When Vimes opened his eyes the world was completely drained of colour and silent as the grave. His breath steamed in the cold of the air and hung in motionless coils as soon as it left his lips. Something was wrong, terribly so. He felt it on some deep and primitive level, some base instinct was growling a warning. Vimes stood up carefully in case anything leapt out at him. The nausea was back, but at least projectile vomit could be considered a weapon. he crept along with his back against the wall.
What was he supposed to do? Where was he supposed to go? Where was Lu-Tze when you needed him? It felt like time had stopped again, but the world was in short supply of little old men with cheery grins and brooms to tell him what he had to do. It was all very well saying 'do the job in front of you' but you had to know what the job was. Staying here wasn't going to help. he headed out into the streets.
There were people on the streets but they were as still as when history had come to claim seven lives in heroes Street and he found he couldn't quite look at the frozen people, drained of colour and somehow, of their humanity.
There was movement to his left and he started to run. He wondered briefly if that was the wrong thing to do, after all, it was what Sam Vimes always did so perhaps by not running he would avoid his own murder. But maybe that was what he'd though last time; maybe he had to run to survive... Vimes shook his head. if he started thinking like that he would never get anything done. He ran on.
The figure in orange robes was walking away from him. "Lu-Tze! Sweeper!" he called out. The orange-robed one turned and Vimes skidded to a halt. This was a young man, far too young to be the Sweeper.
"Did you call me Lu-Tze?" said the man.
"Yes, sorry. Do you know where he is?"
The young man looked him up and down. "Who are you?" he asked.
"Commander Vimes, Ankh-Morpork City Watch," replied Vimes helpfully.
"Oh yes, said the boy, "I remember now." He looked confused. "How are you...? You must be making your own time. I didn't think you had any anthropomorphic personification connections..."
"What?" said Vimes, completely lost.
There was a popping noise and Lu-Tze appeared. "Lobsang! How are you?"
"Fine, thank you Sweeper. It's good to see you again." They shook hands. Vimes coughed slightly.
"Ah, Mister Vimes. Glad you're here. You're just the sort of man we need."
"What's going on?" said Vimes.
"The Auditors are back, Lu-Tze," said Lobsang, "They've got some thugs with them, they're trying to..." He noticed Vimes was listening intently and stopped.
"Mister Vimes, it's going to take to long to explain why," said the Sweeper, "We don't have the time-"
"You don't have the time?" said Vimes, sardonically.
"Yes, Mister Vimes. We need to stop the Auditors," seeing the blank look he added, "The little buggers in the grey robes, your grace. They're after you."
"Me? What did I do?"
"Changed history, that's what. And now they know and, well, let's just say they preferred the other history, okay? The one where Stoneface didn't arrest the King... there'd be a lot less people about if it had."
"Okay, that seems to make some sort of sense. What do you want me to do?"
Lu-Tze paused trying to think how best it would be to phrase the true intention of the History Monks without causing Vimes to react in a ballistic way.
"We need you to bait the trap," said Lobsang and Lu-Tze groaned slightly.
"What!?" said Vimes.
"Look, Mister Vimes. Just go along with it, please? If you ever want to see your wife and child again..."
Vimes held his gaze angrily for a moment and then dropped it, knowing he had lost. There was nothing he could do to fight against what the Sweeper had just said. "Alright," he said quietly, "How can I be of assistance?"
"All you have to do is survive long enough for us to deal with all the ones in grey robes. They'll send their thugs after you first. For something supposedly without personality they can have quite a surprising desire to stay in existence." Seeing Vimes's slightly confused look he sighed and said, "When they chase you, just run. Don't fight unless you have to. Just keep out of the way as much as you can and let us get a clear shot."
"Okay," said Vimes. It was simple really. They chase, I flee. Just like the old days. I used to cover half the city in my youth... but I'm not that young any more. As the Sweeper and Lobsang started to walk away Vimes became aware of the running footsteps. As the rising panic began to take hold, as he wondered how the hell he was going to get out of this one alive the men rounded the corner and the cry went up. The hunt was on.
Vimes ran and in doing so freed himself of all the worries of survival. He dodged and swerved to avoid a few crossbow bolts, and he leapt over a garden fence, scrambled up a privy wall and onto a roof before clambering over another fence and running flat out again. he didn't look behind to see if they were still following, he just ran, trying to ignore the pain in his knees, ankles, shoulder, chest and throat. His heart hammered madly and he stumbled slightly as he struggled to get over another fence. A glance behind sent him speeding again, the men had not fallen behind.
Vimes didn't know where he was going, he followed the old routes he had learnt years ago. The ones where a tricky roof could send a man sprawling if he didn't climb up in exactly the right place, the ones where the fences were likely to catch and snag if you didn't jump over 'em at the one place where the barbed wire had fallen off.
Despite his age and numerous wounds, healed breaks and scars Vimes was still a good runner over the long distances. It was a long time before any of the men caught up with him, and only then because his shoulder gave out on a particularly nasty roof to scramble up and over and he fell to the floor. As it was he managed to get on his feet before the first man reached him and punch him in the stomach. The man grunted and Vimes punched him in the face, bringing his knee up at the same time and pushing the man over backwards as he curled. A couple more blows to the head meant the man was unconscious. As much as Vimes hated it, it was a better alternative than letting the man back up. He pulled the knife out of the man's belt, the unconscious thug hadn't even had time to draw it.
It was probably just as well because as Vimes looked up the second man had arrived. Vimes reacted instantly and threw the knife. It wasn't as if he was good at that sort of thing because he wasn't, but at this range he didn't need to be. It hit the man in the stomach and he fell back with a cry. Vimes didn't hang around to wait for the third man. He set off running again.
He felt better now about running. The Beast was out looking to kill and his fear had evaporated. He didn't realise it for a while but he was taking the long and winding route back to Treacle Mine Road, the eventual finish line of whatever race he had run in his younger days. The realisation chilled him. That was where he was supposed to die...
It was too late to start thinking now, thinking was a surefire way to get himself killed. He had to let instinct do its work if he was going to survive and get back to Sybil and Sam. Sybil and Sam... that was what he had to preoccupy his conscious mind with, and how it would feel to be back home, in his nice warm bed, with his loving wife and his son... probably screaming his head off but nothing can ever be perfect... Home. He was going to get home.
Here and there the flash of orange would catch his vision. At one point he turned to look behind and almost stopped to stare in shock and amazement. The boy, Lobsang, had his fingers outstretched and something complicated was happening to someone dressed in a grey robe, blue flickering light crackling in the freezing air.
"Just run Mister Vimes!" someone shouted and Vimes jerked himself back into reality and started sprinting again.
He reached the remains of the Watch House. As always, Vetinari was right. A lot of the old building was still there, and the place had solid walls, a flat topped roof...
There was someone on the roof now, a someone in orange robes who was waving frantically. "Up here!" it yelled, and a rope was flung down. Vimes grabbed it and started to climb, ignoring the biting pain in his arm. However, the someone on the roof was pulling the rope too, and Vimes soon rose and fell flat on the roof top. He wheezed for a bit before dragging himself upright. It was Lobsang who had pulled him up.
"I thought you were back there," said Vimes a little gruffly, "Thanks, by the way."
"Don't worry about it," dismissed the young man with a wave of his hand. He stared into the middle distance for a moment, swore and disappeared in a flash of blue light, along with his rope.
"Er?" said Vimes staring at where the man had been standing moments before. But there was no time for shock as below him the men who had chased him were amassing. Vimes peered over the edge of the rood and a crossbow bolt whiffled past his ear. He withdrew quickly and threw himself flat on the floor to be less of a target. The bolts stopped after a while and Vimes lay still. He crawled over to the edge of the roof and gazed down below. The men seemed to have run out of bolts and were discussing their next course of action in a huddle. A voice behind him made him roll off his stomach in shock and leap to his feet.
Well... not exactly a voice. More like words that appeared in his head without needing to travel via the ears. There were three figures in grey robes standing behind him. He had to assume there was something inside the robes, even though they appeared to be floating rather than standing and he could see right to the back of the grey hoods when most people tend to have a face between the air and the material. Despite this rather eerie fact the robes were not scary in the normal sense of the word. They were more, well, sort of boring.
The voice said: Are you Commander Vimes?
"No," replied Vimes, shaking his head and looking desperately left and right for an exit. "Sorry, never met the man in my life. Must dash..."
He is lying, said one robe.
Yes, replied another one, We must kill him now.
The third robe seemed to be in control. No, it said, We cannot. That would require... personality.
We should let the men do it for us, said the first.
Yes, said the second, I agree. Let us... Oh bugger! It disappeared.
It was replaced by another robe identical in every way. Let that be a lesson, said the new robe.
Vimes's search for an exit had not been successful. Another glance down at the men gave him more unwelcome news. Someone had got a washing line and they were tying it to a drainpipe and starting to climb up the walls. Vimes swallowed. He had a horrible feeling he knew how this was going to end, with him nothing more than a splat on the cobbles below. He was going to be as misshapen a chalk outline as his father...
On the other hand, this was what Lu-Tze had wanted, right? Lead them into a trap, and let the monks get a clear shot. If any of the Men in Saffron did turn up they certainly would have a clear shot.... What worried Vimes more was the fact the world was depressingly short on any monks to actually do any shooting.
The first man was making a desperate bid for the roof. Vimes stamped on his fingers as he scrabbled to gain a handhold on the roof and then kicked him in the head. He fell, knocking down several other men who were climbing up . Only two of them got back to their feet.
"Ha! How'd you like that one boys!" he shouted down at the men. The robes were still hovering a few feet away. The first one spoke.
He has killed some of the men, it said.
This does not concern us. They were weak, replied the third.
But how are we to terminate this creature? argued the second, We agreed to let the men kill it.
They are unsuccessful, said the third one after a short pause, We shall have to do it for ourselves.
Vimes steeled himself for the first assault. Noting happened for a moment and then the robes seemed to lose shape, as if they were crumbling to dust. However, the dust was forming itself into a new shape. Dogs. They were turning themselves into dogs. As if Wolfgang hadn't been enough...
The nearest bared its teeth at Vimes and he tensed himself. It crouched, preparing to leap. Vimes edged away, right to the very end of the roof, his heels teetering on empty air. The dog growled uncertainly and then leapt, at exactly the same moment as Vimes threw himself flat. The dog sailed over his head and into empty air. A few moments later there was noise that sounded very much like splat.
Vimes had no time to gloat, the other dog had already jumped on top of him. There was a horrible moment full of hair, teeth and blood and then he managed to roll with it underneath him and grab its muzzle. He slammed its head into the stone roof again and again. He thought he heard a crack and the body in his hands went limp. He rolled again, just as the third dog sprang and landed on his chest.
This one seemed to have learnt from the mistakes of its comrades and it went straight for the throat. Vimes tried to hold its mouth away from his neck while it scratched at him and snapped. It was a losing battle and with no other option left Vimes kicked his legs over his head. He rolled over backwards. He had been hoping that now the dog would be held underneath the weight of his body and he could attempt the same trick that had resulted in the demise of the second Auditor. Unfortunately he hadn't been that far away from the edge of the building and had effectively just rolled into empty air.
The third dog fell, but Vimes still had one hand on the blessedly solid stone. It slipped but he managed to find a handhold and dangled for a moment by one arm. He tried not to look down but there was little other option. The rest of his life consisted of how long he could hold onto the roof of the building and his sweaty, not to mention bloody, fingers were already slipping.
Vimes's hand slipped and there was a terribly long moment where he seemed to hang in mid-air. He wondered if his life was going to flash before his eyes, contemplated how much of it there would be time to remember before he hit the ground and was nothing more than a chalk outline-
-And a hand grabbed his wrist with a steel grip before he had moved more than a fraction of an inch and someone pulled him bodily to safety. All the breath Vimes had been holding came out in a rush and he looked into the face of his rescuer.
"Sam?" he said.
His son pulled a cigar case out of his pocket. Vimes's cigar case. "I don't smoke," he said, "But Mom gave this to me. When I opened it I travelled to exactly the place in time where I most wanted to go." There was a pause, and Sam met his father's gaze. "Piece of luck for you, eh?"
Vimes smiled, shaking his head but with a wondering look in his eyes. "Thank you," he said, with feeling.
"Any time," said Sam and he held out a hand for Vimes to shake.
"Hey," said his father. There was a scar on the back of young Vimes's hand, but as they watched it was fading away to nothing. Sam examined his healed hand carefully. He waved it at his father.
"See? Already you've changed things. Who knows what I'll go back to now? It's all going to have changed!" Sam sounded quite excited at the prospect.
"Good," said Vimes, "That's good. And... now what happens?"
"I'm going to walk you home," said his son, "And then I'm going back where I belong."
They walked through the silent streets saying nothing until they reached Scoone Avenue. Lu-Tze was standing by the gates, leaning on his broom. Sam turned to his father.
"I wish I'd had more time to talk to you," said Vimes, "I feel I've missed out."
"Don't worry Dad. You'll have plenty of time to talk in the coming years. You won't miss out. Not this time. And neither will I." He held out his hand again and Vimes moved as if to take it but at the last moment changed his mind and embraced his son instead. There was a brief moment where he could feel his boy hugging him back and then when he dropped his arms his son had disappeared.
"Ready to go home now, Mister Vimes?" said the Sweeper.
"What will happen to him?" asked Vimes.
"He won't remember anything when he returns to his own time-line. He will have lived the life he was supposed to."
"Oh." Vimes considered this for a minute. "Good," he added after a bit.
Lu-Tze smiled. "See you again some time, Mister Vimes."
And the world went dark for the final time.
Vimes landed naked on his doorstep. Next to him was his badge and his cigar case, and a few feet away was his dressing gown a slippers. He hurriedly put everything back on and pushed open the door. Everything was as he had left it, he realised as he ran up the stairs. He pushed open the door to his bedroom. The bed clothes were still in the screwed up state he had left them and Sybil was snoring gently, still asleep. He heaved a huge sigh of relief.
Actually, Sybil wasn't sleeping any more. His sigh had wakened her. "Sam?" she said, seeing him by the open door, "What's the matter?"
"Nothing," he said quickly, crossing to his bed, "Nothing. I'm fine. Honestly."
But Sybil was looking at him strangely and she said at last: "You didn't have a beard when you went to bed..."
Vimes's had flew up and encountered the bristling beard on his chin. Damn. The days spent time-travelling seemed to have taken the normal physical toll on his body. There was a few days healthy growth on his chin.
"Er," he said sitting down on the duvet next to her, "Er."
"You travelled in time again?" she asked.
"Yes," he admitted, "Not intentionally, I can assure you..." he trailed off and stopped thinking with his brain and let his body take over and do what it had wanted to do since he had run into the bedroom. Lady Sybil raised her eyebrows in shock as her husband hugged her fiercely. That wasn't like Sam Vimes.
"What has happened to you?" she said tentatively hugging him back. She squeezed his shoulder gently and he winced. She pulled back the sleeve of his dressing gown and saw the wound, healing now but still bruised and bloodied. "Goodness me Sam, that needs looking at.."
"No, it doesn't, I'm fine, really," said Sam and saw the doubtful look in her eyes. He kissed her gently. "Really. I'm fine," he repeated and kissed her again.
This far-too-rare-for-the-both-of-their-likings-husband/wife moment was unfortunately interrupted by their son, who had just woken up and decided to make his presence known.
"I'll go," said Vimes, breaking away. Lady Sybil followed him anyway, knowing that whatever the problem was it would require her presence to solve. But when Sam Vimes picked his son up the boy stopped crying immediately, and smiled up at his father.
"Isn't that good?" said Sybil, putting a hand on her husband's shoulder.
Vimes nodded. He had a feeling that Sam might begin to behave a bit better now for his father, although he couldn't say exactly why. Over the coming months he would be quite pleased to find out this was correct, but for the moment he was content to simply hold the boy in his arms, ignoring any pain from his shoulder and think back. There'll come a perfect moment, the Sweeper had said, and he'd been right before. Vimes knew that soon the spell would break and life would return to normal, whatever that was, but for the moment he was happy to stand as still as he could and preserve this tiny fragment of perfection.
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The End!! At last!! Thanks for staying with me, it was a long trip and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. And yes, I know the cigar case actually landed on the Bursar's head. but it could have landed somewhere else first, okay! Oh, and Sam Vimes junior's birthday is really ten months and nine days after their wedding anniversary. You can work out from Men at Arms that Vimes got married on the sixteenth of August and the twenty-fifth of may is nine months away on Earth calender, but I forgot the Disc has an extra month, Ick when I was writing. However, I like the idea of Vimes going home for his anniversary... so forget it! Hope you enjoyed it, PLEASE review! Love Lunar