Chapter Four
Disclaimer: I don't own any setting, characters or anything in this story, apart from the plot. That's mine. Mwahahaha.
Thanks: To everyone who's reviewed! I always feel very… strange (for want of a better word) when I read all these brilliant stories written by people twice, sometimes thrice my age, and reviews perk me up a lot. J You keep me writing this, and in truth I'm loving it. Thank you so much!
It rained.
Large thunder clouds overcast the city, rolling across the limpid grey sky like great ships over the sea. The heavy droplets fell on the upturned collars of the citizens below, trickled down rusting gutters and splashed gently down onto the cobbles of the filth-ridden streets, clearing a path through the slime.
A large crowd of black could be deciphered through the mists, standing huddled atop a hill in overlooking the West of the city. It was no cloud but a gathering of people on the cold morning. Wind whipped their faces, pulling away the tears.
In the centre of the crowd a small freshly cut gravestone stood erect and tall, the name gleaming as the streams of rain ran down the face.
Commander Samuel Vimes
Lady Sybil had been very firm about one thing amidst her grief: no other formalities. Just Commander. It was how he would have wanted it to be.
It was quite a gathering, probably the largest so far for a member of the Watch's funeral, which was traditionally a lonely affair with no more than a handful of mourners present. Watchmen did not tend to be very popular people. The whole of the Watch had, of course, turned out for it. Even constable Downspout had crept down from the rooftops with a little persuasion, though he had a few pigeons on his person in case he got too edgy. Dorfl the golem, had to leave when it started to rain. His skin had started to run.
Then a few of the nobles: Lady Sybil of course, her whole household. She'd not stopped crying since last night, and now she stood tall and noble, her eyes puffy and red. Even Mrs Palm and a few of her girls had attended.
It was only noticed by one that the Patrician had not appeared. Sergeant Angua thought it odd, but did not dwell on the thought.
The werewolf stood at the front next to Carrot while Constable Visit read whatever it was he was reading. Everyone was numb. Far off she heard people crying. Vimes would have scowled at that.
Slowly she realised that the crowd had begun to disperse. The coffin had been lowered and the prayers had been said… everyone was going home. They'd been there – she checked her watch – two hours. She looked up from her thoughts, to be greeted by a strong gust of wind that whipped her hair fiercely across her face, stinging. She blinked back tears. This wasn't like her.
Only two lonely figures remained. One was Reg Shoe. He held onto the hope that Vimes might yet return as a zombie, privately taking a shovel along, 'just in case.' Now he sat a little way off, leaning against a tree, waiting with the, ha, undying patience the undead possessed.
The other was Carrot. He stood hunched up over the grave. He hadn't said a word since he'd explained in a cracked voice what had happened last night. Angua gave him a sideways look.
He stood staring blindly down at the fresh earth, eyes red-rimmed and unseeing. The tears mingled with the steady flow of rain and streamed off his nose onto the soil. Angua felt the back of her eyes heating. She'd never seen him cry before.
"Carrot…" Angua bit her lip. "You musn't blame yourself for what happened." Carrot continued to stare despondently at the ground, now a small puddle of water had formed where the small river of tears and water had been running. His own reflection peered back at him. "There was nothing-"
He turned to face her, and she stopped mid-sentence.
"He wouldn't have wanted us to dwell over it." Carrot sniffed heavily and straightened slightly. "He'd be very annoyed if he saw me now."
"No, Carrot. He'd understand." She gave a small smile, and took his hand. "He's probably watching us right now, having a dri- I mean, a cigar, relaxing. His troubles are over now, Carrot. But we have to move on."
Carrot nodded. The two watchmen moved off down into the city, arm in arm, each having eased the pain slightly, and taking comfort in one another's presence.
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Meanwhile…
Vimes heard a horrible strangled cry.
It had come from him.
"You!" He pointed an accusing finger at the Patrician, who adopted a look as innocent as a trained assassin could possibly achieve.
"Ah, Vimes. Good to see you alive and well."
Once more Albert showed an impressive display of lightening reflexes, though this time he managed to strike Vimes hard enough with the soapy frying pan he simply crumpled on the floor as he lunged at Vetinari. Death glided through the door and sat once more at his table, lighting up his pipe again.
I APOLIGISE SIR SAMUEL. DUTY CALLS. I'M SURE YOU UNDERSTAND. He noticed the frying pan in Albert's hand. It had a considerably large dent in it.
I ALWAYS WONDERED HOW YOU DID THAT.
"What, sir?"
MANAGE TO REACT SO QUICKLY.
"Saw the manic gleam in his eye, sir."
"Wha?" Vimes watched the little skeletal rats dance round his head, singing a strange song. He slumped back onto the floor.
The Patrician seemed to be enjoying himself.
"The Reaper explained the situation to me on the way over, Vimes. We seem to be in quite a predicament." He smiled pleasantly.
And Vimes fell asleep.
Albert looked with distaste at the unconscious man on the floor, then to the broken ringing pan in his hand.
I SEE WHAT YOU MEAN ALBERT. BUT YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO HIT HIM QUITE SO HARD THE SECOND TIME, HE WAS ALREADY MOVING SLOWLY.
"Yes, but the bastard made me dirty the pan, 'scusing my language sir. Goodness knows where his head's been. I'm going to have to wash the damn thing all over again."
Much later, the men (as such) sat round the table in the kitchen. Albert had a pint of beer, Vetinari drank a glass of wine and Vimes sat with a glass of lemonade and a very sore head. He had not long been awake, and his previous horror and fury at finding the Patrician had cooled.
"So you're dead too?"
"That is correct. I heard you call to me from the window. I went to it to answer." At this Havelock Vetinari's expression turned sour. "I was an idiot. You dropped down from the roof and slit my throat with a strange shaped knife." Vetinari closed his eyes and let his fingers form an arch by his temple.
Vimes didn't even bother being surprised at the 'you.' He turned to Death for a confirmation of his suspicions.
YES. SMARNAUFF MUST HAVE USED YOUR LIFE, AND ASSUMED YOUR FORM.
Vetinari looked cool about all of this. Actually, it would have been a lot more surprising if he'd shown any emotion, but it still irked Vimes. He stood up, knocking his chair backwards.
"So how do I get back to the damn Disc?"
"I?" The Patrician opened his eyes and peered at Vimes over his fingers. Vimes only then realised that out of habit, he wasn't looking at the Patrician but at a spot on the wall above his left ear. He made an effort and met his gaze.
"Yes, I." He snapped. Then faltered as he realised what he was suggesting. "You… don't plan on coming too…sir?"
Vetinari gave a soft frown. "But of course Vimes. Your wife needs you. My city shall require me. Is that not so?"
"Yes, sir." Vimes replied automatically.
THERE IS ONE WAY. Death interrupted. BUT IT IS LIABLE TO GO WRONG. ONLY BY THEORY YOU UNDERSTAND- Vimes rolled his eyes –TO BE HERE YOU HAVE NO LIFE, THEREFORE YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY RETURN TO THE DISC. IT IS PHYSICALLY IMPOSSIBLE.
Vimes looked blank.
Havelock leaned forward. He slowly said, "Are you suggesting possession?"
Death nodded. Vetinari, if it was possible, paled slightly. Vimes looked from one to the other.
"Wha?"
IT IS THEORETICALY POSSIBLE FOR YOU TO POSSESS A LIFE ON THE DISC. TO HAVE COMPLETE CONTROL OVER THE PERSON. Death explained.
Vimes's eyes narrowed. "Isn't that exactly what this Smarnauff guy did?"
Vetinari nodded.
"Then why the hell-"
IT IS THE ONLY WAY, SIR SAMUEL. UNDERSTAND THAT IF YOU DO NOT, YOU MUST REMAIN HERE FOREVER.
Vimes looked around the kitchen, that for only a few hours he'd grown to like. He hesitated, very slightly.
AND OF COURSE, SO MUST THE PATRICIAN.
"Count me in."
GOOD LUCK. Death made a signal to Albert. Vetinari closed his eyes. Vimes scowled at Death.
"What do-"
Albert knocked them both out with a swift movement, and both the men slumped.
"It's all in the wrist."
YES ALBERT. NOW STAND BACK, AND I SHALL BEGIN THE INCANTATION.
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Sorry this is a short one. Already writing next chapter. Gods, I'm having fun…
Oh, and one last note. It's really annoying me that no-one's read this story because it's so damn good! So go here and READ it! And REVIEW it! Because it's ten times better English than this! Geez! Now! Hurry! http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=1185351
