It took a while for the cancer to take hold and in the time he had Vimes worked hard to try and ensure that when he did finally have to take some time off everything would be under control. It was Angua that started to suspect something, and afterwards Vimes privately wondered if she could smell the difference in him. It was true that she could certainly smell the fear, although she would have never admitted it to his face. Sam Vimes was not the kind of person that often smelt of that particular emotion. Anger, certainly. Lately pride and joy had been more in order but now it was always fear. With the fear and the constant meetings with Carrot about running this and sorting that she began to suspect something was seriously bothering the Commander. She daren't mention it to Carrot however much she would have liked to because she knew how the Captain would react, and it would be the wrong reaction in this situation, of that she was sure. He'd probably ask the man straight out and Angua had known Vimes long enough to have learnt that was not a sensible course of action. Besides, if the Commander wasn't considering retirement or facing any of the other half-heartedly imagined vague scenarios she occasionally considered he would take careful inquiries into such matters a lot better from Sergeant Angua than he would Captain Carrot.

It was for that reason that a few weeks after Vimes's visit to Igor Sergeant Angua knocked tentatively on the Commander's office door during a quiet afternoon and despite hearing no answer very carefully pushed it open.

Commander Vimes was at his desk, actually sitting on his hands. The reason for this was that he was desperately trying to fight the urge to light a cigar. The case in his pocket was empty and all of the cigars at home had been fed very pointedly and deliberately by himself to the dragons. That had annoyed Sybil, he knew, but she had let it pass without comment. He jerked his hands free and hurriedly picked up his pen as Angua poked her head around the door.

"Yes?" he barked and she came in and shut the door behind her. Vimes frowned. Angua did not often come to his office unless called for and she wasn't the type to ask for days off. There was definitely something on her mind, her face was in as much agony of indecision someone as fundamentally unfussed as Angua could manage. Which wasn't much, but it had the shock of the unusual and Vimes might have wondered if he should take an iconograph just for the rarity value had his mind been on anything other than not going searching for any hidden cigars he might have missed.

"Sir," she said very formally and he waved a hand, the universal signal for 'carry on' and after a few more moments pause the werewolf managed to get out of her mouth whatever was on her mind. "I was just wondering sir... if you were planning a holiday..."

Vimes blinked and then understood. That was Angua's uncharacteristically kind and tactful way of saying she had noticed all the extra meetings with Carrot and all the paperwork that had been shifted to different officers... the list went on and on. He sighed., but out of all of the people to notice Angua was one of the best he could have hoped for. She knew perhaps best of all his officers that some things had to be kept secret until the time was right for them to be revealed. He supposed it was a trait common to most werewolves when you thought about it. It was how many of the undead lived day to day...

"I am planning some leave, yes," he said after a moments silence and shuffled some of the paperwork on his desk.

Angua tried not to show her surprise. Of all the answers she had expected that was certainly not one of the top on her list. "Well, sir," she managed, "I hope you have a nice time..."

"Somehow, sergeant, I doubt it," said Vimes frankly, "I'm having time off because... well, because if I don't it's quite probable I shall die."

Angua stared at him. Vimes didn't often make jokes, he was more of a sarcastic one-liner type of person. She realised he was telling the truth. "What... why sir?" she asked.

"I'm sick, Sergeant. I know I might not look it, yet, but I am. And soon I'll need to have some time off. Until Igor's ready to treat me."

Angua stared harder and for the first time noticed the extra lines of care at the corners of the Commander's eyes and the grey underneath them. He sighed. "I'd be grateful if you didn't share this with the others," he said, "I'll tell them when I have to. For now, I thought it best..."

Angua saluted smartly. "Of course sir," she said, and took her leave.

Vimes sat back and tried to ignore the shaking in his limbs as his body demanded its regular nicotine fix. His watch chimed and he took it out and stared blankly at it for a moment. He had a meeting with Lord Vetinari soon, he ought to make a move... he didn't want to have to run anywhere and he'd noticed the short walk was making him more and more breathless every time he took it. Unbidden his hand moved to clutch at his chest. He forced his mind back to the present, to the reports to be read and written. Ten minutes later he walked calmly out of his office and down the stairs. Carrot saluted him and they set off together to the meeting with the Patrician.

"Thank you then, Captain. Commander, a word with you before you leave, please?" said Lord Vetinari. Vimes nodded to his captain and the younger man left the room. Vimes's mind was elsewhere and right now he couldn't have told anyone what he'd just spent the last twenty minutes talking about. He was thinking about home, about Sybil and Sam...

"Hhm?" he said, realising that Vetinari had just asked him a question.

"I said, Commander, it has come to my attention that something is quite obviously wrong with my chief-of-police. I was wondering if he could tell me himself before I have to use my own sources."

Vimes said nothing for a minute, simply considering his options. But he had admitted it now, and as he'd said many times before, no one gossips like a copper. Either Igor or Angua would say something before too long and perhaps it was better for Vetinari to know now rather than later. He focussed on a point some way from the man's head and tried to get the words out.

"I will be taking some leave shortly sir," he managed. Vetinari's eyebrow shot skywards but Vimes continued before the man could say anything. "I... need to have some quite major surgery to survive...a particular ailment... and I don't expect I shall be at work for sometime afterwards.... If I do return..."

He met Vetinari's eyes. The Patrician of Ankh-Morpork never showed his true feelings in any matter except in the rarest of circumstances. Even then, the glimpses into the mind of such a man were confusing and at best mere fragments of the true nature held within the tall, thin figure that watched Vimes now over steepled fingers. But Vimes could see the shock and pity in Vetinari's icy blue eyes and he clenched both his jaw and fist behind his back. He didn't want pity, least of all from Havelock Vetinari.

As suddenly as it had come the expression was gone and the Patrician looked away and shuffled some papers. "Well, Commander. Your secret is safe from me and I quite understand. I wish you a speedy recovery. Give my regards to Lady Sybil... oh, and your son of course."

"Yes sir," said Vimes and he took his leave, fuming quietly. He spun and lashed out at the wall as he passed the row of dents partly through force of habit, but mostly through anger.

Carrot was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. "Back to the yard, sir?"

"Yes, yes of course," said Vimes, horrified to find he was wheezing slightly at the effort of climbing down the stairs. "And call the senior sergeants together when we get back will you. There's something I need to tell them. And you, of course." It was now or never. Perhaps it was best for it to be now before things got really bad, when he could still hand over the reigns gently rather than in shock and dismay.

"Yes sir-" Carrot began but he was cut off by someone close at hand shouting at the top of their voice.

"Stop! Unlicensed thief!"

Vimes's legs started to move of their own volition after the figure legging it down an alleyway. A small part of him tried to point out to the rest that it was perhaps not a wise idea for a man who had spent some of the morning coughing up his own blood to be running after the fleeing thief, but it was overruled. The figure was fast, but Vimes was closing despite the fierce burning in his chest by the time they reached the end of the alleyway. He snatched at the man's sleeve but he spun and kicked Vimes who fell backwards onto the cobbles. However, Captain Carrot had been moving to cut the thief off and as he ran with a backward glance at the watchman sprawling on the floor carrot stepped out. The thief ran straight into him.

Currently Vimes wasn't particularly concerned with the thief's well being, he was far too busy worrying about his own. He clutched at his chest as he tried to draw breath, gasping like a fish out of water for all the good it did. His eyesight was failing as he tasted the blood in his mouth. Carrot had run over to him, was crouched beside him, but Vimes could neither see not hear him. He arched his back as he slipped into unconsciousness, and awoke much later in his armchair at home.



Vimes sat bolt upright as soon as he awoke, or at least that was his intention. In practise he jerked forwards and then slumped down again as various parts of his body protested. "Sybil?" he rasped.

"I'm here Sam," said his wife, stepping into his field of vision. Her expression was that of half-relief, half-annoyance. "I told you not to overdo it," she said.

"I'm sorry," Vimes replied sadly, "I just wanted to sort things out before I went.."

"I know," she answered, her expression softening to mostly just relief. "Do you still want to speak to your sergeants? Carrot wants to know."

Vimes forced himself to his feet, steadying himself on the arm of the chair. "Yes. I'll just... say what I've got to say and then I'll come home." He took a step forward and Sybil caught his arm before he nearly fell.

"I think I'll come with you," she said, and added, "Look, your obviously just having a nice walk with your wife, okay?" before his protestations began.

Vimes opened his mouth to argue but the truth of the matter was he probably didn't have the strength to walk down to the Yard without his wife's arm to lean on. He shut it again. "Obviously," he said.

"That's better," said Lady Sybil with the ghost of smile touching her lips.