THE DEATH OF A DUKE
Notes: I thought I should try my hand at a more serious fic, as my two to date are a little… nonsecal. Is that a word? Oh well. Anyway, I wanted to try out this idea. I'm afraid these first two chapters are rather strained… I want to get on to the interesting side of this story and really develop the plot. J So be easy, I know these aren't of the highest standard. I may go back and rewrite these, but as I said I really do want to get on. I'm enjoying writing this. But, feel free to criticise. Thanks for reading!
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me, or the setting. All credit goes to Terry Pratchett.
Chapter One
A drunk stumbled blindly out of 'The Bucket,' and into the depressing gloom that is Cable Street.
On this particular night, however, the darkness hung fast in all its misery only to the shadowy alleys. The street's centre was lit by a large winters full moon, hovering silently in widowy splendour above the rooftops of Ankh Morpork.
The man paused for a while to allow his eyes time to focus on the bottle in his right hand before draining the remnants, feeling the familiar burn of foul whiskey trickle down his throat.
He spat in an attempt to rid himself of the foul after taste and drew a rattling breath, gasping in the frosty winters air. With an unsteady lurch he launched the bottle aside, pausing to hear the satisfactory smash of glass on stone.
But the break of the glass never came. Somewhere within the deep recesses of the alleyway a skinny figure caught the bottle easily, as one with experience, and turned it over in his hands.
Bearhuggers. He could've guessed as much. He let his finger trace longingly over the brash writing covering the label. He wrinkled his nose at the smell masking the bottles liquid – smoke, vomit, saliva… and blood. Still… he tipped the bottle upside down over his hand hopefully. A solitary drip crept out reluctantly and settled in his palm, a small wisp of steam rising off it.
Vimes glanced up guiltily, expecting to see the reproachful face of Captain Carrot watching him, but the shadows were empty of shape.
A huge figure loomed out of the alley. The drunk scrambled fearfully away across the cobbles. The figure was fumbling for a weapon.
"You, sir, are under arrest," The figure began, drawing a notebook out. "For Littering That Is Likely To Cause-" He stopped as Vimes gave a pull at his sleeve from within the gloom.
"Carrot! We-are-meant-to-be-hiding!" He hissed.
"But sir-" Carrot looked in the general direction of Vimes's voice. It was impossible to see anything, the famous eerie mist of the city was gathering rapidly around them. Vimes gave an urgent tug and Carrot reluctantly allowed himself to be drawn in. The drunk hurried on his way.
Vimes froze. If they hadn't been hiding in the shadows, you would have seen a triumphant manic grin sweep across his face, as smooth yet sudden as a swallow over water.
"He's on the rooftop!" Vimes whispered hoarsely. Carrot nodded slowly. They'd both heard the familiar grind of a roof-tile slipping. A small section of ice fell off the roof and landed softly at their feet.
"I'll just-"
"No!" Carrot stopped in his tracks.
"I'm going after him." Vimes's face was briefly visible as a sliver of moonlight slipped over his sharp features. He looked determinedly up at Carrot, who shrugged.
"Be careful, sir."
Vimes gave a grim smile. He would have to be. He was going after the notorious Lemaime, one of Ankh Morpork's biggest criminal faces.
He'd met him once before. Vimes scrambled onto the rooftop, the thin soles of his boots felt Carrot's shoulder muscles straining beneath his feet.
He'd looked right into Lemaime's eyes. They said that a mans soul was reflected from within his eyes.
His eyes were bottomless.
Empty. The man had no soul. Black nothing, empty of emotion, instinct. He was just a shell. He could stare down into Carcers eyes and find a different madness. You could detect a soul, though.
Vimes spat, and automatically drew a cigar from his pocket. A blackened soul, true, but it was there. It was what made you human.
He gave an involuntary shudder and lit his cigar with a shaking hand.
So why was he here? Why was he now alone, on the unforgiving landscape of the rooftops? He could've let Carrot arrest him… Gods knew he enjoyed doing so enough. Vimes let the smoke furl out of his mouth, curling into wisps of tangled grey snakes, watching them writhe blindly before fading into nothing.
He stiffened. A noise sounded slightly to his right. The one good thing about Lemaime – he carried no other weapon but knives. It gave Vimes the happy knowledge that he wasn't going to be skewered by a well aimed crossbow bolt. He hastily stubbed out his cigar and cursed himself for being so stupid, before easing himself ready to spring.
Ah. There he was. The shadows on the roof next to the Bucket were slightly too dark, outlining the silhouette of a crouching figure. But he had to be sure. He fumbled for his smoking cigar and flicked it gently to a spot just behind the shape. It landed with a soft noise onto the tiles.
Using one hand as a pivot the figure spun around with cat-like agility, raised it's free arm and skewered the cigar on the end of a long bladed knife, within the space of a split second. The blade caught the moonlight and flashed a bright beam of light, Vimes closed his eyes seconds too late. The imprinted lights danced over his lids like millions of little flickering stars. He blinked rapidly, head ringing. Damn! It would take his eyes a long time now to adjust to the darkness.
He forced them wide open and squinted. He couldn't quite see… the darkness moved and shifted under his gaze.
Lemaime was gone.
A long arm reached over the chimney pot grabbing him by the neck, and in one sweeping movement pulled the Commander over onto his back. He slammed heavily onto the roof with his arms wrenched underneath him, letting out a gasp as a fist collided with his chest. Vimes struggled blindly. He couldn't see, damn it! A blow to the head caused the stars to multiply rapidly, and he stopped struggling. A hand with an iron grip wormed it's way towards Vimes's neck and took firm hold, squeezing viciously. He choked.
The Duke of Ankh gave a last desperate cry, wasting his last breath and flailed his legs uselessly.
*****************
From below the bucket Carrot straightened, a desperate cry ringing through the air. In an instant he'd swung himself nimbly onto the roof.
"Sir?" He called cautiously. "Vimes?" He knew he was being extremely foolish, but there was no time to call for back-up.
Vimes would give him a hiding later for this. Carrot drew his sword. Just in case.
*****************
The pressure around his neck eased slightly, his attacker allowed him to draw in a rasping breath. Vimes groaned weakly, his eyes made vain attempts to focus. The hideous face of Lemaime filled his blurred vision.
The criminal grinned, curling back scarred lips and flashing rows of blackened uneven teeth.
Why wouldn't his damn legs work? Ah. Lemaime was crouched on them. By the feeling in his limbs he'd shattered both his kneecaps. His arms were trapped underneath him.
Vimes's stared dumbstruck as he watched Lemaime slowly draw a knife from his belt. He peered closer, natural curiosity getting the better of him. It was caked in dried blood. Lemaime bared his teeth once more as he caught the look of disgust flicker through the copper's eyes.
"I never clean it." He hissed, drawing his face ever closer to Vimes, who made a feeble attempt to wriggle away, then moaned as he heard one of his arms crack from underneath him. Lemaime gloated over his fallen enemy.
"Every man, woman and child I've ever killed's blood stains this knife." He fingered it lovingly, before bringing his face so close Vimes squirmed, the putrid hot breath blown over his face.
The warning bells in his head rang loud and clear. He stared furiously straight into the black abyss of the murderers eyes.
"Care to join them?" Lemaime cackled.
He brought the knife to Vimes's throat and drew it quickly across in an artful, fluid movement.
*****************
Carrot's skin felt like a thousand ants fleeing a sinking ship. He felt it crawl up the back of his neck, sending his hairs on end.
A chill ran down his spine. With sudden dread he rushed instinctively round a chimney pot, his feet slapping heavily on the tiles.
"Si-" His voice died within his throat, and he closed his eyes at the hideous sight that met them.
"Vimes…" He croaked. The corpse stared with glassy eyes into nothing, the blood flowing freely from it's throat, the foul metallic smell of blood reached Carrot's nostrils.
He looked away, his eyes prickled and hot tears fell treacherously down his face. He felt his face contract into an expression of deep anguish, and did nothing to stop it.
