Disclaimer: None of the characters, setting or anything belong to me. All credit goes to Terry Pratchett.
Chapter Two
Vimes opened his eyes and looked around.
He'd always wondered who the architect was that designed Ankh Morpork. It was either a great artist, or a complete novice.
The buildings were tall and threatening, like great weatherworn cliffs. They loomed over the streets, casting a dark shadow over the cobbles. Sharp and bitter. Personally Vimes thought this reflected the city's people perfectly.
On this night the ancient architecture was silhouetted against the low moon, the mist clung to doorframes. It gave an eerie surreal quality to the landscape, like a ghost town.
He considered this comment with growing dread, memory creeping up on him.
Vimes scrambled to his feet, and stared down in horror at his previous physical form, his suspicions confirmed.
"He bloody killed me!" Vimes yelled, outraged.
IT CERTAINLY SEEMS SO. Death hoped this was somewhat sympathetic enough.
"Of all the low down scum… Lemaime!" Vimes passed a hand over his eyes. "This is such an insult." He turned to Death, realising the absence of anyone else to talk to.
"I never even got to spit in his face or anything!"
EXCUSE ME? Death said politely.
"No last words!" Vimes suddenly slumped against the chimney beside his still corpse. He sat silently for a long time, staring miserably into the nights sky. A cold wind bit into his skin, and he shivered. Death waited patiently.
"Shouldn't I be fading or something?" He asked eventually.
If it was possible, Death looked awkward.
USUALLY.
Vimes waited.
BUT THERE HAS BEEN A… PROBLEM.
"You're telling me!" Vimes resigned to the fact that, if he was going to be dead, he wasn't going to make it easy for Death. There was a thing as going down fighting.
NO, I MEAN… Death wavered. THIS IS HARD FOR ME TO EXPLAIN TO A MORTAL.
"It's tough for me too!" Vimes watched sadly as Carrot approached his body cautiously. He was crying openly, his huge muscular shoulders shook with the sobs he tried to contain.
"It's OK Carrot." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Death gave him a pitying look. He hated that. He gave the Grim Reaper an angry scowl.
Carrot gingerly placed his hands under the corpse and lifted it easily. Vimes winced as his own head lolled lifelessly from side to side, his eyes unseeing and wide with shock. He watched Carrots retreating back with an empty feeling inside, wondering vaguely if he would always feel empty wherever he was going.
The cloaked figure spoke hesitantly.
YOU ARE NOT ACTUALLY DEAD. AS SUCH.
Vimes stood up, brushing himself off. He did not answer straight away. He looked into the fathomless sockets of Death's skull and turned hastily away, reminded of Lemaime. He clenched his fists.
"Is this a joke?" He asked quietly. "Do I have to pass a test or something?"
Death sighed heavily.
WHEN YOU DIE, Death began, USUALLY WHAT YOU BELIEVE TO HAPPEN, HAPPENS. He waited for this to sink in.
"And?" Vimes looked at himself…the himself now, properly for the first time since…the accident. He felt gingerly around his throat, and was relieved to discover it wasn't slit.
The thing was, he felt… physical. He seemed too –
SOLID. YES. I AM VERY CONFUSED, SIR SAMUEL. Death voiced his thoughts. YOU SHOULD BE A GHOST FIGURE…BUT YOU ARE NOT.
Death was slightly unnerved, if it was possible. There were little things wrong here. Many little things.
The man was feeling the cold. He watched him shiver.
This was not right,
His hair was blowing in the wind.
This was also not right.
He was solid, yet Carrot could not see him.
How intriguing.
Vimes gave Death a calculating look, and clapped his hands. They made a noise. He was certainly solid.
YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD. Death said slowly. So saying he put a bony hand into his robes and drew out a short, small hourglass. It wasn't very elegant. Verging on the grotesque, actually. He held it up so Vimes could read the inscription.
"Cecil Nobbs." Vimes registered this. Cecil…wasn't that Nobby's real name?
"That's Nobby's life?" Vimes said weakly. Death nodded. The hourglass looked normal to Vimes. Little grains of golden sand fell steadily through the middle. It looked like Nobby had plenty of time left at least. Vimes shrugged.
"And?" He repeated. Death put his hand into his robes again, and drew out a second glass. Vimes waited patiently. After all, he had all the time in the world.
SAMUEL VIMES, THIS IS YOUR LIFE.
Death handed him the glass. It was nothing special. Slightly tatty, Vimes noted, slightly offended. He turned it over in his hands so the name stared back at him. He looked in wonderment.
The glass was empty.
"Er…is this normal when you die?" He murmured, half to himself.
NO. Death replied simply. IT IS NORMAL FOR THE CONTENTS OF THE GLASS TO ARRIVE AT ONE END. THEN THE GLASS GOES ONTO… Death waved his hand vaguely. WHEREVER. BUT THIS? He shook his skull. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND.
Vimes fidgeted. "Was it like this yesterday?" Death shook his head. The silence was beginning to get to Vimes.
"And?" He repeated again.
Death turned an icy glare onto Vimes upturned face.
AND?
"What happens to me now?"
Death snapped two bony brittle fingers, and Vimes's glass disappeared.
Vimes gulped. A huge white horse materialized in an instant by Deaths side.
I THINK YOU'D BETTER COME WITH ME.
Er…this will be continued by the way. Anyway, please R&R.
