"At ease men," said Vimes from his seat. The sergeants relaxed slightly. He tried to think how he was going to phrase this. It was no good, he was never any good with words. "Er," he said and then his mind cleared a little and he continued, "Um, I thought it was probably best for you to find out from me now, before you heard it from someone else..." He gazed at the bewildered faces before him, and one that seemed quite pale with a nameless emotion, although Angua was normally quite pale so perhaps it was just his imagination... "I am taking some leave," he said and found that once he had started it was easy to keep going, "Probably for some time. Until I come back, Captain Carrot is going to be heading the Watch."

"Why sir?" said Colon, his face still not displaying any emotion other than confusion.

"I'm... sick, Fred," said Vimes, trying to avoid everyone's eyes. Gods! He hated this. There was nothing worse than admitting weakness in front of his officers. He stood quickly. He had to get out of here. "Thank you very much, I'm sure I'll be seeing you all soon." He hastened out of the room. Sybil was lurking awkwardly in the charge room, she saw his face and knew better than to hold his arm. She followed him as he rushed out of the Watch House.

"Are you alright Sam?" she asked. He opened his mouth to lie and decided against it.

"No, not really." It came out a little more gruffly then he had intended and he slipped his hand into hers to try and reassure her. "How's Sam been today?"

Sybil knew he was simply changing the subject but replied anyway. "He's a little peaky at the moment. I think he knows that something's wrong. I think he can tell..."

Vimes sighed. There was no escape.

They had reached their home. Wilkins was waiting in the hall and Vimes could hear Sam crying. "I'm sorry sir," said the butler, "But I can't seem to find out what's the matter..."

Vimes climbed the stairs to his son's room slowly and carefully, picked him up from his crib and rocked him gently. He quietened down almost immediately and in the silence he heard Sybil come in behind him.

"I've said it before, and I'm going to say it again," said Vimes slowly, "I'm not going to give up. I'm not going to give in. I'm going to fight..."

"I'll hold you to that," said Sybil with a laugh.



It had been nearly a month since Angua had seen her Commander and she hurried down the road to deliver the good news, that Igor had been successful and as soon as Vimes was ready he could proceed with the surgery.

She knocked on the door of the Ramkin (or should it be Vimes?) mansion and Wilkins the butler opened it. "Ah, Sergeant Angua," he said, "Come in!"

Angua stepped into the cool of the ancestral hall and followed the sounds of laughter and quiet voices to the Mildly Yellow Drawing Room. Lady Sybil was standing in the middle of the room laughing at the antics of her husband and son who were sitting on an armchair facing away from the door. Sybil noticed the young woman and smiled at her.

"Angua! Nice to see you again. Do you want to speak to Sam?"

Angua nodded and stepped into the room. She turned to look at her Commander and stifled the gasp. It had to be Vimes, the eyes were right and the smell was right... but this was surely not the Commander who had spoken to them in his office such a short time ago. This man's eyes were sunk deep into a face so gaunt it looked like it belonged to a skeleton. The bones of his wrists protruded almost through the flesh, visible as he bounced his son on his knees. His clothes hung off him like a shroud and his face looked grey in the light. "S-sir," she managed, "Igor sent me to tell you, he's r-ready now sir, when you are."

"Hello Angua," said Vimes, eyes hard and cold, "It's good to see you looking so well. I know you can't say the same about me." There was a silence no could think how to fill and so Vimes continued. "Igor's ready, you say?"

"When you are, sir," she replied quickly.

"Good," said Vimes relief radiating from his features, "Is tomorrow acceptable?"

"Tomorrow is good sir."

"Well, you go and... you go and tell him tomorrow then."



Vimes lay on the sick bed already starting to feel drowsy a few minutes after downing the gloopy herbal mixture Igor had presented him with. It was time to say his goodbyes...

He kissed his son gently on the head and spoke sternly. "You behave for your mother, Sam Vimes. I'll be sure to hear if you don't."

Lady Sybil chuckled and passed the baby to Wilkins, who carried him out carefully and shut the door behind him with a click.

Vimes looked up into his wife's eyes and saw the barely disguised fear there that mirrored the look on his own face. He couldn't think of anything to say and instead carefully pushed himself up onto his elbows and kissed her instead. It was quite out of character for Sam Vimes to be quite so passionately desperate in his kisses but then he'd never been quite so uncertain of how long he might survive for. When they finally broke away he wiped the tears that had leaked out of Sybil's eyes away and gave her a weak smile.

"This isn't goodbye," he said firmly and she sniffed.

"I know," she said, her voice trembling, "I'll be here when you wake up..."

Igor knocked on the door and lurched in. "Thur?" he said and Vimes nodded to him.

"Sleep well," he heard Sybil whisper and he slipped gently into unconsciousness.