Angua awoke in the darkness, the damp biting into her bones. Her shoulder and stomach were throbbing with pain and she could taste blood in her mouth. She groaned slightly. This was /not/ how things were supposed to go. She sat up and realised her arms and legs were shackled. She growled. She was tired, hurt and tied up. Now, if ever, was the time to Change.
In wolf form it was easy to slip out of the shackles and she sniffed her way around her cell. It was a cellar, she guessed, roughly ten feet square. There were a few smells, the two men she had followed from Sator Square, sweat, beer. She padded over to a door, which was locked. There were no other ways in or out.
She sat on her haunches, trying to think how she could escape when the door opened. She leapt forward, growling horribly, and knocked the bow out of the man's hands before he had a chance to fire.
"Very good, Miss Angua," said a voice from the shadows. She spun, drool dribbling from her jaws. A man was standing in the corner of the room beyond the cellar, his crossbow balanced on the table and a strange device in his hand. "The bolt is tipped silver, you will note," he said pleasantly, "And I advise you not to attack me or I may be inclined to set this device in motion." He waved the contraption.
Angua growled again but remained still. How the hell had she ended up in such a situation?
"Good," said the man, "Thinking, I see. There are some clothes for you here, if you would like to change back into your usual form. I need you to communicate."
Angua remained utterly still. The man sighed.
"I had hoped not to have to resort to such petty measures... but you leave me no choice." He stood up and walked over to her, the crossbow still aimed directly at her. It was doubtful that she would be able to leap and disarm him in time before he pulled the trigger and killed her. She remained still.
He pressed the bolt against her skull and the silver against her skin seemed to freeze and burn her synchronously. She whined and Changed. The man smiled. "That's better." He threw her some clothes and she hurriedly put them on.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"I want lots of things," said the man, still maintaining a friendly grin, "You are going to help me obtain some of them. I need you to write me a letter to your beloved Captain."
"Who are you?" she asked.
"My name is unimportant. You can call me Renard." Behind her, the man she had floored stood up slowly and aimed his own crossbow at her.
The name seemed familiar, but Angua couldn't remember where she had heard it. "What do you want me to write?"
"All in good time, all in good time. Firstly I imagine you would like something to eat. Jarvis and Haines, the two men who bought you here, have doubtless neglected to give you, our guest, some food."
Angua began to wonder if the man with the bow was quite sane. She stood up carefully. "I'm fine, thank you."
"Ah? Well, down to business then. Here is a quill and some parchment. Please write the following..."
Vimes was on patrol. It was half past eleven in the evening and he'd been awake now for long over twenty four hours but he strode down the dark streets watching all the time for suspicious strangers or objects on every street corner.
He'd popped home to put Sam to be and apologised profusely to Sybil for the fact he would not be home again for another night. She was rather stoical about it all and he was thankful. He resolved, when all this was over, that he would make it up to her somehow. Take her to see and opera, or something else she enjoyed doing.
All of his officers were on patrol tonight, with orders to stop everyone and question them, even search them for explosives if they thought it necessary. There were more Watchman per square inch in Cable and Sheer than any other part of the city, and all dwarf citizens had been advised to stay indoors tonight. There were guards at the door of every foundry and ironsmiths and Vimes himself was patrolling the streets looking for anything out of the ordinary. He hoped to the gods it would be enough. Somehow, he doubted it. If his past experiences had taught him anything, it was that his enemies would always utilise his unconsidered Achilles heel to break him.
It started to rain. It dripped off his helmet and down his chin, soaking through the links in his armour and into his shirt. His feet splashed in the puddles forming on the cobbles. Somewhere a bell started to toll quarter to midnight. He sighed, hoping against hope...
... and then the world exploded.
Angua put down the quill with a scowl. "Good," said Renard. He smiled at her. "Now, your Commander has no doubt passed on our message to Lord Vetinari. Somehow I doubt he has taken our demands into consideration, so it is time to move on to phase two. Give me your hands."
Angua held her hands out reluctantly and they were cuffed together.
"We're going to take a little walk. Come along now."
She was marched outside as the rain started to fall, pattering softly on the cobbles. "Where are we going?" she asked.
"You'll find out," twinkled Renard. "You need to see this, you need to understand. Do you know who I am?"
Angua shook her head. "Carrot knew you, didn't he?"
"Yes, I have spoken often to Captain Carrot. I used to be an alchemist. I was working in an explosives project that the Patrician shut down. Then I was contacted by Mister DeVant... he's head of the Reclaimers. Personally, I have nothing against dwarfs or trolls, but I do appreciate the money he's willing to pay me..."
The rain was really hammering down now, soaking through the cheap clothes she had been given. She squinted to see where they were. "Isn't this Quarry Lane?"
"Yes," Renard said.
Angua suddenly could see the future stretching out in front of her. Renard had said dwarfs and /trolls/. "This isn't just about the dwarfs, is it?" she asked.
"No. DeVant wants all of the lesser races out of Ankh-Morpork. But by threatening the dwarf community it means we are perfectly positioned to attack the trolls."
They were outside a troll bar, inside Angua could hear the cheering and shouting as one of the troll strippers put on her third jumper. Renard turned a dial on the device and threw it against a wall. "I'd walk away, if I was you," said Renard, poking her in the back with the bow. Angua walked, hearing in her mind's ear the ticking of the little device.
Three minutes later the world exploded.
It is, by all accounts, rather difficult to hurt a troll. One way to manage it is to stage an explosion a few inches away and then drop a couple of tons of rubble on their heads. Vimes stood on the corner, an expression of horror on his face. /Not again/ he thought. /Please, gods, not again./
More Watchmen were arriving from elsewhere in the city. Sergeant Detritus watched the dust falling, his eyes glowing red in the light of some small fires. "Come on!" he shouted, and some of the Watchmen jerked into life, helping once more to shift the rubble. Vimes simply stood, the shock being gradually replaced now, anger was bubbling up from its secret reservoir in his soul. He blinked and moved forward to help move some of the debris.
Vimes stared at the note. "Are you sure?"he asked.
"Absolutely sir," said Carrot.
YOU TOOK TOO LONG TO CONVINCE HIM, MISTER VIMES. ALL THE LESSER RACES MUST LEAVE ANKH-MORPORK OR MORE INNOCENT LIVES WILL BE LOST - THE RECLAIMERS.
The note was in Angua's handwriting. Vimes sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn't found time to sleep yet and he wondered if he could still stand. "This goes from bad to worse Carrot," he said.
"I know sir. It must have been a trap.. I just don't understand why they wanted Angua..."
"Me neither Captain," Vimes stifled a yawn, "I have to report to Vetinari." He looked into Carrot's anxious face. "Don't worry, Captain," he said, "I'm sure we'll get her back. Angua knows how to handle herself." He hoped his scepticism didn't show on his face.
"I hope you're right sir," said Carrot.
