Vimes opened his eyes and tried unsuccessfully to fight down the nausea. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tried to work out where the hell he was. It looked a lot like home, but the windows were dark and the building looked in a similar state of repair to when he had first knocked on the door all those years ago. He stood up and looked around. The whole house had an overgrown look to it, the grounds were unkempt and the statuary was covered in ivy.

Something made him reluctant to knock on the door to be let in, he didn't know what. Instead he headed up the road towards Pseudopolis Yard. It was early in the morning, so early in the morning that the streets were quiet as a grave. He headed towards the Watch House in a kind of dream. He wondered when he was.

The door of the Yard was open and inside it was much the same as it had been when he had left. But there was dust on all the desks, the files were gone and empty cabinets hung open. He looked at the dust thick on the floor. There were footprints leading up the stairs to the offices. As if in a dream he followed them.

He pushed open the door of his office quietly. It was empty, stripped of all paperwork and as dusty as downstairs. He felt the panic rise and then something hit him in the back of the head.

"Ow!" he said, turning up and around. There was no one there. He looked at what had been thrown at him, turning it over and over in his fingers. It was his badge, the same as the one in his pocket. He turned around again and walked over to his desk. There were fingerprints in the dust. He ran his fingers over the scored wooden table top.

There was a noise behind him and he spun around again. This time there was a figure there, dressed in the traditional watchman's armour. Vimes swallowed. Once again he was looking at his own face, scowling back at him with an expression of something resembling hatred. There were of course, some differences. This Vimes's hair was thick, a shock of hazel brown that reminded Vimes of his own when he was about twenty, untameable in every sense of the word although thankfully normally contained in his helmet.

"You bastard!" growled the younger Vimes. Older Vimes wondered who the hell he was. It could be him, of course, back in his own past again but there was another subtle difference between his Vimes and himself, apart from the hair and the scars on his face --

The young man had launched himself at Vimes with a cry and the first of these differences became immediately apparent as Vimes ducked under his wild swing. This Vimes was quite a bit taller than he was; over six feet. As the younger man reacted instantly and grabbed Vimes around the throat, forcing him against the wall the second difference became apparent. This Vimes was broader too. Sam Vimes had always been on the skinny side, wiry rather than muscular, but this young man was built more like Carrot and Vimes choked as he throttled him in a vice like grip. He tried to pry his fingers from around his neck but failed miserably and resorted to kicking the man hard. His attacker was pushed backwards and they both fell to the floor and rolled instantly onto their feet, older Vimes wincing as his shoulder pulled.

"Who are you?" Vimes said, although his voice wasn't working particularly well after nearly having his voice box squeezed out through his ears and it came out as more of a rasp.

"Don't you recognise me?" said the younger man, mockingly. He held Vimes's scowl for a moment and then dropped his gaze and relaxed his fighting stance. "Hello, Dad," he said to the dusty floorboards in a tone of great bitterness.

Vimes felt the world slipping away. This man in front of him had to be at least twenty, meeting his gaze again with eyes full of violence. "Sam?" he said. It emerged as a whisper.

"Yeah. That's right," said Sam, "It's the Century of the Rat, Dad. I'm twenty-two. And you've been dead for twenty-two years today."

Vimes's eyes widened. "What?"

"Hasn't the Sweeper appeared yet to explain it all?" said Sam.

"How do you know about him?" asked Vimes.

"Because he turned up last week when I was on patrol! And he said you'd be turning up! He said I have to tell you everything..." There were tears running down the young man's face now. "Tell you all I've managed to find out.... about how you died..."

Vimes stared for a bit. It was all a little bit much to take in. "I'm dead?" he managed after a bit.

Sam nodded.

"What about Sybil?" Vimes said after another neuron gave a fizzle.

"Mom?" said Sam, looking surprised, "She's fine. She's at home."

Vimes started to move towards the door but Sam laid a hand on his arm. "Look Dad," he said, "I don't understand any of this either, but... look. You've been dead for over two decades. Mom hasn't been prepared by the Sweeper. What's she going to think when you walk in not a day older than when she last saw you demanding to know what's happening?"

Vimes nodded a little uncertainly. "Okay," he said.

"I'd imagine you want to take a walk," said Sam after a few moments of silence. "I know I would, it helps me think."

Vimes nodded again and they headed out of the Yard. "You're a watchman?" said Vimes after a few minutes of walking in silence.

"Yes," said Sam with something of a grimace.

"You don't want to be?"

"I wanted to be... I don't know, a writer or something. But... do you know what it's like? Every time I heard from Carrot or Angua about a case... I just wanted to get involved. It was either join or get arrested for trespassing. I guess that's genetics for you."

"Carrot and Angua are here?" asked Vimes

"Yes. They're married, by the way," said Sam smiling slightly, "I'm Jon-, sorry, their son's godfather."

Vimes permitted himself a small smile. Suddenly he turned to face his son, his face alight with a new emotion. "What can you tell me?"

Sam read this change in his father's face and smiled himself. "Look Dad. From what the Sweeper tells me, this should never have happened. You aren't meant to die when you do. He said something about 'auditors' and 'those little grey buggers' and a lot of other things I didn't understand. What I do understand is that I have to tell you everything about how you died, so that you can stop it."

Vimes sighed. "But there's so much I want to know! Please, Sam! Where did you go to school? Did you do well? Have you got a girlfriend?"

"Dad! You're worse than Mom!" he laughed, "No, I haven't got a girlfriend at the moment. No grand-kids, sorry to disappoint you Dad. I did well at school, I know you'll be glad to hear that."

"Okay," said Vimes, "Tell me what I need to know."

"Well, I don't know all that much, to be honest. They found your body with several others. It looked like you'd fallen off a roof, but there was an arrow wound in your shoulder. Your clothes were different, Mom said they weren't your own. No one was ever arrested, Angua found no scent and Cheery found no forensics. A dead end."

"Where was I found?"

"Treacle Mine Road."

Vimes nodded slowly as the information was processed. To distract himself from his deeply unpleasant thoughts he asked some more questions. "So, who taught you all that stuff, back there?" he asked, rubbing his still sore throat.

"Angua," said Sam, "She said she'd teach me everything you'd taught her, and then you'd be happy."

Vimes grinned again. "So who took command after I left?" he queried, as if he didn't know the answer.

"Carrot."

"And now..?"

"I'm a Captain," said Sam, "No one's really been appointed as commander yet..." There was something in the way the boy spoke that made Vimes suddenly suspicious.

"Whatever it is you don't want me to know, tell me," said Vimes.

Sam gave him a sideways look. "You wouldn't want to know it," he said.

"What happened to Vetinari?"

"He retired."

"And who took over..?"

"I can't tell you!" said Sam in anguish.

Vimes started to walk faster up Lower Broadway, towards the Palace and then he broke into a run. His suspicion was more than just sneaking now, it was like knowledge that flowed in his veins. Carrot was King, he just knew it.... Sam took him down in a rugby tackle.

"Tell me that it's not like that!" shouted Vimes.

"Look Dad you don't understand. It was either take the throne or have chaos and fighting in the streets! He's a good man!"

"I know! But is his second in command-"

"Dad! I know too! Carrot remembers when you said that to him! The court is kept under control. The Watch is as it was, in your memory! Look, if you don't want this to happen then you have to go back and change it. Go back and stay well away from Treacle Mine! Don't die this time!"

"Sam... look after your mother," said Vimes, because the world was starting to dim again.

"I will Dad! I've managed it for over twenty years. Go on-- go back and change it. Make it so I don't have to exist in this..." The blackness swallowed Vimes and he heard no more.