Commander Vimes was sprawled over his desk, fast asleep. Corporal Littlebottom coughed politely. There was no response. After a few more moments he started to snore gently. She coughed louder.
Vimes opened one bleary eye. "Wuh?" he said.
"There's been another note, sir," she said, "And I have the list of alchemists working on the project."
Vimes pushed himself up to his elbows. "Let's have a look," he said, trying to focus on the note.
HOW CLEVER ARE YOU, MR VIMES? I'LL TELL YOU WHERE, AND WHEN, AND WE'LL SEE IF YOU CAN OUTWIT US. YOUR CHOICE, SIR SAMUEL, WORK IT OUT AND YOU COULD SAVE THOSE INNOCENT LIVES YOU CARE SO MUCH ABOUT.
84 7 126 49 36/ 133 140 105 98 36/ 42 84 7 49 105 98 133/ 133 84 65 49 56 140 84 175/
28 65 133 56 36 28/ 65 98/ 140 56 36/ 91 65 28 28 84 36
Vimes stared at it some more. He was never any good with number codes and this one looked fairly horrendous. "Littlebottom?" he said.
"Yes sir?"
"Have you read this?"
"Er, yes sir."
"Can you decipher it?"
"No sir... I could try.."
"No, I'll... figure it out." He stood up. "I think I'll go home and get a bite to eat... Need to get something inside me."
He traipsed out of the office and up the road to his home, still clutching the note. To his mild surprise Sybil opened the door rather than Wilkins, wearing a firm expression.
"You haven't slept for nearly two days, Sam, please tell me you've come home to get some /rest/."
"Actually, I came for some breakfast," he said, stepping inside.
"What's going on Sam? The papers are full of rumours, the city rocks with explosions, what's happening?"
"There's a terrorist group that wants the Patrician to turf out all the trolls and dwarfs in the city," Vimes said, "They're targeting different ethnic groups to try and bully the Patrician into ordering them away," he said, sitting down at the table. "How's Sam?"
"He's fine," she said, "It's you I'm worried about. You look ill..."
"I'm alright," he said, raising a hand, "Honestly."
*
The Patrician stared at the paper. "Have you cracked the code, Commander?" said the Patrician mildly.
"Nosir," said Vimes.
The Patrician smiled thinly. "It's an alphabetised code, based on the seven times table, Commander." He handed back the paper.
"Ah," said Vimes.
"Doubtless you have much to do, Commander. Do not let me detain you."
"Yessir," Vimes said.
*
Vimes sat with his notebook open in front of him, translating the code painstakingly. It was in Angua's handwriting again, at least they had some proof that she was still alive. His presentation watch chimed the hour. He'd translated three words:
LARGE STONE FLAGONS
Whoever had written the note knew that Vimes and Vimes alone could crack the code that was the description of an
area by the cobbles.
LARGE STONE FLAGONS SLIGHTLY DISHED
Vimes's mind was racing. Large stone flagons, slightly dished...
LARGE STONE FLAGONS SLIGHTLY DISHED IN THE MIDDLE
The Palace. The stones outside the Palace and in Sator Square. He leapt up from his desk and ran down the stairs with a clatter. "Come with me!" he yelled, spurring seven other Watchmen to full sprint from desk-bound start.
He ran as fast as he could down Broadway towards the Palace. The streets were thronged with people heading to the square as always, it was the premier retail outlet for the city, after all.. How the hell was he going to find an explosive device in this mess?
Perhaps he didn't have to. The sensible thing would be to evacuate th Square. When there were less people it would be a hell of a lot easier to search. He pulled a Constable who had followed in the general rush closer to him. "Your name's... Kingsley, isn't it?"
"Yessir!" said the young man.
"Get them to close off the entrances to the Square, don't argue, just do it."
The young man nodded fervently and scuttled off. Vimes sighed. That sort of thing was happening more and more often these days... he wondered what he had done to cause the fearful obedience of his men... and women, dwarfs, trolls, undead, gnomes...
He cupped his hands. "Alright!" he shouted, "This is the Watch! I want you to evacuate the Square!"
A few people gave him an odd look and then carried on. This was Ankh-Morpork after all. Vimes growled and beckoned a few more of his officers towards him. One of them was Sergeant Detritus, carrying the Piecemaker.
There was a brief exchange between the Watchmen and then all but Detritus headed purposefully away towards the edges of the crowd, towards the barricades already being erected in the main entrances.
"Hey!" shouted Vimes again, and was once more ignored. He sighed. "Go on then, Detritus."
The troll wound up his bow quickly and aimed it at the sky. A few people noticed and nudged their friends, a few of the more sensible ones started to run-
- the fragments of the arrows fired from the bow rose into the sky, and as always burst into flame. The fireball soared into the sky, and there came a short shower of charred wood and a few feathers from the unlucky pigeons caught in the blast. Every eye in the square swivelled towards Vimes, at the centre of a rapidly growing circle.
"Right!" he bellowed, "I want everyone out of here now! You've all got homes to go to! This is Watch action!"
There was a stream of people heading towards the exits and Vimes had to grab hold of Detritus in order to stay where he was. However, after the initial rush subsided there were still plenty of people left in the Square. Mostly they were stallholders, shopkeepers who were reluctant to leave their wears unattended.
"That means everyone!" shouted Vimes, striding over to the nearest one. "Forget the damn fruit!" he added as the man hastily tried to shove all of the apples piled neatly on his stall into a crate.
"Sir! Your life could be in danger, please!" he heard Carrot say, a few feet away in the open Square.
"I'm not leaving my bloody merchandise here to be sto-" began a vendor and then the explosive detonated and Vimes was picked up and thrown flat by the force of the explosion. He hit the ground hard as debris rained down around him. He covered his face with his arms as the splinters and shards of glass fell to the ground. Something nicked his ear. Something else, a lot larger and heavier hit his arm and he gasped in pain as more material showered him.
When the larger items seemed to have stopped falling from the sky Vimes sat up and tried to peer through the smoke and dust. His arm hung at a strange angle, he was peppered with glass shards and splinters and he could barely breath in the smoke. However, he was alive and not too badly burnt, which was more than could be said for some of the people around him.
He stood on shaking legs. Sheer luck had saved him, the explosion had occurred over the other side of the Square and the stall had protected him from the worst of the blast. Vimes staggered through the charred timbers and smashed wares. Where had Carrot gone? Blood dripped down his face and arm.
There was some movement in a pile of blackened timbers and Vimes hurried over. Carrot was buried under stone, timber and smashed fruit, trying to push himself up to his elbows.
"Captain!" Vimes shouted, stumbling over the rubble. He tried to pull a broken spar off the captain, but this was difficult with a broken arm.
"Uh," Carrot managed. There was blood around his mouth and his face was a curious grey colour.
Vimes tried to think through the blinding pain in his arm. The smoke seemed to have invaded his mind. He stood up again, and shouted through the yellow haze of dust and smoke. "Detritus!"
There was no answer. No troll lumbered through the smoke to the captain's aid. It was up to Vimes...
He tore the sleeve off his shirt and tied it quickly in a makeshift sling to support his broken arm. He tried to move the spar again, but it was hopeless. He shifted some of the loose rubble and shouted again. "Detritus! For gods sakes, Detritus!"
*
Angua shivered in the cold of the cellar. They'd left her some food again, but she hadn't the stomach for it. It lay untouched on a plate, by the single candle that trembled, lost and alone in the cellar full of shadow.
The explosion made even the cellar tremble and motes of dust fell from the ceiling. More death. She wondered where the target was this time, and how many people were dead.
There was a knock at the door, coinciding exactly with the sickening feeling deep inside her flaring up to take hold of her throat. It meant Carrot was hurt.
The door opened and Renard stepped in, crossbow aimed at her as always.
She stood up."What have you done, you bastard?" she growled.
"Calm yourself," said Renard, "The time has come for you to leave us, I think."
"What are you on about?" she snarled.
"You are the bait in a trap, my dear. Your Captain is out of the way and now we have to deal with you Commander."
"What?" she snapped, although she knew already, the sinking feeling in her stomach had already told her.
"I said, with your captain out of the way, now all we have to deal with is your Commander."
"Deal with him?" she asked, truly bewildered.
Renard saw her confused expression and sighed. "Your Captain is a staunch supporter of the rights of the lesser races. And so is Commander Vimes."
"So what? You're going to kill him?"
"Oh no. We have a much better idea. Now give me you hands, Miss Angua."
