These places were always dim, Vimes noted. It was as though the elite couldn't afford proper lighting.

A servant opened the door and the Commander was ushered through. It closed behind him with a click.

Lord Rust sat at his desk, seeming not to notice. But of course, he did.

"Mr. Vimes," he said in a bored drawl. "What can I do for you?"

"You know well why I'm here, Rust."

"I assure you I do not."

Vimes took a deep breath and launched into it. "Your brother died a few days ago under very suspicious circumstances – "

"Ahh, yes." Rust interjected. "Poor Allan. Always so troubled."

The man's placid tone rankled Vimes nerves.  He glared. "I think you were involved."

"Me?" Rust said coolly. "Why ever would you think that?"

"Handwriting doesn't match."

It could have been Vimes's imagination, but Rust appeared to stiffen. "Excuse me?"

"Allan Rust was guilty of murdering three members of the Seamstresses Guild. He sent the watch a letter before every one. The handwriting wasn't his. We got hold of a shipping order he signed. It didn't match." He said the last three words carefully and clearly.

Leaning forward and putting his hands on the desk he said, "I think that's where you came in. Somehow I don't see your dear baby brother doing much without you being in their somewhere. You controlled him, didn't you? You controlled him and then you had him killed."

Visible cracks were beginning to appear in Rust's icy veneer. "What's the matter, Vimes?" he snapped. "Angry your precious Watch couldn't solve it in time?"

"So." Said Vimes, straightening up. "That's what this is about. Discredit the Watch. Show the world what fools we are?"

The complete calm that defined Ronald Rust vanished. He leapt to his feet. "That," he hissed, "is exactly what this is about! The nobility of this city wants to be rid of you, Vimes. You are an insult and an annoyance. The very impertinence of Vetinari making you a duke – "

"You were willing to kill just to get rid of a nuisance?"  Vimes asked in disgust.

"Yes, I was!" Rust relaxed and regained his composure. "You will never prove a thing. All you have is the supposed scribbling of a madman."

"Actually, now that you mention it…"

Vimes pulled something from his pocket. He put it on the table and pressed a button. Rust's expression froze in wide-eyed horror.

An impossibly tiny head poked out of the box and spoke. "Bingey bingey beep! I am the MK I personal sound recorder. Would you like to hear a playback?"

Fred Colon looked grumpily what should have been curry with swedes. It had not been a good night.

First he'd had to actually chase an unlicensed thief halfway across the city, mainly because he was the victim. Bastard had picked his pockets. During the pursuit the sergeant had twisted his ankle and was now walking with a pronounced limp.

To top it of, Goriff had confused his order with someone else's. Colon wondered what this red goopy stuff was supposed to be.

Somebody cleared their throat in front of him. He looked up.

And dropped a forkful of his unknown dish on the floor.

Three witches, complete with black garb and pointed hats. Not one, not two, but three stared down on him. One, who was smiling widely, reminded him strangely of his mother in law.

"Yes?" he managed to croak.

A thin one with piercing blue eyes was staring at him in a way that made being skinned alive look comparatively pleasant. "We're looking for Henry Willington. He here?"

Colon tried to reply, but his throat was sort of constricting in a manner that didn't allow for words. "Ghglsn?"

Fred Colons night had not been good. By all evidence so far, it wasn't about to improve.

The coach stopped with a rattle and Azzie wondered how it had held together this far.

Henry pulled the bags out and tossed Azzie hers. Her hair, always in permanent disarray, was made worse by the Lancre wind. She'd missed it.

Her companion stood silently with a foolish grin on his face, staring at everything like he hadn't been back for ten years.

"Happy?" she asked, amused.

He nodded, and then suddenly looked entertained himself. "I think you've got a welcome party, Azzie."

She started at the sight. Her entire family was bearing down on her, Bridget in the forefront.

"Oh, Azzie!" she wailed. "We were so worried. Running off like that without telling anyone."

Azzie tried to back up but bumped into Henry and was cornered. "Oh, gods." She muttered as her cousin threw her arms around her.

"I swear," she sniffed. "I am never going to let you out of my sight again." The whimpering subsided as she saw Henry. "Hello, Henry."

Henry gave a halfhearted wave.

The trapped witch tried in panic to untangle herself from swarming relatives. It was not effective.

Fear she had felt in that alley with Allan Rust didn't hold a candle to the terror of being confined in a small space with her family.

It was nice of them to leave such a mess, Azzie decided. She picked up a fruit rind someone had left on the floor.

She'd managed to vacate the cottage by threatening to have another vision. All hints concerning her family's visit had gone unnoticed. They weren't much for the subtle.

Only Henry remained, sitting in one of the overstuffed armchairs in front of the fire. He was dozing.

She tapped his arm. "Henry, get up. C'mon, you're falling asleep."

He opened his eyes and looked around. "Everyone's gone?"

Azzie nodded. "For a while, now."

"Oh. I should probably get going too, huh?" he mused.

She shrugged. "I guess."

Azzie studied the cottage, with its bare walls and bland furnishings. It said nothing about the people who'd lived here, nothing about their lives. Not one of them was remembered.

She had wanted them gone, but now…

It looked too barren. Too empty.

It had always been that way. Even when Myrna Kilter had lived there. She too had always been alone.

"She was very lonely, wasn't she?" asked Henry, as though reading Azzie's mind.

"Yes." Said Azzie. "Yes, she was."

He stood up and took her hand. "Don't worry." Henry said with a soft smile. "You won't be."

And he was right.