Vimes opened his eyes and the various pain sensations hit him like a sledgehammer. He groaned. His face felt like his skin had shrunk two sizes too small, he couldn't move his right arm and miscellaneous parts of his body stung as sharply as if he had been jabbed by a wasp. His mind raced as he tried to recall how he had ended up here... wherever here was...
He sat up quickly, ignoring the fire in his back and pounding head, breathing quickly. He was home, the sheets of his own bed wrapped around him. His arm was bound in a sling, splinted, and various bandages were tied neatly around him.
"Sybil?" he said, wincing as he swung his legs off the bed. He tottered a few steps into his bathroom. Hot water steamed in a jug on a washstand, meaning either Sybil or Wilkins had been through recently. He stared at the mirror. Surely that wasn't his reflection..?
His face looked like he'd spent a long day in the sun, which explained the tightness of his skin, and his eyebrows were singed. There were stitches in his ear, on his chin and his torso was covered in small cuts. There was a long scar down his left side, full of neat stitches, and the same on his left leg. His hands and shins were burnt like his face, as was any other part of his body that had been bare in the explosion. He rubbed his chin. He didn't feel like shaving his sore face just yet.
He looked at his left hand. The palm was covered in small scratches and bruises. How had /that/ happened?
The door opening coincided with memory returning. It was Sybil, carrying a cup of tea and wearing an expression of concern.
"What happened to Carrot?" he asked as she opened her mouth to speak.
She paused. "Um... Igor's doing all he can," she managed.
Vimes looked down at his hand and tried to blink away the memories of blood, shattered bone and the damn smoke, hanging in coils in the air, entering his brain to befuddle the senses, deadening the world until it faded to black.
"What happened?" he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose and wincing as he sat down gingerly on the bed.
"Detritus heard you shouting," Sybil explained, "You passed out just as he reached you."
"I have to get to the Yard,"he said, starting to move.
"You need to get some /rest/," Sybil said firmly, pushing him firmly onto the bed, "Doctor's orders. You've lost a lot of blood."
Vimes knew better than to argue and despite his misgivings nodded meekly. After all, if there was any more trouble a runner would soon be sent for him. He took the tea and drank it gratefully. "How's my boy?" he asked, with a weak smile.
Sybil returned the grin. "He's fine. He wants to see you."
"Really?" he said, and for a moment the lines on his face were smoothed away slightly as his expression softened.
"Really," she replied, "He's getting quite good on his feet now."
He heard her moving down the corridor to the nursery, and then her footsteps returned. She paused outside the door, and then the door was pushed open.
"Dada!" said little Sam, his arms outstretched as he tottered forward on uncertain feet, falling into his father's one good arm. Vimes lifted him up with difficulty onto his lap. "What have you been up to then?" he asked him, starting to smile.
Sam started to babble, but a sharp tap at the door made him inaudible. Vimes sighed, and it was echoed by his wife.
It turned out to be Corporal Littlebottom, breathless and red faced from the run to the Ramkin-Vimes Mansion from the Yard
"What is it?" Vimes said shortly, descending down the main stairs still buttoning his shirt.
"Sir, I think I've located Angua. Stoolie the gnoll says he saw one of the men on my list of alchemists going into a house in the Shades, close to where she was last seen."
Vimes grinned. Walk and talk, that was /always /how to solve /anything/. Getting Angua back would make this mystery so much easier to solve. With the sergeant back at the Yard a sense of normality might return, and perhaps Vimes could make the connections he needed to when his mind wasn't occupied with how to rescue his officer as well as preventing another disaster.
"Let's move then, Corporal. Get the search warrant and a couple of other officers for the look of things."
"You mean the sledgehammer sir?"she said and Vimes nodded.
"That's the one. Hop to it, I'll catch up in a minute..."
Cheery saluted and hurried off. Vimes turned to Lady Sybil.
"I know, I know," Sybil said, "You have to go."
"I'm sorry," Vimes said, and she smiled thinly.
"Go on then. Do /try/ and hurry back, won't you?"
"I promise," he replied.
*
Angua stopped trying to pull her arms out of the manacles, it wasn't working and it was only cutting her wrists. She was so trussed up it was impossible to Change and she was angry. Carrot was out there, somewhere in the city, hurt badly. Commander Vimes was in terrible danger and she was stuck in a cellar, completely powerless. And she hated it.
Angua was not the kind of person who enjoyed being powerless. She loathed it, hated it and that was why she was almost pulling her arms out of their sockets to get out of the manacles.
She screamed in anger, through her gag, and started pulling again. Even if she had to rub her wrists raw, she wasn't going to sit here and do nothing. She couldn't, wouldn't do /nothing/ any more.
A noise outside made her stop. "MMMPH!" she yelled, trying to make as much noise as possible through her gag. "MMPPHHFF!"
*
Outside Detritus prepared to smash down the door of the cellar. Corporal Littlebottom watched the Commander uneasily. She couldn't quite describe the change in the man, but it was as if he had become... sharper, more defined, as if everything else in the world had become a background to a sharply outlined figure. The lines in his face seemed locked as if in stone, and she felt now that if anyone should touch him, he would burn like ice.
Vimes was angry, almost blinded with rage. The Beast was out now and looking to kill. Carrot was hurt, maybe even mortally so. Angua was kidnaped, maybe she was dead as well, he didn't know, and instead of spending time at home with his wife and son he was here, in a grubby alleyway in the Shades.
He didn't wait for Detritus to smash down the door, he kicked it hard and it buckled, and it gave way under another brutal kick. He could hear something, just on the edge of earshot to his left. There was another door, which gave way under his boot.
Angua was tied up, her eyes livid above the gag, hair mussed with her face and arms bloody. He didn't wait for the others to catch up, he strode across the room and removed the gag.
Her breath came out in a gasp. "Mister Vimes, it's a trap, you've got to-"
"What?" he snapped, cutting her off.
"It's a trap, sir, they're going to... you've got- go home... They're in danger..."
Vimes was off, up and running as fast as he could. He didn't understand what was going to happen, but he didn't have to. All he knew was that Sybil and Sam were in mortal danger and he was running faster than he has ever run in his entire life, ignoring the pains in his chest, his knees and ankles.
He was almost in Scoone Avenue when the explosion occurred, and he skidded to a halt as the column of debris rose into the air and fell around him. He dropped to his knees, all the strength gone from his body. He couldn't even scream. His body just folded up and he hit the ground, the leaden horror flowing through his veins.
