Vimes sat cross-legged on the grass in front of the grave in the cool spring air. It was becoming something of a tradition to spend the evening of the twenty-fifth of May here in quiet contemplation. Someone called out behind him, jerking him out of his reverie. He half-turned to see Iffy Scurrick picking his way carefully across the cemetery. "I thought you might be here," he said.
"Yeah," said Vimes sadly, standing up.
"Come on," said Iffy, "Let's go get a drink." Vimes nodded and followed him across the graveyard. Now twenty one, he was taller than Iffy; and these days it was Vimes that sported the stubble and Iffy was clean shaven. They strolled in silence down the darkening streets.
"Where're we going Iffy?" said Vimes.
"Oh, not the usual," said Iffy, "There's someone I want you to meet..." He gave Vimes a sideways look. "Congratulations by the way," he added.
"What?" said Vimes, mind still on planet Keele, brain still supplying the images of horror from half a decade past.
"/Corporal/ Vimes. Well on the way up the promotion ladder, or so they say."
"Er, yeah," said Vimes, uncomfortably aware that Iffy was still only a Constable despite being older and having served for longer. "So who are we meeting?" he said after a few more moments of thoughtful silence.
"Er.. Well, I want you to meet her. See what you think of her."
"She's a girl?" said Vimes surprised.
"No! She's a llama! For goodness sake Sam, keep up with the plot."
"Sorry," said Vimes.
They walked on. "Hey, we're here," said Iffy, tapping Vimes on the shoulder. It was a tavern like any other in this area of Ankh-Morpork, not Vimes's customary boozer, but similar enough. He stepped inside, his feet rustling the rushes on the floor that were quite fresh by normal city standards.
"She's over there," hissed Iffy, indicating the girl with his eyes.
Vimes stared at his friend in amazement. "You fancy the /barmaid?/"
"Yeah, what's wrong with her?" demanded Iffy, instantly outraged.
"Oh, nothing, nothing," said Vimes quickly, "Just surprised me. That's all."
"Sit here," said Iffy, pushing Vimes into a chair, "I'll go get the drinks..."
Some time later Vimes gave up on trying to focus on the forest of glasses in front of them. In theory it had been sensible for Iffy to make the trips up to the bar to try and engage the pretty barmaid in conversation. However, as Iffy couldn't manage more than to stutter their orders, thus all they were achieving was a state of extreme drunkenness.
"I go and get the drinksh," Iffy managed before slumping onto the table.
"I'll go," said Vimes, slightly more sober (and being taller able to hold his drink a bit better) He staggered over to the bar and stared glassily at the object of Iffy's desire. She was pretty enough, smiling and flirty and Vimes decided he liked her.
"What can I do for you, sir?" she said as he leaned against the bar.
"Haha, nothing for me," said Vimes, "It's just that... my mate really fancies you..." He gestured to the young watchman who raised his head muzzily from the table and grinned weakly.
The barmaid laughed and leaned closer to Sam Vimes. "I know," she said.
"Oh," said Vimes, nonplussed. "Er, will you go out with him then?"
"What's his name?" she asked.
Vimes thought for a moment. "Iffy," he said.
"My name's Janie. If you want to, you can walk me home after I come off shift. I know I can trust two guardsmen like yourselves to behave."
Vimes nodded.
Time flowed inexorably onwards; as it always has and will do. Iffy somehow managed to overcome his tongue-tied nervousness and ask Janie out on a second date and Vimes suffered the terrible awkwardness of being 'the third wheel' as his mother put it on every social occasion. He bore it with a stoic patience and perhaps as a reward for his long-suffering when Iffy finally worked up the courage to ask Janie to marry him he was appointed best man.
Sam Vimes quite enjoyed being best man. It was a great opportunity to meet girls, and the bridesmaids weren't allowed to resist his uneasy advances very much, due to the constraints of common courtesy. He'd got Sergeant Kepple to help him with the speech and everyone had admitted it was fairly good.
So now Iffy was a married man. This fact was bought home to Sam Vimes when they met up for lunch one afternoon. Iffy, rather bashfully, pulled out his lunch. It was wrapped neatly in a pristine white square of cloth. The sandwich had a sprig of parsley on top and all the crusts cut off. And there was still a slice of wedding cake.
"Haven't you eaten all that stuff yet?" said Vimes as he bit into his own lunch, a steaming hot pie of suspicious organs from a street vendor.
"Nope," replied Iffy, "I think we'll still have some left by the time our anniversary rolls around. How are you anyway? I heard you were in a fight last week, when Maroon got killed."
"Yeah," said Vimes with a sigh, "I was. I've been to see his widow today. I gave her some money actually. Didn't seem fair somehow the fact that she gets no money after all the years of service her old man's given."
"You're a good man, Sam Vimes," said Iffy with a laugh, "Better than me, I'm sure."
"Course I am," replied Vimes, "That's why you're the one with all the cake."
"Ah Sam, I'm sure you'll find the girl for you one of these days."
"Don't be so bloody optimistic," said Sam, only half-joking.