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Chapter 1.



Pale gray light streamed through the windows, Sam Vimes woke up. He swung his legs out of bed and, glancing at the clock, saw it was five in the morning.

He groaned, the meant he'd only had four hours sleep. He snuggled back under the duvet and tried again, it didn't help that Sybil was snoring with devastating force beside him. It wasn't going to work. He sighed and lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

* * *

Havelock Vetinari had been awake since 3:30, working his way through the mountains of paperwork on his desk. Every so often, various clerks would bring in more, until there was serious traffic congestion in the corridor as it all piled up out side the Oblong Office and started to invade the next room.

But still, he got enough done to earn about two hours sleep a night, if he slept at all.

He had just finished reading another complaint by Lord Rust against commander Vimes for looking at him in a funny way and "Being a bloody disgrace to a shabby uniform." and last but not least: "Refusing to answer any of my letters on ethnic minorities." Which, Vetinari mused, was not surprising, considering their content, when there was a knock at the door.

* * *

Meanwhile Samuel Vimes was eating breakfast, rock-hard toast and bacon you could make a satisfactory pair of boots out of, and reading the Times.

 "Says here that pollution is making the air dangerous, Gods, I didn"t know it could get any worse." He said, pulling on his armour. Kissing Sybil and telling her not to lift anything heavy or upset or strain herself in any way, in fact, why didn't she just stay in bed all day? Set off on the walk to Psuedopolis Yard.

It really was a beautiful day, the sun shining bright, birds coughing in trees, the busy city unashamedly taking money off some innocent newcomer or other. Even the river was dragging out the last days of summer, with colourful but quickly dying trees spread along the crust.

As Vimes walked through all this, he thought about the future. Duke of Ankh, soon to be a father, Gods, that was frightening, a job he wouldn't give up for the world and a sensible, loving wife. All seemingly poised for a happy ending, and Vimes wondered cynically what the future would bring because, as much as wanted to, he didn't really believe in happy endings.

The Watch was ticking along fine now, apart from the occasional hiccup. The latest being another speaking-tube disaster. After a student wizard had made an impassioned plea for help in finding his wayward familiar, one of the tubes had developed a life of its own, nearly strangling Constable Visit, who proclaimed it an instrument of evil and with Vimes's permission ( he'd never liked it anyway) had had the entire system torn out.

He was actually a bit bored. He hadn't been pushing himself lately. Used to being so overworked he twanged like stretched elastic, he now found winding down impossible. Walking through the Watch house door he reflected, that although the anger that usually drove him was slowly melting away, there was at least one man who could always be counted on to really piss him off.

* * *

 "So you see the situation is grave my Lord." Said the fat man wrapped in purple and gold robes, he had a serious expression on his face and looked even more tired than Vetinari.

 "If the Low King is not found within a month, Albrecht will take over and another power struggle for the country will begin." The man sighed heavily. "Unfortunately, Albrecht is not so good-tempered as the present king as you no doubt know already" he paused "And so you see my problem." He finished lamely.

 "And you believe that Commander Vimes can solve this?" said the patrician. The fat man opened his mouth, "oh, I've no doubt he could," Vetinari said quickly "But he is needed here."

 "Understood sir." The fat man sighed again. "But this is a matter of vital importance." He pulled a parchment scroll out of his robes and placed it on Vetinari's desk. "That is the formal letter requesting the assistance of Commander Vimes in this case, I will be staying at the embassy when you would notify me of your descision." The patrician nodded and unrolled the letter. The fat man left quietly.

It was indeed a formal letter asking for the help of Commander Vimes in finding the low king and his kidnappers. The words "vital importance" were used three times.

He got up and crossed the room, touching a certain part of the wall that looked just like the rest. It swung back to reveal a dark passageway.

Vetinari walked down the passage, muttering to himself, standing there for fully ten minutes trying to remember which bloody stone to step on before noon, on a waning moon, on a Sunday in the month of May.

Ten minutes later, having located the stone, he knocked on a heavy oak door and turned the key in the lock.

* * *

Captain Carrot knocked on Vimes' office door. Getting no reply, he went in and found his Commander asleep at his desk. He laid his report next to Vimes' head and crept out.

 "Asleep" he mouthed to Angua who was standing outside. Muffled snores came through the wood. Carrot smiled.

 " We'd better leave him." He said.

 " It's not as though we can persuade him to take the day off." Angua laughed.

The snoring got louder.

Carrot turned to go out on patrol when the door opened for him and a troll lumbered in.

 " Is der Commander here?" it rumbled.

 "Er….he's a bit busy right now.." Carrot said. "why?"

 "Only, der patrician requires his attindis, no..his er..attenanc…er.."

 " Attendance?" suggested Angua

 "Dats der one." Said the troll "now."

 "Well…" Carrot began, when the door to Vimes' office opened and the Commander peered out.

 "What's going on captain?" he asked.

 " His lordship wishes to see you now sir." Said Carrot.

Vimes groaned: "Oh hells, that's all I need." The troll spoke up again: " He said it were urgent."

 "Alright! Alright!" Vimes yelled, putting his helmet back on: "I'm going already!"

* * *

Lord Vetinari sat glumly in his chair, staring into space with his chin in his hand. The only motivation he had to do the paperwork was more paperwork if he didn't, and now he had to tell Vimes to go back to bloody Uberwald.

Leonard's even-faster-coffee machine had exploded, soaking them both. Leonard has gone to fix the damn machine and Vetinari was so deep in thought he hardly noticed. Only when he was back in oblong office and Drumknott had politely asked if everything was alright did he realize he was soaking wet and covered in coffee.

Now, in dry clothes, still-wet hair falling to his shoulders, he looked under his desk.  At least the coffee smell should drown out Wuffles he thought.

He started as there was a knock at the door.

 "Come in."

Vimes entered the office, noting the patricians obviously wet hair and the stink of coffee, wondering briefly if there had been an assassination attempt by a caffeine-wielding maniac.

 "Please sit down commander."

Vimes sat.

The patrician handed Uberwalds formal letter to Vimes, whose look of confusion turned to one of despair as he read.

Finally he looked up, all speculations as to why Vetinari was covered in coffee forgotten.

 "You're not serious?" he asked incredulously .

Vetinari was silent.

 "I mean, they've got enough watchmen over there as it is, and it's not as if I know the place well." Vimes continued.

Silence.

 "Just because I helped out last time…"

 "Saved the day, actually." Cut in Vetinari.

 "Or whatever." Vimes said, a little louder this time. "How did it happen?" he mused aloud  "the Low King's not stupid."

The patrician shrugged.

 "Doubtless you will find out when you get there." He said.

Vimes glared at him. If looks could kill Vetinari would be laid out on a slab.

 "Look Vimes." He snapped uncharacteristically "I didn't write it, I don't particularly want you to go since you've only really just got back from the wretched place, and I don't expect you want to leave Sybil right now."

 "Damn right I don't!" said Vimes vehemently

 " Nevertheless…" said the patrician, he paused, and Vimes saw just how tired he looked.

He actually felt a bit guilty for giving the man a hard time over this, the baby wasn't actually due yet and Sybil was more than capable of looking after herself. Not forgetting the consequences if he didn't accept, if the Low King wasn't found or was killed and he'd done nothing to help when he'd had the chance. He'd always wonder…wouldn't he? What kind of copper would that make him? And Vetinari was looking stressed enough without this on top of him as well. Of course, the blame wouldn't fall squarely on him would it? Vetinari would be got at because he hadn't forced him to go…Damn!

Vetinari's head was bent over the paperwork, reading a document in tiny print.

 "Alright." he said eventually "I'll go, but I'm not happy about it."

 " Thank you." The patrician massaged his temples with his fingers and sighed. Vimes took in the monstrous piles of paper covering desk and floor.

 "Um…" he began.

Vetinari looked up .

  " I'll just go and…" He mumbled, getting up.

 "Start packing?" said Vetinari

. "Right."

 "And I shall inform Uberwald that you are on your way."

Vimes stopped before the door.

 "You don't think the werewolves are involved again do you?" he said "sir?"

Vetinari was about to reply with something fairly cutting. when he stopped.

 " I don't know Vimes." He said  "I hope not.".

And he bent his head over the paperwork again.

Vimes shut the door quietly behind him, he didn't even thump the wall.

He was too busy worrying about what Sybil was going to say. He left the palace, and began the walk home, puffing away on his cigar.


To be continued.