The sun rose long before Sam Vimes did. He'd had a hard time getting back to sleep after the midnight commotion between Willikens and Of the Twilight the Darkness and for once, Sybil's reassuring presence next to him in the bed hadn't been enough to help. There were too many problems tag team wrestling at the back of his brain to let him rest. But he had gotten to sleep eventually and Sybil must have decided to let him sleep in today. More than that – did he smell . . . . bacon? And sausage? And pancakes? And potatoes? The scents drifting upstairs from the first floor made him think he might still be dreaming. Although he and Sybil had imported some extra cook staff from her family's estate in the countryside, the former Crundells residents had been initiated into Sybil's conspiracy to keep him healthy and allow him only a 'good' diet. What Sybil and Dr. Lawn considered a good diet for Vimes seemed to involve an awful lot of foul tasting stuff made from fibers. Veg and fruit and whole grain products and more to the point, not nearly enough bacon!
Dr. Lawn . . . yes, that's right . . . . Vimes' still half-asleep brain nagged at him. Coming back to the mansion today to check on his patient. As Vimes discarded his nightshirt and pulled on some fresh clothing, he wished he didn't have to think about that situation again. It was too depressing. Maybe Of the Twilight the Darkness meant well after all, but what good could any goblin potion do when nothing else could help?
Vimes had washed his face off in cold water and given himself a quick once over with his shaving razor when he heard Dr. Lawn's voice in the hall, and went out to meet him. Mossy must have just arrived and Willikens, with one hand in need of a checkup itself, was gingerly knocking on the door of the guest room as a precaution before allowing the doctor to enter. No response – Adora must still be asleep. Vimes watched as Willikens opened the door for Dr. Lawn, but was caught off guard by the doctor's startled and loud exclamation which could be heard clearly in the hallway.
"Good lords! What's happened to his face?"
Vimes was only a pace or two behind the butler as they both raced into the guest room for the second time in less than twelve hours. At first Vimes wondered if Of the Twilight the Darkness' potion might have given Moist a mutant goblin appearance – you never knew with magic. But what Vimes saw instead, what they all saw, was a sound asleep Moist von Lipwig looking exactly as he normally did – without the bruises, without an eye swollen shut or a split lip. The cuts and contusions that had marked his face were gone without a trace. Adora saw it too, since she had evidently been awakened by Willikens' knock and the yell and was staring at her husband in mute astonishment. Dr. Lawn lifted the edge of the blanket to examine the rest of his patient and rolled up the sleeve of a nightshirt borrowed from Vimes that fit the smaller man like a tent. The arm showed no trace of bruising either, and as the doctor carefully unwrapped the bandage he'd put around the wrist, they all moved in for a closer look. There was dried blood on the bandage to show where an injury had been, but no sign of a wound remained on the wrist itself.
"It's like some kind of miracle," Dr. Lawn whispered.
"Moist has a reputation for those, doctor," Adora said with only the slightest catch in her voice. She looked down to where the blankets still covered the lower half of his body. "You don't suppose . . . ?"
As they watched, the man in the bed turned in his sleep, yawned, stretched, and both of his legs moved and stretched with him. Before any of them could react, Moist suddenly sat bolt upright in bed with a huge grin.
"-derful!" He whooped, blinked, shook the sleep out of his eyes, grabbed Adora and planted a big, wet kiss directly on her lips. "Morning, Spike!"
"Moist, are you . . . ? I mean, how are you feeling?" She was staring at him as if he'd just turned as gold as his taste in men's wear.
"Fantastic! Never better!" He began kissing her again before noticing out of the corner of his eye Commander Vimes, the butler, and Dr. Lawn all watching them in gape-mouthed amazement. "Um, we seem to have an audience," he murmured.
"You know what?" she smiled back as she wrapped both arms around him and started nuzzling his neck. "I don't care!"
Moist obviously didn't either, and Vimes, Lawn and Willikens made a hasty exit from the room before the couple could give Mossy something to really add to the medical journals.
"Vimes," Dr. Lawn stammered, "I haven't been drinking anything, have I?"
"No idea," Vimes answered. "I know I haven't, and I just saw the same thing you did. Yesterday he was more dead than alive and today-" he broke off and moved further down the hall as they heard some clunking noises coming from the room, "-they're testing the integrity of the furniture. I didn't think a potion was capable of doing something like that."
"A potion?"
Vimes explained about the bottle of non-Rat Poison from Of the Twilight the Darkness, and the confrontation that had taken place the night before.
"A potion capable of curing anything, Vimes?" the doctor goggled. "Do you realize what this means?"
"That it wouldn't be particularly good for your business?"
"Who cares about that?" Lawn waved expansively with his arms. "I don't! It means we could heal all the sick and wounded people in the world and . . . . where do we get this stuff?"
As it turned out, the individual who might have the answer to that question was close at hand. Of the Twilight the Darkness had been in the guest room when Vimes had left it last night, but the goblin shamegog now sat hunched in a corner of the downstairs hall, looking surprisingly dejected and miserable for someone who had just performed a miracle. Dr. Lawn wasted no time in congratulating him on healing an injury that even an Igor couldn't have dealt with and, of course, asking how to get more of the miraculous substance, but Of the Twilight the Darkness only shook his head.
"Is no more. Ever."
"You mean you won't make it again?"
"Not won't. Can't." Of the Twilight the Darkness insisted. "Rarest ingredient of all needed to make potion. Used it up. Now no more left and never have again."
"So it was a one-shot deal?" Vimes asked. The goblin nodded.
And to think we almost dumped it out! No wonder Of the Twilight the Darkness had fought and bitten like a fiend when Willikens had taken the bottle away from him. But it was clear that the all-or-nothing gambit had cost Of the Twilight the Darkness something valuable. What had that potion been made of? Then again, with goblins it was often better not to ask . . . .
For a man who'd just had his dream waved in front of his face and then snatched away, Dr. Lawn took the news well.
"After all, we still got one miracle," he pointed out, "and I never thought we'd get that! Well done!"
So instead of healing the world, Mossy would have to settle for having the best, if not healthiest, breakfast he or Vimes had seen in months. After the upheavals of the past few days and with the unexpected company in the house, Sybil had evidently ordered the kitchen staff to go all out and make brunch for a brigade. Sybil also more or less ordered Of the Twilight the Darkness to stop moping in the hallway and come in and eat something as well, even if rat had been left off the menu. The goblin did seem to be consoled when, half an hour later, Moist and Adora in ill-fitting borrowed clothing walked into the dining room hand in hand to join them.
"Sorry – feel like I haven't eaten in days," Moist mumbled in between mouthfuls as he wolfed down multiple platefuls of food.
"Because you haven't," Adora pointed out, as she made up for a couple of lost days herself.
"No need to apologize, Mr. Lipwig," Sybil enthused. "It's so good to see you up and around again."
"Er, yes," Moist seemed as puzzled by this as Dr. Lawn had been. "Didn't I get pulverized or something? I'd swear I remember that." In fact, he more than remembered it, and Vimes risked Sybil's disapproval by going back into City Watch mode and trying to pry him for any details he could recall, however unappetizing. Moist hadn't recognized any of his attackers, although he was able to tell Vimes and the assembled company that the man apparently in charge had been a Mr. Witworth, and the troll's name had been Albite. He recalled all too well being crushed to the point of hearing his spine crack and losing consciousness. But he had to be filled in on everything that had happened to him after that, and knew nothing at all of any Lord Melborn Snike.
"Never heard of him," Moist frowned. "I've travelled plenty of places in my life, but I'm pretty sure Zlobenia wasn't one of them. So why go after me?"
"That's what we're still working on," Vimes said. "But in the meantime, you're not going anywhere without an escort, you or Adora. It's bad enough Vetinari is out of commission, and Lord Snike has set himself up as my chief suspect for that. I don't think he counted on the crowd reaction he got yesterday, but if he wants to go after either of you again, or the Post Office, or the Bank, or the Mint or the Clacks, he's not getting a second chance. If the Golem Trust has any golems available for hire at all, I'll authorize it and pay 'em myself if I have to. The Watch needs all the help it can get."
"There aren't many," Adora told him. "I was able to borrow Pump 19 since he's between jobs for the Palace right now. But with all the added demand from the railway, the Trust has got maybe four golems for hire at most. I don't even know what happened to Pump 19 or Sander 5 after I left them at Sator Square." She looked over at Of the Twilight the Darkness and her voice caught for a second time that morning. "I can also ask the goblins employed by the Grand Trunk to help the Watch out, but I think I already owe one of them more than I can ever repay."
Of the Twilight the Darkness shook his head.
"Decision was mine to make. Told you that Mr. Very Humid would be better and he is. That is enough." But the melancholy way in which the goblin said it was unmistakable.
"I think I owe you something," Moist insisted quietly. "If what Dr. Lawn told us is true, you're the only reason I'm not crippled for life. And you gave me the only one of that potion you can ever make?"
"Yes. Ingredient is no longer found among goblin kind. Not any more that I know of, and that is a good thing."
"It is?"
All of the humans around the table felt a little uncomfortable with that statement. Dr. Lawn could no longer contain his curiosity.
"So just what is that potion made from?" he asked.
"Hope for the future," Of the Twilight the Darkness answered. "All of one goblin's hope, saved in the unggue pot."
"Not yours?" Moist's jaw dropped in horror at the idea.
"No," the goblin explained. "In the bad times, some goblins – very, very few – gave up keeping all hope in self and stored it away in pots. Was less painful for them than carrying hope inside self. Easier not to lose. Now goblins are people, and times not so bad, we no longer do this. Goblins who stored up all hope outside selves take it back within. But some goblins died before getting hope back inside. They are gone, but the hope remains, stored in the unggue pot. Families keep."
"The potion is made from the jar-preserved hope of dead goblins?" Dr. Lawn sighed. "Yes, I suppose it's a good thing if thatisn't being made any more."
"But if these pots were given to the families of the goblins who made them, and you had one of them," Moist stammered, "that means . . . . yourfamily . . . ?"
Of the Twilight the Darkness nodded.
"Goblin was Mist of the Morning. My sister." The shamegog looked him sharply in the eye. "I put in you all of her hope that is left so you can keep yours. Is the most powerful medicine I can ever make. It is my gift to you and Mrs. Adora, Mr. Moist von Lipwig, for now. Use it well."
The dining room filled with the silence that followed as the man who normally had no trouble finding words for anything was stunned speechless.
"Thank you," he finally managed to whisper. It sounded so inadequate, Moist thought, but what else could he say? How do you thank someone for giving you the last remnant they had of a loved one? How do you live up to a gift like that? Fortunately, Of the Twilight the Darkness didn't seem to expect anything more of him, right then, anyway. Instead, the goblin turned his attention away from Moist and toward Commander Vimes.
"And now, Mr. Big Polees – man," Of the Twilight the Darkness grinned his not-very-friendly, toothy goblin grin, "we have a common enemy. So what you propose we do about him, eh?"
[* * * *]