Chapter Three

Diclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, setting, or anything in this story. All rights go to Terry Pratchett and his publishers.

The Watch house.

The main room was a cramped space. Tables could be sketched out from the murky shadows, piled with paperwork so old you could smell the rot. The room was lit only by a few tired embers within a dusty fireplace, glowing pitifully, endeavouring to omit warmth to the three shivering watchmen that remained on duty.   

The effort was in vain. A young woman paced the floorboards before the mantle place, pausing every moment to prick up her ears, her face the very picture of hope. Angua blew on her hands and crouched before the fire, shivering, taking a deep shaking breath to steady herself she inhaled the smoke fumes.

Her eyes watered and she blinked furiously.

They should be back by now.

"I'll be of great use, sir."

Vimes had pinched the bridge of his nose.

"No, Angua. You're to stay here, guard the watch house. It'll only need the two of us."

"But-"

"That was an order, sergeant." He had kept his eyes down and forced his face into a blank expression, stumbling out of the door and into the night. Carrot had given her a wane smile and walked after him.

And she'd watched him go.

She heard a low growl and stiffened, only to realise it was coming from her. Nobby and Fred looked up from their card game, and started a muttered conversation.

She ran her hands through long blond hair and shut her eyes tight. Why-

Footsteps. She strained her ears.

Big feet…sandaled… they flapped slightly. Yes, it was Carrot. But…they were weighted with something… and he was walking slowly…

It felt like a cold stream of water was trickling down into her stomach. She burst out of the door.

"Carrot!"

He didn't reply. He had his head down, and was cradling a bundle in his massive arms, wrapped in his cloak. His face overshadowed she could not read his expression. Angua ran to his side.

"Carrot…" She smiled uncertainly. She let her hand move to his face, but he twitched away, a single warm tear drop settled on her palm.

It was then she smelt the blood. And death.

Her mouth mouthed the word soundlessly. Her bright eyes widened to become limpid pools of silver moonlight.

"No…" Her high voice wavered foolishly in the nights air.

*******************

Vimes groaned, and closed his eyes, gripping hard to the Grim Reapers cloak.

BINKY IS GOING VERY SLOWLY, SIR SAMUEL.

Vimes made a great effort and managed to stammer a reply.

"B-binky?"

YES. BINKY. SUITS HIM, DON'T YOU THINK?

Vimes dared to open his eyes and saw the liquid swirling pool of colours surrounding them, and shut them quickly again. This was not his kind of thing. He was a thief taker, a copper. A man of the city, as Carrot would say.

THEY SAY YOU FEAR NOTHING.

"Who's…they?" Vimes asked, with weak sarcasm. The horse gave a small lurch, and they were stationary. As the cloak moved away Vimes let his fingers relax a little, and flopped onto the ground.

"Ouch."

THE VERY SAME THEY IN 'YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY' AND THE 'EVERYBODY' IN 'EVERYBODY DOES IT'. Death watched Vimes pick himself stiffly from the ground, wincing. He prised a few small stones from where they'd become embedded into his arm.

I SHOULD PERHAPS HAVE WARNED YOU OF THE GRAVEL DRIVE.

Vimes ignored this.

What a strange place. I'm not on the Disc, that's obvious. But not in a physical way. The whole place has a surrealistic quality.

There was a landscape. They'd stopped in front of a shabby cottage-like house with a small garden, but behind it mountains rolled in the distance, and golden fields blew in a soft breeze.

"You…that is to say…live here?" Vimes looked doubtfully at the view surrounding him. It was nothing like what he'd expected. Mind you, with a horse named Binky…

AS SUCH, YES.

He wasn't listening. Vimes considered. The horse should be black as coal. With a long flowing mane and glowing red eyes. And a regal, grand name. Something godly. Carrot would know.

He felt a small twinge as he thought of Carrot and the Watch.

And the house should be tall. Looming and threatening, with a garden of bones…he embellished on his mental creation, absently following Death up the path to the front door and frowning at the pansies in bloom.

"Any fluffy rabbits about the place?" He asked sarcastically.

NOT MANY. I'M AFRAID THE KITTENS ARE LEARNING TO HUNT AT THE MOMENT.

Was Death being sarcastic?

Death turned to face him as he turned the door handle.

COME IN, SIR SAMUEL. PLEASE WIPE YOUR FEET.

Vimes obliged and shuffled his wet boots over the 'welcome' door mat. Once more his mouth dropped open at the view that met his mortal eyes.

The hall stretched on far further than the exterior of the house could ever have contained. In the distance a stairway could be made out. Wait… Vimes squinted. It wasn't far away. Yes it was-

"How-"

DISTANCE IS… OPTIONAL HERE.

Death began to cross the hall, with a strange slippery quality to his movement. Vimes attempted to follow, stumbling around in what seemed like two dimensions at once. The Reaper pulled down a handle with strange cracking sound effects, and entered a room beyond.

Vimes did a few strange side steps and almost tripped. With a strange sliding sensation, he made a desperate jump for the door, slamming right into it.

"God damn!" He clutched a bloody nose with one hand and grappled with the handle with the other. He slipped into the room.

Death sat in the middle of the room at a grand wooden table, smoking a pipe with a small ivory skull engraved into the end.

Sam felt a sudden sharp pain in his chest.

This was due to the fact that a rather disgruntled looking man was jabbing a finger into it.

"I see what you mean sir!" He exclaimed, giving Vimes another sharp prod. "Very solid, sir!"

"'xcuse m-"

"He sounds physical too!" The old man was shorter than Vimes, and peered up into his face, eyes widening.

"He's bleeding too!"

ALBERT… Death warned, smoke gently furling from his eye sockets.

"Sorry sir. Just a shock to see a bleeding dead person sir."

"Duh beeding dead berson 'ould 'ike domething doo stem duh blood!" Vimes pinched the bridge of his nose. The old man cackled and threw him a shabby cloth from on top of an old-fashioned cooker. Vimes pressed it to his nose, and did his best to glare at the man through watery eyes.  

"Albert, sir, at your service, your deadness." Albert remained unmoved as Vimes cranked up the ferocity of the glare to notch ten. He turned and busied himself at the cooker. Death motioned to Vimes to sit down.

"How'd you like your fish, oh bloody nosed one?"

"Fried." Vimes sighed, removing the cloth from his nose.  

"Good, good." At that moment a small skeletal rat leapt up onto the table.

Vimes blinked.

It seemed very disappointed that this was the only reaction, and slouched a little.

"And what're you called? Squeaky?"

SQUEAK!

The little rat was wearing a cloak, and carrying a small scythe. It shook it defiantly.

"Good grief…"

Albert shoved the rat to one side and tossed a plate of burnt fish towards Vimes, who grabbed at it eagerly. He hadn't realised how hungry he was.

Albert drew up a seat, and began to eat his portion noisily. Death watched them.

I THINK I WILL EXPLAIN THE SITUATION A LITTLE MORE THOUROGHLY NOW.

"Oh, good!"

Death regarded him coldly.

I DID NOT MENTION BEFORE, THAT THIS HAS HAPPENED TO ANOTHER ALREADY.

 Vimes swallowed. "Really? And where's he?"

PROABABLY SLEEPING RIGHT NOW. WE HAVE GIVEN HIM A ROOM UPSTAIRS. Death twiddled bony thumbs absently. HE ARRIVED YESTERDAY NIGHT, I THINK, IN YOUR TIME. ALBERT HAS NOT MET HIM YET, SO FORGIVE HIS FASCINATION IN YOUR…STATE.

"Who's he?"

Death hesitated. I WILL NOW ENDEAVOR TO EXPLAIN THIS FULLY. YOUR KILLER-

"Lemaime?"

Death nodded.

Albert rugby tackled Vimes as he made a break for the door.

HE'S IN THE SAME POSITION AS YOU, SIR SAMUEL.

"What, his legs are broken too?" Vimes rubbed his knees gingerly. Albert had very quick reflexes for such an old-looking man.

NO. HE'S DEAD, TECHNICALLY. BUT HIS HOURGLASS…

Once more Death produced a glass and held it up. It was empty.

"Am I supposed to care about that bastard? He killed me!"

NO, SIR SAMUEL, HE DIDN'T. LEMAIME WAS MURDERED, AND I USE THE TERM LOOSELY, BY A VERY POWERFUL WIZARD. AS WERE YOU.

"I saw him!" Vimes protested. "He looked-"

HE KILLED YOU WITH A KNIFE, THAT IS CORRECT?

"Yes." Vimes said sourly.

Death sat back. IT IS MY THEORY, THAT THE WIZARD'S KNIFE HAS MAGICAL PROPERTIES.

Vimes's eyes narrowed.

THE KNIFE SUCKS THE LIFE FROM YOU.

"But then, by rights I should be dead. You saw my body… I saw my body. Carrot had it…"

YET YOU REMAIN PHYSICAL. I THINK HE HAS TAKEN YOUR LIFE FROM YOUR BODY… JUST TAKEN, SIR SAMUEL. YOUR LIFE IS NOT EXTUINGUISHED. IT SIMPLY BELONGS TO HIM. HE USED LEMAIME'S LIFE, WHICH NOW ALSO IS HIS, TO KILL YOU. THINK OF IT LIKE COMPLICATED POSSESSION OF A PERSON. HE CAN TAKE THE FORM OF YOUR LIFE, IF YOU WILL.

"He's got my life?" He suddenly felt so helpless. "What am I then? Can he use it?"

I DO NOT KNOW WHAT YOU ARE. BUT YOU ARE PHYSICAL. AND YES, HE CAN 'USE' IT. I DO NOT KNOW WHAT HIS MOTIVES ARE…THE ONLY ONE WHO HOLDS THE ANSWERS IS THE WIZARD IN QUESTION. HIS NAME IS SMARNAUFF.

"I have to get back to the disc," Vimes clambered up off the floor. "I have to-"

NO, SIR SAMUEL, YOU CANNOT. YOU CANNOT RETURN TO THE DISC IN YOUR CURRENT STATE.

This wasn't happening.

"Then how-"

As he spoke there was a small flash of blue light, and Death vanished before his eyes. The empty chair stared back at him. "What the…?"

"He's been called on duty." Albert supplied. "You wash, I'll dry."

Vimes snapped his head towards the man, who waved a dish at him impatiently.

"Oh…" He felt a small twinge of relief, privately hoping Albert didn't have the same mind reading capabilities his master seemed to hold. Vimes's graphic imagination had gone slightly haywire in that moment. Albert shoved a pair of blue rubber gloves towards him, which he dutifully pulled on.

"Commander of the City Watch you may be, but if you're going to stay here, you're gonna pull your weight, right?" Albert slapped a sponge into Vimes's rubbered hand.

"What does Lemaime do then…?"

Vimes scrubbed at a plate in a dream-like state. This couldn't be happening. He was doing the dishes in Death's house. And come to that, he thought, frowning, the Grim Squeaker was eyeing the bubbly water. 

"He did the ironing last night."

"What?" Vimes turned to stare at Albert and didn't notice the little rat jump gleefully into the hot tub.

"He weren't too happy about it mind you…" Albert muttered, not looking up. "But the master can be very persuasive."

"You got him to do the ironing?" Vimes laughed. It felt like the first time in days… it was the first time in days. He grinned, and rummaged in the tub.

SQUEAK!

Vimes gave the bony head a hard scrub with a sponge.

SQUEAFGH!!!!

"Serves you right," He replied to the rodent, removing it carefully and placing it onto the side board. "You'll make people sick." So saying he instinctively patted his pockets for a cigar. They were empty. Oh, yeah, he was dead, right?

"I don't suppose-"

"No smoking."

"Oh."

He washed for a few more minutes in silent contemplation. When was the last time he'd done the dishes? Not since he'd been made Commander, that was for sure. When he'd been captain they'd had some rule…they'd wait until there were absolutely no clean mugs left anywhere in the Watch House. The person to use the last clean mug'd have to do the washing… yeah, 'cos Nobby used to keep at least two hidden under the floorboards in the main room just in case. Mind you, this was fair enough, he could barely reach the sink. Of course he and Fred soon found out. Vimes grinned – they'd poured all the soapy water down his armour.

And at home they had butlers and maids and stuff. He stared at his distorted reflection through a large bubble, before bursting it with his nose. It actually felt pretty damn good, doing all of this again. He felt refreshed.

And Gods, this spoon was damn tricky to clean.

"Here! Look at all of them bits of egg in the bottom of the pan, eh?" Albert sprayed, waving the pan he'd just handed him around dangerously close to Sam's face. "Get that back in the water you hear? Or you'll have a clip around the ear!"

Vimes grinned again. Albert was likeable.

"Wipe that smile off your face!"

He did his famous stature impression.

He could grow to like it here.

He froze.

Would it really come to that? No. No, he'd get back. But that voice…

YOU CANNOT RETURN TO THE DISC IN YOUR CURRENT STATE.

It sounded to final. There was no use in arguing with Death… but there was no use in arguing with Sam Vimes either.

Why did it have to be him?

Once more, his very thoughts stopped as he deciphered what he'd just considered.

Why him indeed. Death didn't know this weirdo's motives. But he could use his life. Although he hated to think of himself that way, he was a big face in society.

Imagine the havoc he could wreak to his friends and family.

The Watch!

Sybil!

He pulled off his rubber gloves and spun around.

"Here!" Albert shouted after him. "Where-"

"I can't stay here! Sybil and…and…" He trailed off, and stared dumbstruck at the figure that had just slipped quietly, like a ghost, through the door.

And the cold face of Havelock Vetinari stared back at him.