseen University, most of the Guild Halls. That was where they ought to be looking, but it would be like searching for a needle in a field full of haystacks. The sun would be coming up soon. Another day closer to the Guild meeting and that field of haystacks tearing itself apart right around them to boot.
[-]
Vimes chewed his lower lip and was considering his next move when he heard a tiny voice shouting for his attention from above.
"Mister Vimes! Mister Vimes! Captain Angua!"
The smallest City Watch officer of all, the blue-skinned Nac Mac Feegle known as Wee Mad Arthur circled down toward Vimes and Angua on the back of a reluctant pigeon.
"What's up, W.M.?" Angua called. "Besides you?"
"Word from Captain Carrot!" Wee Mad Arthur brought his squab cab in for a landing in front of them. "Something's going on over at Sator Square and it looks like trouble! Crowd's gathering and some sort of construction going up! Strange men with weapons coming out of the woodworks! Officers needed! And Lady Sybil sent word that Mrs. Lipwig's done a runner!"
"What the hell?" It never rains, but it tidal waves!
"The Captain left Igor on desk at the Yard and is requesting backup at the Square, Mister Vimes!"
"Then we'd better get over there," Vimes barked. "It's the direction we were headed in anyway." Lady Luck wasn't just breathing down his neck tonight, she was hyperventilating . . . if the riots weren't even waiting until after the Guild conclave to start. As much as Vimes didn't want to abandon the search he was on, Captain Carrot was no alarmist, and trouble in Sator Square, the city's favorite protest spot, could mean a large number of dead or wounded if protests were allowed to get out of hand. He ought to know – he hadn't just read the histories of thirty eight years ago, he'd lived through them – twice.
How many officers did he and Carrot have available – fifty? Sixty? And maybe thirty or forty Specials on top of that? Half the number he'd had during the Koom Valley riots . . . .
It took valuable minutes to run back to Pseudopolis Yard, but Igor had a police coach waiting to take them to the scene at the Square while Wee Mad Arthur had flown on ahead via pigeonback. The coach driver was a rookie lance-constable, but a competent horse handler, thank the small gods, and able to weave the coach through the cascade of pedestrian and cart traffic getting in their way at this obscenely early hour. A crowd wasn't just streaming toward the ruckus, it was rivering.
What the demons started this? And what construction project?
Strange men with weapons coming out of the woodworks, Wee Mad Arthur had said . . . . Vimes and Angua adjusted their armor and checked their own weapons. The sun had risen enough that they could make out a mass of citizens converging on Sator Square – no strange soldiers among them so far. Just a whole bunch of eager Ankh-Morporkians willing to risk getting crushed, bashed or caught up in mayhem for the sake of a good spectacle. And the press, of course. Otto Chriek, the vampire photographer of the Times, was always easy to spot, with his chalk white skin and stereotypical black-and-red opera cape. Vimes and Angua leapt out of the police coach and had to push their way past some of the spectators, Otto, and Sacharissa Cripslock, the Ankh-Morpork Times' star reporter before they could get close enough to the center of the action to see the so-called 'construction project.'
Overnight, a massive stage had sprung up as if out of nowhere on the Cham end of the Square, with a podium, and surrounding it a scaffolding on which heavy curtains and banners had been erected, and surrounding that, a quintet of tents. All bore heraldic symbols depicting a human fist grasping a small owl, the whole barred by crossed swords.
"Nice." Vimes muttered, and felt the Summoning Dark's tattoo tingling on his wrist, something it didn't usually do in broad daylight. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing erect too. Here might be the answer to who poisoned Lord Vetinari – someone was about to make an appearance on the city scene in a big, big way, a power play if ever Vimes saw one. The whole scenario was reminiscent of a few coup attempts he'd seen in his youth. This hadn't all sprung out of the woodworks overnight either. Such a coordinated piece of public theater had to be the work of months of planning – and it had all been pulled together here in the Square within hours, and right under the Watch's nose.
Vimes saw the broad shouldered figure of Captain Carrot towering and gesturing to him through the masses. His other officers dotted the crowd and were waiting for directions or for something to happen. But Carrot wasn't moving any closer toward Vimes. Instead, the tall officer was pointing and directing Vimes' attention to two golems who were clearing their own path through the crowd with goblins perched on their shoulders and a dark-haired woman in dark grey clothing marching with purpose between them.
"Well I guess we know where Adora Belle's got to," Vimes shouted over to Angua, who had also caught the signals from Carrot. "I'm going in – you keep watch from here and be ready for anything!"
Nobby Nobbs may have been nearly disqualified from the human race for shoving, but Vimes was no slouch himself when the need arose. Keeping his sword holstered and his shield strapped to his back, he did the breast stroke through this sea of humanity, dwarfity and trollity to get to where Adora and the golems and goblins were forcing their way forward toward the stage. The crowd frontmost was the thickest and he managed to catch up to her and make her aware of his presence. She'd changed from the gauzy evening gown to a padded leather clacks worker's outfit and she now sported a loaded crossbow and a facial expression that said she had every intention of using it.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Vimes yelled at her. "Why didn't you stay back at the house?"
"I'm here to get Moist," she snarled back, "and that's why! Now are you going to help me rescue him or do we have to do this without the Watch's assistance?"
"You'd damned well better have our help!" Vimes snarled right back. "That pop-bow of yours may work fine on humans and dwarves, but it can't do much against a troll! Neither can your golems if the troll is faster! You can't help Moist by getting yourself killed!" Vimes gave the woman somecredit for cool-headedness. She looked like she was considering what he'd just said. "What makes you think Moist is here?"
"Pump 19." Adora nodded toward one of the golems escorting her. "He used to be Moist's parole officer. I didn't know until he told me two hours ago, but he has a plate in his head with Moist's karmic signature on it – he knows where Moist is all the time. Vetinari had the plate put in there and never had it taken out even when Pump 19 was reassigned. Moist is here!"
"It Is True Commander," the golem said. "Mr. Lipvig Is Here, Very Near By. He Is Somewhere Behind The Stage."
"Him and how many others?" Vimes asked, drawing his sword and moving his shield into place.
"I Cannot Tell You That. I Only Know Mr. Lipvig's Location. I Cannot See Him, But I Can Sense Him." The golem's eyes glowed with the fire that burned inside his clay exterior. "I Hope We Will Be Able To Assist Him. His Safety Is My Concern."
Mine too, Vimes thought. But just how many nasties are there between us and him? And how do we pull this off without getting him or ourselves killed?
Vimes didn't have time to move past that thought as he heard the crowd's murmur increase in volume and saw the central curtain of the stage part. Showtime had arrived and with it, to Vimes' horror, an army of ghosts. The 'strangers with weapons' began marching out from behind the curtain each wearing a uniform he hadn't seen in over thirty years . . . or eight . . . .
. . . . and had hoped never to see again.
Lord Winder's soldiers . . . .
Homicidal Lord Winder who died on the Glorious 25th of May . . . .
"What the hell?" he heard himself asking.
A multitude of the Winder Guard, over one hundred strong from the look of it, were lining up on the stage and bringing up the rear, a man in Captain's markings – a bad egg that Vimes knew the smell of all too well – old `Mayonnaise' Quirke. Either Vimes had somehow travelled back into an alternate timeline again, or turfing out the bastard twice in one lifetime hadn't been enough to stop Quirke from popping up like the aftertaste of one of C.M.O.T. Dibbler's pies.
This couldn't be happening – but it was. The curtain hadn't finished revealing its surprises either. Another group of men in plain clothes – plain identical clothes – followed, maybe twenty in all, but Vimes recognized that look from the past too. If the hairs on the back of his neck had been prickling before, now they were trying to shoot straight out of his body and catch the next broomstick for Quirm. Vimes had assigned a group of Watch officers to a plainclothes division that he called Cable Street Particulars, but they were nothing like the secret police of Lord Winder's day. These new men onstage, though, had something of the old look, the coldness of the Cable Street Particulars of the past. These weren't just Particulars, these were Unmentionables. All they lacked were the leather aprons and the instruments he remembered seeing when he'd raided and burned down their nest of horrors the day before Winder's fall.
"Who are they?" Adora whispered to Vimes in the hush that had suddenly fallen over the crowd.
You don't want to know, Vimes thought. The nightmare kept on coming, but next was a new nightmare, unfamiliar to Vimes. As the last of the new/old Unmentionables took their places alongside the row of Winder Guards, one more figure strode out onto the stage, a man his own age, big, heavyset, with salt-and-pepper hair, beard and mustache, wearing a suit of purple crushed velvet striped with gold. This final arrival strode over to a podium and leered out at his expectant audience. With velvet-gloved hands he lifted a device attached to the podium that Vimes recognized as a wizardly invention – the tell-o-scope they called it – and as the man cleared his throat, the noise could be heard echoing out over all of Sator Square.
"People of Ankh-Morpork!" The man in purple velvet boomed. "A new day is dawning in this city!" – city - city – city - reverberated the sound. "A hated tyrant has died" - ied – ied – ied – "and I come before you" - ou – ou – ou – "to restore order and make the city what it once was!" – was – was – was –
"Yer, what's that – a pesthole?" Someone shouted back at the top of his lungs from just behind Vimes. 'Loud Halibut' Leo, the noisiest fishmonger in the city had enough boom to his voice that some of it even reached the tell-o-scope – ole – ole – ole.
The man at the podium ignored the interruption, but Vimes was pleased to see some of the Winder Guards looking nervous. That remark hadn't been in the script, and instead of a group of them diving into the crowd the way the old Winder Guard would have done to silence the offender, this lot hadn't been through enough dress rehearsals yet.
And you're expecting Captain Mayonnaise Quirke to lead them? The inner Vimes grinned fiercely at the central man on the podium. Vimes might have been dismayed at their number and uniforms, but now he knew his Watch had a fighting chance. Quirke wasn't competent enough to lead in a dance if he had a mannequin for a partner!
The mob in Sator Square must have sensed blood in the water too. The podium speaker continued his speech, but some of the citizenry were shifting around, refusing to stay silent for him. The chattering had started up.
"As your new ruler," – uler – uler – uler – "I will return Ankh-Morpork to the glories it hasn't seen in years!" – ears – ears – ears – "I, Lord Melborn Snike," – ike – ike – ike – "make this pledge!" – edge – edge – edge –
"We like the city the way it is!" – is – is – is – Loud Leo, encouraged, bellowed again. A group of his fellow fishmongers and tradesmen began cheering, hooting and clapping him on. And now, while the Winder Guards still appeared uncertain what to do, the new Cable Street Particulars took the initiative, drawing weapons of their own and jumping off the stage and wading into the crowd toward the hecklers.
"Oh no, you don't!" Vimes roared, and rushed to join the fray as he heard his own shout repeating – on't! – on't! – on't! He didn't have his shiniest armor or weapons on him, but he didn't need them. Everyone in this crowd recognized Commander Sam Vimes and began parting for him like a slab of butter hit with dragon breath. Or was it the pair of golems and the angry woman with the crossbow right behind him who was making them do that?
The speaker on the podium banged his fist down directly in front of the tell-o-scope and a deafening sound like an explosion rolled out across the Square, forcing even this crowd into silence once more. The new Particulars halted their advance to look back at the stage and Vimes, ears ringing, got ready to spring forward, but hesitated. The 'new ruler' of Ankh-Morpork held his fist up as if to threaten the mob with a sound barrage again, then leaned down toward the tell-o-scope, face twisted in rage.
"People of Ankh-Morpork," –ork – ork – ork – "do not stir me to anger!" – grr – grr – grr – "My intention is to serve you," – ou – ou – ou – "but those who defy me will be shown no mercy!" – ercy – ercy – ercy As he said these words, he stood back from the tell-o-scope and flashed out with his fist toward a curtain on the right side of the stage. On cue, that curtain dropped to reveal at once a pair of figures that brought back the nightmare element all over. Standing on the stage was an enormous and unfamiliar troll with as menacing a scowl as any Vimes had ever seen. But it was not the troll that caused sounds of dismay to issue from all around the Square – it was the other figure. Dangling like a Hogswatch ornament from a pair of shackles clutched in the troll's massive fist was an unmoving, bedraggled man in a bloodstained gold suit.
Vimes heard Adora's sharp intake of breath beside him and for a split second he saw absolute panic in her eyes. But in another second the panic was replaced by an emotion that the Summoning Dark itself wouldn't have wanted to run into in a back alleyway. Before she could target her crossbow on Lord Snike, he had already strode across the stage to grab the unconscious prisoner's head by the hair and yank up his face for all the crowd to see. Lord Snike might not have even noticed the crossbow pointing at him, but Adora couldn't risk hitting his victim. And yes, there could be no doubt now who that victim was – he'd been beaten bloody, given a split lip and one eye was so swollen it probably couldn't have opened even if he was responsive, but the prisoner was Moist von Lipwig alright. It was apparent from the growing murmur of the crowd that it recognized him and it didn't like what it saw any more than Vimes did.
Lord Snike, oblivious to the sudden mood shift in Sator Square, gloated over his gold-suited hostage and began to speak again, but this time at a distance from the podium and its magical voice enhancer, and Vimes, sword in hand, suddenly had a gleam of inspiration.
"Adora," he yelled over the sound of the speech, "hit the tell-o-scope!"
"What?" she yelled back, fearful to take her eyes off anything that was happening to her husband.
"That loud-speaker thingy! The one on the podium! Do it now if your aim's good enough! Now!"
As Lord Snike continued to talk, "- and this is what shall happen," – pen – pen – pen – "to all who oppose" – pose – pose – pose – an angry-beyond-measure Adora Belle Dearheart took careful aim at the tell-o-scope and sent her crossbow bolt straight at it.
BBBWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMM!
The result was even better than Vimes could have hoped for. He had already braced for the shock wave of sound that would catch Lord Snike and the troll as well as everyone else off guard, but even he couldn't have counted on what the magical device did next. Instead of shattering, the tell-o-scope was durable and elastic enough that it bounced off the podium and into the crowd, still working all the way and booming enough noise to turn the situation into total chaos. Now the would-be Patrician couldn't have made himself heard even if he hadn't been crouched over with both gloved hands covering his ears. Deafened but determined, the Commander of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch vaulted over and through the remaining groups of spectators to rush the stage.
The soldiers of this new Winder Guard might not have been ready for action, but the City Watch officers were and Vimes had made sure every one of 'em – even Constable Visit – could fight like bastards when they had to. Carrot and Angua had already been headed toward the stage as soon as Snike's giant minion had made its appearance. Now the rest of the Watch followed their Commander's lead, with Adora and the golems charging toward the enemy as well. They were not alone. The Winder Guard and the Unmentionables didn't have time to gather themselves before the mob was on them like a pack of Librarians. Vimes was clambering up toward Moist as someone pelted the troll in the face with a rotten tomato, and then the full barrage began. Vimes didn't have to try to cut Moist's shackles loose from the troll's grasp – the giant tossed his prisoner aside as he fended off cabbages, rocks, bricks and anything else the spectators could throw with the aim of the sincere. All the while, the tell-o-scope bounced and rolled around Sator Square amplifying every sound that got near it, and most of those sounds were boos, insults, and shouts of anger directed at Lord Snike and his crew.
Vimes fended off one of the Cable Street Particulars with the edge of his sword and was smashing away two others with his shield as a fourth went down to another of Adora's crossbow bolts. With the golems moving between him and Snike and Snike's troll, Vimes just managed to scoop up the unconscious Postmaster before a dwarf battle-axe embedded itself in the wooden platform where Moist's head had been seconds earlier. The grag didn't get a chance for a second swing before the goblins were all over him – literally. The goblins didn't appear to have any weapons except their teeth, but the delver was forced back with an undwarf-like scream as every part of him not covered by micromail and leather came under assault.
"We've got them outnumbered, Sir!" Carrot called out to Vimes cheerfully as he moved in to provide cover for his commander. "There's only three of them to every one of us!"
Off to one side, Vimes saw members of the Winder Guard go flying left and right from an unseen assailant – and he'd bet money that Watch Specialist Wee Mad Arthur was down there somewhere having more fun at fighting an army than any of them. Any fifteen men couldn't outnumber one Nac Mac Feegle, and as the tell-o-scope continued to shuffle around the square, he heard it amplifying the Feegle's voice:
"Crivens, ye scuggans!" – gans! – gans! – gans! – "We'll . . . ." and whether the tell-o-scope had bounced away or was breaking or was just too embarrassed to repeat what Wee Mad Arthur had yelled next1, it began cutting out and producing only choppy bits of noise, although one or two words came out loud and clear:
"Bugrit!" – rit! – rit! – it!
"I . . . 'ean . . .Woof!" – oof! – oof! – oof!
The sound barrage had done its work, and the howling mob was helping the Watch do the rest. The Winder Guards had started to run, but Vimes couldn't maneuver well enough while carrying a wounded man to see what was going on behind him.
"Better get Mr. and Mrs. Lipwig to safety, Commander!" Angua growled. "We'll watch your back!"
Vimes nodded and allowed Adora, the goblins, Sergeant Cheery and the City Watch's own golem, Constable Dorfl to guard his front. They weaved and forced their way through the mass of people to the river side of the square, where half a dozen police carriages waited among the cabs and carts.
"Dorfl," Vimes panted as Cheery opened the door to one of the carriages and motioned for Adora and the goblins to climb in, "go to the Lady Syb – get Dr. Lawn and bring him to Number One Scoone as fast as you can!" He looked down at the injured man in his arms. "Tell him to bring the big bag!"
"We're not taking Mr. Lipwig straight to the hospital, Sir?" Cheery asked.
Vimes shook his head while climbing into the carriage with his burden as carefully as he could.
"There aren't enough of us to guard the whole hospital, Sergeant. I still don't know what's going on or why Lipwig was targeted, but I'm betting we haven't heard the last of this Lord Snike." And he sure as hell hasn't heard the last of me! "They'll be safer at Scoone Avenue for now – at least ifI can get them both to stay there!"
Vimes was sorry for barking that last bit as Cheery closed the carriage door and hopped up to the driver's seat with one of the goblins, though he doubted Adora had heard him. In the cab's dim interior, she was a picture of misery, reaching over to touch a hand to her husband's battered face. Vimes saw her lips move and thought she might be saying Moist's name, but with his ears still ringing he couldn't be sure.
Come on, Lipwig! Wake up and move or make a sound or do something!
Well, he was doing one thing at least.
"He's still breathing," Vimes told her. "There's hope."
[* * * *]
1 Always a possibility with Feegles,