Never fear, your favourite author (heh, I'm giving myself airs again!) is
back, fresh from her first reading of Nightwatch! And I just had to write
more about our Vimesy after that, didn't I? Thanks to: VimesLady, Jinxster,
Miss Malice and DrWorm for their reviews of the last chapter (
***
Carrot glanced at the clock, sighed, and tried to immerse himself in the paperwork again. But it was hard; it was nearly twelve, and surely Vimes should have been back by now? Carrot was worried. If Vetinari had done anything to his Sam . . . Carrot blinked and tried to concentrate on the paperwork again.
Five minutes ticked slowly by. Carrot sighed, and pushed back the chair. He couldn't concentrate, not while he was so worried about Sam. He had to go and find him. Carrot got up, rammed his helmet on his head and strode towards the door.
He paused at the door and glanced guiltily back at the paperwork. No, he couldn't go running after Sam, not while there was still work to be done, personal wasn't the same as important after all . . .
Hang on. If the Commander of the Watch was missing, then surely that was important? And surely a capable and reliable officer would have to lead a search party for him? And wasn't he a capable and reliable officer? Carrot smiled and went out of the door.
Colon and Nobby were lounging against the wall, Nobby smoking a foul dog- end. They straightened up as Carrot went past.
"I'm just going out, lads," Carrot announced. "Er . . . Mister Vimes hasn't been in, has he?"
"No, sir, not since this morning," replied Colon.
"You, er, going to look for him, are you, sir?" grinned Nobby. Colon nudged Nobby sharply in the ribs. Carrot stopped and glared at the corporal. Something in Nobby's voice shook him. And coupled with that look . . . Surely they couldn't know?
"No, corporal, I am Going Out on Patrol, which, might I add, is where you should be. I'll be back in an hour and if you're not gone by then you'll be docked five dollars from your wages."
Nobby stared after Carrot as he marched off.
"Bloody hell, Sarge, what's gotten into him?" he muttered, striking a match and relighting his cigarette, which had gone out.
"What did you go and do that for?" retorted Colon.
"Do what?"
"We ain't s'posed to know! What if Mister Vimes finds out we know, eh? He'll go spare!"
"Where is he anyway?"
"Don't go changing the subject! Not one more word about You Know What. Come on, we'd better get out on patrol before Carrot comes back." Colon sighed as he straightened his helmet. "I wonder what His Lordship wanted?"
*
Vimes sat on his own at a table in the Bucket, gripping the neck of a bottle of Jimkin Bearhugger's finest and glaring muzzily at the table. The landlord was watching him worriedly and sporting a black eye, the result of having tried to take Vimes' bottle away from him half an hour earlier. He hadn't wanted to serve Mister Vimes, on pain of having Lady Sybil coming down to Have Words with him, but had decided that getting on the wrong side of Mister Vimes when he was in a bad mood would probably be suicide.
He sighed with relief as the familiar form of Carrot went past the window, and ran to the door.
"Thank goodness you're here, Mr Carrot, sir, it's Mister Vimes, he's drunk, sir!" he shouted.
"Oh, hello Ron . . . you haven't been letting him drink?" Carrot demanded, stepping inside the pub.
"He was, er, very insistent, sir. Seemed quite upset about something, sir."
"Thanks, Ron, I'll take it from here."
Vimes heard Carrot's voice and closed his eyes. No, please, not here, not now . . . he hadn't even worked out what he was going to say!
"Sir?" Vimes shook his head and tried to hold back the tears.
"Go 'way," he mumbled.
"Sir, it's me, Carrot. I'm going to walk you home now, sir," said Carrot, taking hold of Vimes' arm. Vimes shook him off, knocking the bottle to the floor, where it smashed.
"Leave me alone!"
"Come on, Sam . . ." Carrot hauled Vimes up from his seat and half-carried him out of the door. Vimes struggled all the way, and succeeded in kicking Carrot hard enough to make him let go. Carrot stared at Vimes with a hurt look in his eye, and Vimes squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that were threatening to come.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Carrot, I'm so, so sorry!"
"It's alright, sir, not even a bruise!" said Carrot, in the manically cheerful tones of someone who knows that something is going to go horribly wrong. Vimes shook his head.
"Not that." Vimes turned to go in the direction of home, lurched a couple of steps and fell over. Carrot helped him up, and the two men walked on in silence.
"What did his Lordship want?" asked Carrot, voicing the question that he'd been dreading to ask.
"He knows, Carrot. And he said . . . he said . . ." Vimes choked back a sob. "We can't see each other anymore," he whispered. Carrot stopped dead, his blood running cold as he heard these words.
"No! He can't do that! We won't let him, will we, Sam?" Vimes turned away, his shoulders shaking. "Sam? We won't let him, will we, Sam? Speak to me!"
"I'm sorry," Vimes mumbled. "Sorry. I didn't want this. Sorry." They reached the gate of the Ramkin house, Vimes now openly crying, Carrot deathly pale and shaking.
Vimes leaned on the gatepost, trying to compose himself before going inside. Carrot watched the man he loved walk up his garden path and stop at the doorway, then he swung around and marched stiffly back to Pseudopolis Yard.
"Carrot, I . . ." began Vimes, but too late; Carrot was already out of earshot. Vimes sagged, and opened the front door.
Sybil was just walking through to the Ghastly Pink Drawing Room from the Nursery, as Vimes stepped in. She stopped when she saw the state her husband was in.
"Sam, what . . ?" she began, but stopped as Vimes grabbed her in a tight hug. "What's the matter? Have you been drinking?"
Vimes didn't answer; he just held his wife close as if he was frightened of letting go. Good old Sybil. She was his wife, his rock, and of course he loved her and they would always be together, no matter what would happen . . .
. . . But she wasn't Carrot. Vimes sighed. What the bloody hell was he going to do now?
***
Carrot glanced at the clock, sighed, and tried to immerse himself in the paperwork again. But it was hard; it was nearly twelve, and surely Vimes should have been back by now? Carrot was worried. If Vetinari had done anything to his Sam . . . Carrot blinked and tried to concentrate on the paperwork again.
Five minutes ticked slowly by. Carrot sighed, and pushed back the chair. He couldn't concentrate, not while he was so worried about Sam. He had to go and find him. Carrot got up, rammed his helmet on his head and strode towards the door.
He paused at the door and glanced guiltily back at the paperwork. No, he couldn't go running after Sam, not while there was still work to be done, personal wasn't the same as important after all . . .
Hang on. If the Commander of the Watch was missing, then surely that was important? And surely a capable and reliable officer would have to lead a search party for him? And wasn't he a capable and reliable officer? Carrot smiled and went out of the door.
Colon and Nobby were lounging against the wall, Nobby smoking a foul dog- end. They straightened up as Carrot went past.
"I'm just going out, lads," Carrot announced. "Er . . . Mister Vimes hasn't been in, has he?"
"No, sir, not since this morning," replied Colon.
"You, er, going to look for him, are you, sir?" grinned Nobby. Colon nudged Nobby sharply in the ribs. Carrot stopped and glared at the corporal. Something in Nobby's voice shook him. And coupled with that look . . . Surely they couldn't know?
"No, corporal, I am Going Out on Patrol, which, might I add, is where you should be. I'll be back in an hour and if you're not gone by then you'll be docked five dollars from your wages."
Nobby stared after Carrot as he marched off.
"Bloody hell, Sarge, what's gotten into him?" he muttered, striking a match and relighting his cigarette, which had gone out.
"What did you go and do that for?" retorted Colon.
"Do what?"
"We ain't s'posed to know! What if Mister Vimes finds out we know, eh? He'll go spare!"
"Where is he anyway?"
"Don't go changing the subject! Not one more word about You Know What. Come on, we'd better get out on patrol before Carrot comes back." Colon sighed as he straightened his helmet. "I wonder what His Lordship wanted?"
*
Vimes sat on his own at a table in the Bucket, gripping the neck of a bottle of Jimkin Bearhugger's finest and glaring muzzily at the table. The landlord was watching him worriedly and sporting a black eye, the result of having tried to take Vimes' bottle away from him half an hour earlier. He hadn't wanted to serve Mister Vimes, on pain of having Lady Sybil coming down to Have Words with him, but had decided that getting on the wrong side of Mister Vimes when he was in a bad mood would probably be suicide.
He sighed with relief as the familiar form of Carrot went past the window, and ran to the door.
"Thank goodness you're here, Mr Carrot, sir, it's Mister Vimes, he's drunk, sir!" he shouted.
"Oh, hello Ron . . . you haven't been letting him drink?" Carrot demanded, stepping inside the pub.
"He was, er, very insistent, sir. Seemed quite upset about something, sir."
"Thanks, Ron, I'll take it from here."
Vimes heard Carrot's voice and closed his eyes. No, please, not here, not now . . . he hadn't even worked out what he was going to say!
"Sir?" Vimes shook his head and tried to hold back the tears.
"Go 'way," he mumbled.
"Sir, it's me, Carrot. I'm going to walk you home now, sir," said Carrot, taking hold of Vimes' arm. Vimes shook him off, knocking the bottle to the floor, where it smashed.
"Leave me alone!"
"Come on, Sam . . ." Carrot hauled Vimes up from his seat and half-carried him out of the door. Vimes struggled all the way, and succeeded in kicking Carrot hard enough to make him let go. Carrot stared at Vimes with a hurt look in his eye, and Vimes squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that were threatening to come.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Carrot, I'm so, so sorry!"
"It's alright, sir, not even a bruise!" said Carrot, in the manically cheerful tones of someone who knows that something is going to go horribly wrong. Vimes shook his head.
"Not that." Vimes turned to go in the direction of home, lurched a couple of steps and fell over. Carrot helped him up, and the two men walked on in silence.
"What did his Lordship want?" asked Carrot, voicing the question that he'd been dreading to ask.
"He knows, Carrot. And he said . . . he said . . ." Vimes choked back a sob. "We can't see each other anymore," he whispered. Carrot stopped dead, his blood running cold as he heard these words.
"No! He can't do that! We won't let him, will we, Sam?" Vimes turned away, his shoulders shaking. "Sam? We won't let him, will we, Sam? Speak to me!"
"I'm sorry," Vimes mumbled. "Sorry. I didn't want this. Sorry." They reached the gate of the Ramkin house, Vimes now openly crying, Carrot deathly pale and shaking.
Vimes leaned on the gatepost, trying to compose himself before going inside. Carrot watched the man he loved walk up his garden path and stop at the doorway, then he swung around and marched stiffly back to Pseudopolis Yard.
"Carrot, I . . ." began Vimes, but too late; Carrot was already out of earshot. Vimes sagged, and opened the front door.
Sybil was just walking through to the Ghastly Pink Drawing Room from the Nursery, as Vimes stepped in. She stopped when she saw the state her husband was in.
"Sam, what . . ?" she began, but stopped as Vimes grabbed her in a tight hug. "What's the matter? Have you been drinking?"
Vimes didn't answer; he just held his wife close as if he was frightened of letting go. Good old Sybil. She was his wife, his rock, and of course he loved her and they would always be together, no matter what would happen . . .
. . . But she wasn't Carrot. Vimes sighed. What the bloody hell was he going to do now?