Terry Pratchett owns all Discworld stuff.
This chapter nearly killed me. The whole story may yet do so. As for the directions of intracity travel, I'm doing my best with somewhat limited information; if I've got the Rim- and Hubward or the Turnwise or widdershins directions wrong, do set me straight.
Light edits done 07/10/12.
When the pale winter sun broke through the crystallizing fog that shrouded the city, it shattered into billions and billions of sparkles, although those sparkles had a kind of greenish overtone. The dazzle overwhelmed the glow of the stone. Susan had to tuck it under her coat to gauge direction, giving her the appearance of a dark egret that was trying to decide whether to sleep for the night or take a walk. It was after the third repetition of this antic that the direction led her left, and as she turned, she caught Teatime's expression. He looked both curious and amused.
"Do you have a better idea?" she snapped defensively, coloring. "I can't see it!"
"I can." He pointed at the stone in his head.
She considered flinging the stone to the cobbles but wasn't sure how sturdy the stone really was, and she wasn't willing to risk destroying it just because Teatime was able to bring out the twelve-year-old in her. Instead, she asked, "Why didn't you say so?"
He shrugged. "You weren't asking for help. And your solution, while slow, seems to work. You're the one in the hurry."
Susan stared.
Thoughtfully, he added, "I don't generally concern myself with others' methods. Either they are my friends – allies, if you'd rather – and they just have to get the job done, or they are not, and they are dead." He paused and tilted his head, looking, perhaps, marginally less like a rabid Lipwigzer puppy than usual. "But with you, it's interesting to see what you sacrifice to reach your goal." He grinned. "In this case, dignity."
The struggle for self-control was mercifully brief. Susan won it, if just barely. She stomped over to Teatime and stood beside him so they both faced one of the poorer Dolly Sisters streets. She waved the stone in an exaggeratedly slow half-circle.
"Which."
The stone swept back, reversing its arc and coming to a halt just in front of Teatime's breastbone.
"Way."
He stepped back out of the way, frowning uncomfortably. With no explanation or word of direction, he jerked his head to one side and started walking.
The wizards were tromping up Washer Lane, the sound of their boots drowned out by wheezing and complaints. Only the Archchancellor, the Luggage, the Librarian, and the two bledlows who'd been roped into the venture were soldiering on in relative silence. Ridcully called a stop. He was careful to do this at the mouth of an alley that lacked purveyors of both food and drink.
"Any clearer direction, Mr. Stibbons?" he asked. He took in measured breaths through his nose, expanding his barrel chest by half a foot. He did have to cough a bit after that, it being both winter and Ankh-Morpork, but he was faring better than the men under his command.
All Stibbons could do in response was pant and wiggle his hand in a "maybe, give me a tick, though" kind of gesture. He collapsed against a wall, crumpling around the thaumometer he held.
The Lecturer in Ancient Runes puffed, "What good – will we be – if we – show up – like – this?" It took a moment for him to suck in enough breath to continue. "We'll be weak – as kittens! I propose – a snack break!"
There rose a wheeze of agreement from the crowd. It was punctuated by the clear addition of "Back at the University!" This was Rincewind's contribution; he'd ridden the Luggage the whole way and was not affected by the labors of running through the city streets led by nothing but a thaumometer and a bad feeling in one's bones. His cowardice was equally unaffected by the running, but it was amplified by the bad feeling.
"Nonsense!" Ridcully cried. "It'll be far too late then! Imagine what must've broken through!"
Rincewind shuddered hard enough to rattle the Luggage. Ridcully reached out and grabbed the back of Rincewind's robes just as the man took a flying leap off the Luggage in the direction of the University.
After the echoes of the resultant thud had died, Ridcully added, ominously, "Imagine the pubs that must have been destroyed. Consider the fate of any unlucky street-food vendor who'd been selling nearby!" He mentally excluded C.M.O.T. Dibbler. For one, if anyone had survived, it would have been him. For another, Ridcully still hadn't forgiven Dibbler for a long night spent on the toilet. "Whatever caused that surge needs containing. We are the last hope this city has, gentlemen."
In the mournful silence that followed, the flapping of a buzzard coming in to land was startlingly loud. Rincewind shrieked and flailed in Ridcully's grip.
"Here, now, cut that out, mister!" The voice seemed to come from the bird. "You're agitating Morag!" A wee human-shaped head leaned out from behind the buzzard's neck and glowered up at Rincewind.
A couple of the senior wizards who weren't accustomed to being outside the University (indeed, who weren't accustomed to being outside) gawked downward as politely as they could.
Used to this treatment, Corporal Buggy Swires, decked out in his gnome-sized aerial-issue Watch uniform, sketched a brief mounted salute to Archchancellor Ridcully.
"Commander Vimes says he's put all semaphore messages from you gents as top priority. Most other clackses are getting rerouted on the towers on the other side of the Ankh. He says to send up a signal when you find your problem in case you need Watch assistance." Swires leaned forward and gave Ridcully a mighty glower, adding, "Though I'd advise you mind how and what you send up as a signal, if you understand me."
Ridcully answered, "I'll aim away from the buzzard."
"His Lordship also says he'll see you at the Palace once the mess is cleaned up."
"That's what he said, is it?"
Swires shrugged. "It's what I got from it. You can probably put it back in the pretty language he used if you've a mind to." He shrugged again and nudged Morag with his knees; the buzzard hopped forward a step or two and turned to face the length of the street. Over his shoulder, he shouted, "Captain Angua's running things down this way, so make sure your signal is clear to her, too! She'll be 'round shortly! I'll be overhead to relay messages!"
Ridcully watched the buzzard hop itself into the air and waited a few seconds to release Rincewind. "Vetinari's let Vimes shut down half the clacks towers in the city," he murmured to himself. "Mr. Stibbons! Get us a bearing to follow! Now, if you please!"
The wizards scrambled to their feet, hauled upward by volume alone.
"And someone find a half-brick for Rincewind!"
Halfway down Lobbin Clout, Teatime said sharply, "It's moving."
Considering that so were they, Susan glared at him. She stopped, the stone held at shoulder height, and asked, "Where?" She was in no mood to be any more polite. He'd already laughed at her this morning, and while she was more or less over that – as well as his decision to drag things out by not offering to help – Teatime had started prattling about how convenient he was finding it was to be a ghost.
"Doors and walls are nothing, now," he had chirped. "They hadn't proved much bother before, mind, but I won't have to scale chimneys anymore!"
"What are you going to do, then?" Susan had drawled, "Startle them and hope they have a weak heart? Perhaps paper-cut them to death?"
"It's all about focus, Susan. Physical limits don't seem to exist for poltergeists. With practice, I could move mountains."
She had rolled her eyes. "Heaven forbid. Someone like you needs limits, you know. Your skills, however horrible they are, come so easily to you that you need obstacles just to keep from getting bored." Then she'd frowned and jabbed a finger at him. "And I will not have gone through all this just for you to tell me, 'Never mind!' Now focus on the tracer spell!"
Teatime peered down at the stone and pointed widdershins of their current position. "We're going to have to take Whilom Alley; the spell's heading away from Endless."
Just as they neared the mouth of the alley, an echoing thwomp rattled the windows of all the buildings lining the streets, and even the cobbles developed their own sharp shadows. They turned to face the source of sound and light, and a warm wind tore the fog away from the street, leaving a clear view of muddied snow and a hundred-foot tower of flame just Turnwise of the direction they'd just come from. It seemed to be only a couple of blocks away.
Susan took a few instinctive steps in that direction. Gods knew who had been hurt in that explosion; they'd need help.
"Susan, the tracer!" Teatime was in front of her, and she skipped to a halt before she could plow through him.
"What if someone died in that? They're going to need help!" She corrected herself, "I mean the ones who didn't die!"
"So? That's not our business."
"So? Not ou- No. I'm not going to argue with you about this! Trying to make you understand the value of life is pointless!" She made as if to go around him.
Teatime pressed his lips into a line in his irritation. "If you'd take a moment, you'd find it strange that it happened just a few minutes after the other end of the tracer spell started moving. That is Watch business," he said, nodding at the fire.
She did take a moment. And he was right. And she was getting a little tired of it, which, she realized, was a completely illogical position to take.
It was with visible effort that she tore her attention from the flames, which had taken on an octarine cast, and lifted the stone. "Whilom Alley?" she asked, trying not to sound grudging. She almost succeeded.
It took only about five minutes for the wizards to make it to the scene. They'd only been a few streets away, but between Rincewind's near-successful escape and the average girth and age of the wizards, Captain Angua still beat them to the block of destroyed buildings.
"I've ordered a perimeter set up 'round the block," she barked as Ridcully pounded up to her. "Swires has got backup coming at a run. We're a bit far from the Ankh to get an effective bucket line organized. I certainly hope you wizards have some way to douse fire."
As the rest of the wizards puffed into formation behind Ridcully, he tore off his hat and swiped at his brow, glowering at the flames.
"Magic for magical fires, Captain," he answered. "A bucket line would've either caught fire or turned into so many potted flowers."
Before she could answer, Ridcully whirled 'round and bellowed, "Right, gentlemen! Antworth's Containment Field No. 7 should do the trick! Set spherical surface area at one hundred twenty-five feet! Anyone who's closer than that's already dead!"
The senior wizards fell into a neat cluster around the Archchancellor. Whatever whining or bickering might have, another time, delayed proceedings were forgotten in the face of Ridcully using his Commanding The Troops voice.
"Professor Rincewind, kindly take Captain Angua aside and explain how we're doing what we're doing, there's a good fellow," Ridcully hastened to add. Everyone but Angua sagged with relief as Rincewind peeled away from the group; no one sagged further than Rincewind did. Angua bared her teeth at the Luggage as it followed Rincewind over, and Rincewind skipped backward a step.
With everyone thus occupied, Ridcully bellowed, "On my mark! Now!"
A sense of pressure built, making everyone work their jaws to pop their ears. And then, with no flare, pomp, or fireworks, a dome of translucent blue overlaid the destroyed buildings and the fire that was doing the destroying. The heat from the fire disappeared, likewise the roar of the flames and the smell of the smoke. One had to actually look at the scene to know that anything was amiss, which was a hell of a feat considering the utter ruckus a hundred-foot tower of magically fed flame could cause.
In the quiet, one could hear the struggling of the wizards. The Senior Wrangler and Professor of Extreme Horticulture leaned on one another, moaning weakly. Stibbons was on his knees, but he was scribbling on a pad of paper he'd pulled from somewhere in his robes.
"How long will that hold, Archchancellor?" Angua asked, waving a relieved Rincewind away.
"Too hard to tell right now, Captain," he groaned, tilting his head back and forward on his neck. "The spell's got a built-in component that runs a sort of diagnostic test on the contents, but that takes a bit to sort out. Mr. Stibbons'll be monitoring that part of it from now on. Once we get our wind back, we'll douse the flames and suppress any magic spilling out."
"How soon?" she demanded, eyes narrowing. "If that fire burns any longer, we'll lose any evidence we can use to trace the person responsible!"
Ridcully narrowed his eyes right back, not at all in the mood to be cowed. "You'll be of no use as a cinder, Captain, nor as a talking begonia. He might have left a trail when he legged it after setting the fire, so I suggest scouring the perimeter. But there's enough magic in this that it's a University matter, not Watch."
Whether it was his authoritative tone of voice or just his rhetoric that did the trick Ridcully never knew, but Captain Angua nodded sharply and jogged up to the edge of the translucent blue and started a circuit of it.
As the wizards continued to recover, they crowded around Stibbons and his notes and thaumometer. In turn, the backup watchmen, led by Sergeant Detritus, crowded behind the wizards; they eyeballed the contained fire with varying levels of fear and incomprehension. Angua, having made her first circuit of the spell, trotted out to meet Detritus before he could interrupt the wizards with questions. A few short words had a steady-looking human watchman pulling white semaphore paddles from his belt; he waved them in quick patterns at a rooftop nearby, where a buzzard perched. A small, rough clacks rig clattered away, relaying the message across the city. Ridcully assumed it was a call for further backup, perhaps an all-points-bulletin about any evidence Angua had found; it didn't matter, it not being his business.
"That's imp magic," Stibbons croaked. Ridcully saw that the younger man had gone milk-white. "Lots of it. More than I've ever seen. And… and something else. I… I think we need Dr. Hix, Archchancellor."
Ridcully bellowed out the order to clacks for Dr. Hix. "Tell him to use a flying broom, or it'll go the worse for him!"
Just as she was about to step from the alley, Susan walked right into Teatime's arm, which suddenly barred the way. The band of piercing cold cut through her just above her waist, and it knocked the air from her lungs. She sucked in a noisy breath and stepped back, swatting at Teatime. That she actually made contact and numbed her fingers did nothing to improve her mood.
"What is it now?"
"Just observing." Hand still raised, he gazed across the street, looking slightly upward at the façade that struggled to give the building behind it the appearance of both height and wealth. "I see no Igors, and it's unusual for one to be in an area this downmarket. For long, anyway."
Susan stuck the stone over his shoulder and said sharply, "What does this say?" Her patience was going threadbare. Lobsang's urgency was pushing her from the back of her mind. Hurry, he'd said; Use the stone, he'd said. Teatime's improvisation was not appreciated.
Ignoring the stone and question alike, Teatime said, "But, interestingly, I've seen a familiar face five times since we've left the University. He's always been at least a half block away."
"We're being followed?"
"Extremely discreetly," was the distracted answer. "I'm impressed. I'm only fairly certain he has left the building across the street. He's definitely an Assassin."
Susan almost dropped the stone, splaying her fingers in the sign that stood Discwide for WAIT WAIT WAIT. "What kind of hat does he wear?" she demanded.
"Bowler. Yes, yes, of course it's one of Lord Vetinari's clerks," Teatime replied, just a little peevishly, as if annoyed she'd made the cognitive leap, as well. "You needn't worry. As you like to point out, I can't very well do anything to him."
Susan, being right beside him and watching closely, saw his eyes flick back and forth, surveying the surroundings. If not for that, she'd have been quite startled at his abrupt about-face and mad grin. As it was, it was merely unsettling.
"Do excuse me a moment," he said and then blipped away.
She turned around, searching every niche and shadow for signs of the ghost. Of all the times to run off…! He's got the attention span of a seven-year-old! And Susan knew seven-year-olds.
In the shadows of the alley echoed the voices of two men; one voice was Teatime's distinct tenor. It took a moment to pinpoint direction, with the sounds bouncing off flaking plaster and frozen mud.
There, up on the second storey of one of the buildings lining the alley! Crouching like a gargoyle on the sill of a boarded-up window was a tall man built like a bulldog. He had the dark skin of a Rimward Klatchian, and he wore a neat not-quite-black suit, as well as a bowler. Perched next to him almost primly was Teatime, who was grinning but was otherwise being unthreatening.
The other man looked down at Susan, clearly for the purpose of acknowledging her gaze. He lifted his hat at her. A sharp word from Teatime drew the man's attention to him; even at this distance, Susan could see the amused expression on the dark man's face.
He said a word or two more, and then Teatime was suddenly before her, blocking her view.
"An old school friend of yours?" she drawled, leaning around Teatime's form. The man was gone. She said, "I'm impressed. You never even pulled a knife."
Teatime's eyes narrowed just a bit. "Yes. Clarke. He's one of the few who say my name correctly," he answered pointedly. "He also says he saw an Igor with a large bundle on his back come up this alley about five minutes ago."
The chill that overcame Susan was most certainly not fear. Nothing like fear. Adrenalin that fueled her ability to swing stick-shaped things at people, perhaps. Maybe a little anger. But not fear. If that wasn't the Igor with the tracer spell in him, then something was dangerously wrong with her sense for narrative causality.
"You did find out which building he went into before you got Mr. Clarke laughing at you, yes?"
Something complex happened with Teatime's face at the question. It involved embarrassment, amusement, irritation, and solemnity waging a battle for territory. Susan planned to take that memory out later and savor it after she'd analyzed it properly.
"Indeed he did." The answer was in his usual chirp, but it was stilted. He led them back to the mouth of the alley and nodded at a narrow one-storey brick building. "The cellar, naturally."
Susan stepped forward, wrapping herself in invisibility, only to be halted by Teatime's hiss.
"Wait. Are you armed?"
Sighing, she clicked her fingers; time went misty and gray around her. She reached out and laid her hand against Teatime's shoulder, and he immediately grabbed her wrist. The burning cold was unbearable for only a moment, but it eased as Teatime loosened his grip, withdrawing his fingers from her flesh. The sensation of being stabbed by ice faded to the sensation of merely wearing it.
"Excellent point," he conceded. "But this method would be a little too inefficient, don't you think? I suggest we get inside, see if it is my body, and then freeze time. After that, efficiency won't matter."
"That's dangerous, Teatime, and may I remind you that even though you have nothing more to lose, I could still get killed?"
"Then we could be ghosts together!"
She frowned and snapped, "Not a convincing argument." Susan glowered across the way at the building he had indicated. "What you're suggesting isn't just dangerous, it's sloppy. Too much could go wrong."
"What you're suggesting is slow and tedious." He grinned at her. "Stop worrying! If I could catch you sneaking up on me at the Tooth Fairy's castle, then I can catch an Igor sneaking up on us here."
"You didn't catch him earlier."
Teatime's face darkened briefly. Then a brittle smile appeared. "I was distracted. It isn't every day one is plunged back into an abusive childhood. Is it?"
Glowering, Susan reflected that Teatime was getting better at understanding people. He'd learned enough about her to find out how to best manipulate her. Given enough time, he might actually learn to understand about friendship, she thought. And he'd found a particularly useful heartstring to tug – the one attached to children and protection. One day, given enough time, I might actually win an argument with him. She just had to find whether he had heartstrings to tug.
Her silence was answer enough for him. Teatime opened his overcoat and undid the snap closure that attached a sheathed dagger to his belt. She refused to wonder how many knives he carried – he was an Assassin, so it didn't really matter. He held the blade and sheath out, clearly intending that Susan will them into being; she did, catching the heavy little parcel as it fell through his hands.
"Enough dawdling," she growled resentfully, snapping the loop onto the front of her belt and drawing her coat closer but not closed. "If we get caught, it's on your head, and by gods, you will pay with interest."
He laughed his weird, high, juddering laugh, as if delighted by the prospect. He blipped across the street and waited for her in the shadow that fell beside the chimneystack. Susan drew anonymity around her and followed him.
