Vimes didn't grumble as he was dragged away despite the feeling of cold dread rising in his chest. There was the customary beating from his captors, who ignored Vimes's right not to fall down the steps to his cell. He lay uncomplaining on the floor of his cell, thinking. He was thinking about home where there was a nice warm bed. And his wife. And his son. He could taste blood in his mouth and his head was pounding.
After a while, to his disgust, he fell asleep. That was practically pensioner behaviour. But it had been a long time since he had last slept, and he was missing a lot of snooze time at home as it was anyway. He awoke with a jerk and sat upright. His throat seemed to have been glued together with paste but he unstuck his mouth and managed to ask what the time was. It was a different guard on the desk, and he seemed quite amiable.
"Six thirty," he said.
So it had begun. Stoneface would be storming out of the palace about now. Heading out into the streets to rally support, not that much would be forthcoming. Then the city would go up in flames...
Vimes was bought out of his reverie by the jangling of keys. There was some terse words spoken outside his cell and then someone was unlocking him. Stoneface stood in front of him as he struggled to his feet, knees complaining.
"Gods, you look a mess. What happened to you?"
"Guess," replied Vimes. He stuck out his chin, "Is there something you want me for?"
"Don't be a clever bastard. I just had a meeting with his Majesty and his chief advisors. They advised a new tax. On shoelaces."
There was a strange kind of silence.
"Get out on the streets. Rally your support," said Vimes.
"You're coming with me," said Stoneface.
"I wasn't planning on going anywhere else," replied Vimes.
"I wasn't planning on letting you."
They strode out onto the streets. Stoneface tossed something at Vimes. "I think these belong to you."
Vimes caught the cigar case and the badge. A young man ran up to them. He glanced momentarily at Vimes and then spoke to his commander. "Your orders sir?"
"Get the men together. The time has come. Those who want to fight are to meet me at the the Dark Gate. Make sure they understand it's not compulsory." The young man nodded and hurried away.
"Who's he?" asked Vimes.
"My second in command. His name's Moon. He's a good kid." There was a pause and then Stoneface continued. "So, you're a copper..."
This was obviously a prelude to more conversation. "Yes," replied Vimes, "I'm... His Grace, His Excellency, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes."
"You're a Duke?"
"Yes."
"And a Knight?"
"Yes."
"Were you born a du-"
"No! I was just Captain Vimes. Nothing more, nothing less."
"You command the watch then?"
"Yes."
There was a longer pause. "Do we win?" asked Stoneface.
"Er, you don't lose. I hope," answered Vimes. There was a pause. "Can I
ask you a question?" said Vimes.
"Ask," replied Stoneface.
"Er, I just have to know, you see. What with them calling me by the same nickname...what's your first name?"
Stoneface told him. There was another pause while Vimes thought about it. On the whole, he decided it was probably just as well the people back home didn't know.
They had reached the armoury. A few minutes later Sam Vimes strolled out fully equipped with helmet, badge, sword. He was ready to face whatever the day would bring. Or so he thought.
There weren't a lot of men at the gate when they arrived. In Vimes's time the city extended for at least another half a mile before the Desoil Gate was reached. In fact, he wasn't far from what in his own time he called home. Scoone Avenue didn't exist here yet as he knew it, but it was comforting in some way, to know it was close.
It was already starting to get dark and the few assembled were nervous, talking quietly. They waited a while, but few more were forthcoming. "Is this it?" said Stoneface to Moon.
"I think so," he replied with a sigh.
"Trouble!" shouted Vimes from where he was standing on watch at the end of what would in his day be King's Way.
There were men marching up the road. The light of street torches glinted on armour and weaponry. Plumes bobbed in the half-light.
"The Palace Guard," said Stoneface.
"Commander Vimes?" someone shouted.
"Yes?" said Stoneface as Vimes nearly bit through his tongue in an effort not to reply.
"You're accused of treason, sir. Please, come quietly. For the good of the city?" said the young man who was leading the party.
"You're Corporal Peavie aren't you?"
"Yes sir!" replied the young man. Vimes could see the sweat running down his face. This was starting to go bad, he could practically smell it. He loosened his sword in its scabbard. Moon met his eyes, his young face was a mask of terror.
I never imagined it would be like this, thought Vimes, I never thought it would be as disorganised. I thought he had a plan, but really he's just like me. He's just had enough and now he's sorting it out in the only way he knows how. This is just what I would have done.
"Then you'll understand that what I'm doing is for the good of the city," said Stoneface.
Corporal Peavie's expression changed. He no longer look scared; he looked like a man staring back from the slopes of Hell. "Please sir!" he said, pleading in his voice.
Stoneface shook his head. Vimes saw a tear run down the young man's face. He opened his mouth, Vimes saw his lips move to form the word.
"Ch-" Peavie said, and the crossbow quarrel hit him in the chest and he fell over backwards. There was a moment where everyone but Sam Vimes stared in horror, and then the Palace Guard charged.
Vimes had known what was going to happen before the young man had even spoken on some deep level. The Beast (1) had tasted it in the air. His sword was already drawn as the first of the Palace Guard leapt forward. Vimes hated sword fighting. He wasn't really all that good a fencer, he was much better at fighting with his hands. But the men here were all wearing as much armour as he was, the only real way to hurt them was to kill them outright.
Vimes let the Beast take over. Thinking in the melee would only get him killed. He let his instinct do the work. He tried where possible to disarm rather than kill, and to defend his comrades rather than attack. It seemed to work. Sweat stung his eyes and all he could hear was his own breathing rasping in his ears but suddenly:
"Retreat! Retreat!" The Palace Guard that were still standing began to run away up the alley. A few arrows followed them.
"Stop it!" shouted Vimes.
"We might need them later! Don't shoot!" shouted Stoneface at the same time.
They looked at each other. "You can fight," said Stoneface.
"You sound shocked," responded Vimes.
"I had hoped that perhaps in the future things would be different..."
"In my experience, Commander," said Vimes, "People are people wherever and when ever you go. Don't worry about it." He patted the man on the shoulder.
"Who've we lost?" said Stoneface, turning to a pale faced Moon.
Vimes wandered away and stopped listening. He was trying to think through the fog in his brain. What was going to happen next? He sniffed. The air smelt of smoke. There was a red glow in the air, and he was sure it wasn't the sunset. He drifted back over to Stoneface. Two men were standing in front of him. Suffer-Not-Injustice Vimes had gone very quiet.
"You did what?" Stoneface said.
"W-we thought it was a good idea, sir. To stop the Palace Guard from getting back and taking in the city."
"Oh. Well in that case -" Stoneface half-turned away. Then he spun around and caught the first man a fierce upper cut on the jaw. It laid him clean out. The other man took one look at the Commander's face, turned and ran. Stoneface Vimes inspected his knuckles.
"They set fire to the city, didn't they?" said Sam Vimes. Stoneface nodded. "So did the Palace Guard."
"We have to get out of here!" said Moon. The red glow was getting quite intense now, and the crackle of burning timber could be heard.
"It won't take hold, sir," someone said.
"The city is too damp. The Ankh's been high all spring."
"Let's go," said Stoneface.
Moon made a face. "Go where, sir?" he asked.
"Out of the city. I think I know what's going to happen next." Stoneface looked at Vimes.
"He'll head for Sto Lat. The Hubwards gate. It's the closest to the palace," Vimes said out of the corner of his mouth.
"Come on. We have to move quickly," said Stoneface.
The King's coach was not particularly fast moving at the best of times. What remained of the Palace Guard was walking alongside it as it headed steadily towards Sto Lat.
Prince Rupert was not as stupid as his father. Lorenzo was a particularly unpopular King and Rupert had been working hard to try an obtain a likeable image. He had trained as a soldier to show willing. Occasionally he talked to the common people. Well, the middle classes at any rate. He was walking outside the coach with the Captain of the Palace guard, Captain Hancox.
"They'll ambush us the pace we're going," said the Prince.
"I know," replied Hancox, "But unless his majesty can be persuaded to move a little faster..."
"I'll try to convince him," said Prince Rupert, making a face.
Vimes was running again, his worn boots smacking down on the oozing mud. He had ben running for nearly half an hour in this stuff. It had started to rain quite heavily and the clinging black muck seemed unwilling to relinquish its sucking hold on Vimes's feet. He ran on, ankles complaining as he slipped and slid over the cabbage fields, knees sending sharp stabbing pains up his legs. His trousers were soaked through and his traditional watchman's cape he had borrowed flew out behind him like some super villain's in a bad moving picture. Breath came in short-sharp bursts through tortured lungs and he realised the irregular wheezing sound he had been glancing about for the source of for the past five minutes was actually him.
Suddenly, they came to a stop. Vimes wheezed, hands on his aching knees. He saw through eyes brimming with tears of exhaustion the blurred lights dancing ahead.
"How many men do we have?" asked Stoneface.
"Thirty or so sir," Moon replied.
"And how many Palace Guard?"
"Um, about fifty or so, sir."
The word bugger flickered into collective consciousness.
"We can ambush them," someone offered.
"No," replied Stoneface, "That's not the way we do things, We're Policemen. Men of the City. We have to do things by the book."
Vimes was impressed. The men spread along the road in an effective block, five people deep. "Keep your swords drawn!" Vimes barked as the men's stood grim faced in the gloom.
The coach was heard long before it was seen in the darkness. The jingle of the horse's harness seemed a curiously jolly noise for such a serious scenario. The ball of flickering light moved steadily closer, accompanied by the sound of tramping feet.
"Do you smoke?" enquired Vimes as the coach drew nearer.
"Yes." Vimes offered the man a cigar, and he took it with trembling hands. He lit it and they stood side by side, the glow of the cigars illuminating two very similar noses.
"You got kids?" That was Stoneface.
"Me? N-" Vimes caught himself in time, "Yes. A son." He felt a curious surge of pride as he said it. How strange.
"Me too. I hope-"
"Is that you Vimes?" said a voice from the darkness ahead.
A match flared, lost and alone in the darkness. The glow reflected off armour, armour that seemed to shine with a light of its own long after the flame died away. Vimes stared. The man standing in front of them was Carrot. The same height, the same amiable face. This man looked a little older, perhaps but-
"Yes . It's me," said Stoneface.
"This is treason, you know," said the taller man.
Stoneface was about to reply but he was cut off by the arrival of the coach. It shuddered to a halt and Vimes felt the air crystallising around him. He wondered what the time was. Was it tomorrow morning yet?
With startlingly sudden movement Stoneface Vimes swung himself onto the runner of the coach. It was huge, a whole cast of actors could happily have performed on the wooden platform that served as a step down, but was in fact more like a stage.
"Your majesty I'm arresting you for treason," said Stoneface quietly, but in the silence he might as well have been shouting. "There may be other charges as well."
"Commander! Have you taken leave of your senses?" snapped not-Carrot.
"Shut up Rupert," said a voice from the dark recesses of the coach. It was a deeply unpleasant voice, the kind of voice Vimes always imagined the upper-classes possessing. There was movement and then a man stepped onto the runner next to the Commander.
He was quite tall, taller than both the Vimeses (2) anyway, but he was unpleasantly fat all the same. He had quite a weak chin almost hidden by a thick white beard... in fact to Vimes's eyes he looked like the Hogfather gone bad. A sort of evil Fat Man. He was wearing a crown on the remnants of his greasy hair. With a small amount of shock Vimes realised this was King Lorenzo. Even he had to admit somewhat ashamedly he had been expecting someone slightly more... kingly.
"Well?" he said, looking at the Commander through piggy eyes.
"I said there may be other charges as well, sire." It was barely more than a whisper. Vimes could see how much this was costing Stoneface. He swallowed nervously.
"And if I won't come?"
"That would be resisting arrest, sire," Stoneface said.
"This is madness Vimes!" snapped Prince Rupert.
"Shut up!" snapped the Commander, shaking a finger under the Prince's nose.
"How dare you!" roared the King, "How dare you speak to him like that! Guards!"
The future became a series of flickering images for Sam Vimes. He saw a guardsman raise a crossbow, squinting to take aim. Sam Vimes swung himself onto the runners. The King dived back inside the coach as Vimes pushed his ancestor roughly off the side of the vehicle. Then he moved to throw himself flat. He was not quite fast enough.
The arrow hit him in the left shoulder. He was wearing light chain mail which he would later admit, was some help. It meant the arrow didn't pass through his shoulder at any rate. However, at such close range even chain mail wasn't capable of absorbing all the force of the projectile. The links were driven into the flesh of his shoulder, right underneath the collarbone, along with the tip of the arrow head.
The force of the impact knocked Vimes backwards and he fell on the wooden runners. The coach started moving quickly as the driver spurred the horses from standing start to gallop. The lurch sent Vimes sliding along the boards but he grabbed a door handle with his good arm and hung on for grim life as the coach began to pick up speed. The watchman were fighting the palace guard, a few tried to pursue the coach but through a haze of pain Vimes could see them falling behind.
He pulled himself into a sitting position. Blood dripped from his shoulder and he felt dizzy, sick with pain. The rain was really hammering down now, it washed away the blood almost as soon as it fell. What to do... well, firstly he could with getting the arrow out of his arm, but unless the coach stopped moving letting go of the door was not an option.
He stood up and threw the door open. The King was flat against the far wall of the coach, goggling at the horrific silhouette that stood in the doorway. The foul weather howling behind him, and with the arrow still sticking out from his shoulder, the figure slammed the door shut and growled. Light from a swaying lantern briefly illuminated its face.
"Vimes?" said the King.
"Too bloody right," said Vimes. It was no good, the arrow was going to have to come out. The pain was intense. Steadying himself against the door he reached up with his good hand and pulled.
"Argh!" Vimes screamed as he wrenched the arrow head from his shoulder, pulling with it the broken links of chain mail. The King stared at him in horror. Vimes waved the arrow vaguely.
"Tell the driver to stop the coach."
The King regained some composure. "Why should I do that, pray?" he managed, but it was barely more than a whisper. His piggy eyes were practically rolling in their sockets searching for a way out.
Vimes screamed in pain and rage. He dreaded to think how much blood he was using from the wound in his shoulder. The Beast was threatening to break out and punch someone until he could raise a fist no more... He drew his sword.
"Do it now," he hissed.
"I-I.." stuttered the King.
Vimes sprang forward and grabbed him by the throat. "Stop the coach!" he growled.
The King choked. His face turned from a ruddy colour to a blue veined purple. With great effort Vimes let go. The King gasped like a fish out of water, and then knocked a complicated tune into the wooden wall. They lurched to a halt.
"Get out," said Vimes, breathing heavily and now feeling decidedly lightheaded. The King stood, his eyes fixed on the sword. It was held quite steady despite the trembling in Vimes's limbs. He nodded as if in answer to some question and then stepped out into the foul weather. Vimes followed him.
"Walk!" he barked.
"Look, Vimes. This isn't going to--"
"Shut up! Walk!" Vimes's legs were shaking. The pain in his arm seemed to be taking over his chest. His eyesight was failing, a gust of wind sent him to his knees.
"Vimes?" said the King, turning to see the bleeding man collapse on the mud.
"Sire?" said Stoneface, stepping out of the darkness with his sword drawn, blood on his face.
"But... but..." said the King, pointing to where Vimes was now almost flat out on the mud. With the last of his failing vision he saw Stoneface handcuff the King, the unpleasant face displaying his obvious confusion. Then he passed out somewhat gratefully and lay still on the mud as the rain splattered around him.
1. For those who haven't read Night Watch yet, this is Vimes's name for the angry part of his personality... which is most of it... I think he means the really angry part of him. Like when he fell out of the tree in the Fifth Elephant and lost control.
2. Okay, I admit it. What the hell is the plural for Vimes? Vimeses seems to fit.