Rincewind stared miserably at the imposing silhouette that was the Tower of Art against the darkening sky. He had known really, on some subconscious level perhaps, that this was where Omar would run to. It was an old wizard's tower after all; there was something at bone level which told a wizard to head for the high ground when the going got tough.
Angua was sniffing the night air. "There's someone else with him," she declared, "Female by the smell of her perfume. Afraid.."
"The kidnapped girl?" Vimes said, "Why would he bring her up here?" There was a round of shrugs. The real question, of course, being why had Omar bothered to kidnap her in the first place and drag her all the way to Ankh-Morpork.
Rincewind coughed. "We need to stop him from reading the spells. The moment he does his mind with break and the... creatures will have a hole through which they can enter the world. I've seen it happen before."
"When?"
"When the red star appeared in the sky. One of the spells was in my head. If it wasn't for that bloody book I might have really made it as a wizard," Rincewind added bitterly.
"Then we'd better hurry," said Carrot. Behind him the senior wizards were hanging back slightly. Last time a wizard had read from the Octavo the senior staff had ended up as statuary, and no one wanted to end up as one of the stone sculptures that still graced some of the gardens, neck deep in ivy or covered in graffiti.
"We shouldn't all go," Rincewind said suddenly.
"What?" The word was echoed by several people.
"We shouldn't all go. Some of us should stay here. If... we fail... it'll be easier to fight things coming out of the doors in pairs, or singularly."
There was a long pause.
"Alright," Vimes said, drawing his sword. "I'll go. No sense in risking everyone."
Rincewind sighed. "I'll join you. I'm the closest thing we've got to an expert, after all," he added gloomily.
"You first then, Rincewind," said Vimes as they walked slowly away from the silent group of watchmen and wizards.
Rincewind nodded wretchedly and lead Vimes onwards, up the hundreds and hundreds of stone steps. He stopped a few landings from the top and put a finger to his lips. There were voices audible from a higher level.
"Stay there girl!" said Omar, "Stop struggling." There were some noises, inaudible at this level. Omar laughed, a vaguely unctuous sound. "You stupid girl. I need you."
Vimes shot Rincewind a confused look, which Rincewind returned. They carried on upwards more slowly now, silently as possible. There was a slight mumbling from above and Rincewind's heart rate jumped slightly. Omar was reading the spells. Vimes heard it too. He started to move faster.
The floor was empty all the way to the hole in the wall through which Rincewind had thrown a creature from the Dungeon Dimensions /last/ time the Disc had been about to end.
Vimes knew it was a trap, it /had/ to be a trap, but what other option did he have? He leapt through the doorway and rolled on the floor. Omar, leaning against the wall with the Octavo in one hand, laughed. "Get up from the floor Mister Vimes," said the wizard in mock-politeness.
There was a young woman lying on the floor to Vimes's left. He ignored Omar and knelt next to her, the cold of the stone floor radiating up through his knees.
"Are you alright?" he said, touching her hand. She was as cold as ice.
"Come away from her please, Mister Vimes," said Omar, voice still level. Vimes continued to ignore him, checking the pulse of the girl. Her dark eyes, almost hidden under a fringe of black hair were unfocussed, full of pain.
"Don't worry," Vimes began, "We'll soon-"
"I said come away!" snapped Omar, words sharp and clipped. Vimes still made no reply. For a moment nothing happened and then-
Vimes cried out as what felt like an invisible set of hands clamped around his wrists, pulling him to his feet. Omar's own hand was outstretched and as Vimes turned the knuckles whitened as if Omar was gripping something in the empty air. He felt the invisible power clamp around his jaw jerking his head around to look at Omar.
"Leave her alone," repeated Omar.
Vimes opened his mouth to reply but the grip on his wrists was painfully tight. "Give me the book, Omar," he said instead. The grip lessened and he started to move towards the wizard. "Just give it to me and no one will get hurt."
"No!" said Omar and Vimes felt a hand he couldn't see pressing against his chest, stopping him from walking any further.
Vimes looked back over his shoulder at the girl. "Why do you need her?" he asked.
"She is my daughter," Omar replied.
"I thought wizards weren't allowed to have children?" Vimes said, trying to keep the man talking and distracted.
"They aren't," Omar said. "I didn't know she existed until I returned home from my studies. Her mother was... an old friend."
"You murdered her. The woman; her mother."
"No!" Omar replied softly, looking now at the floor.
"You strangled her," Vimes continued, almost taunting Omar. That way maybe the wizard would attack him, leaving Rincewind free to get a shot at retrieving the Octavo.
"I didn't... I couldn't..." Omar stared at the floor, lost in his own thoughts. Vimes felt he pressure on his chest lessen... If he could just push forward and get to the damn book...
"I don't think so, Mister Vimes," said Omar. Rincewind, hiding in the corridor, heard the hollow thump as the invisible hand slammed into Vimes's ribs again. "Stay there. It's almost time."
"What are you trying to do, Omar?"
"Fix it."
"Fix what?"
"The Disc," Omar answered, waving his free hand vaguely. "I have studied for a long time. He... the Creator... He got it wrong. One of the spells. But I know what He said... I know how to change it. Think about it Mister Vimes! A world without pain or anguish, war or greed. Anger... or hatred."
"You're insane," Vimes countered, "No one can change the world. Not like that. Why do you need your daughter? You could at least let her go."
"I need her for the final spell. The ninth spell. To make things work again. I knew you'd come here alone. You don't like to risk your men. I needed you to arrive, or that fool Ahmed. He would have done the same. The body of my enemy, for possession." Omar was babbling now, talking about something Vimes couldn't understand, but he let the wizard carry on, every second of time gained was a good thing. "Blood of my kin. That's why I need her, too. Her blood."
"I can't let you do this, Omar," said Vimes looking deep into the liquid brown eyes of the maniac. And they /were/ the eyes of a maniac now, tinged with the zealous fire, wide and staring; the lights were blazing but Vimes was quite certain that no one was home.
"You can't stop me Mister Vimes!" shouted Omar suddenly, "I can make your very bones turn against you! I can make you believe you are a frog, or a fly... or that your body is filled with live ants."
"Probably," Vimes agreed trying to ignore the thump of his heart in his chest, the bang of blood in his ears, a rapid pulse.
Omar turned away from Vimes and started to read. The air felt hot suddenly, dry and full of static.
Rincewind grabbed Vimes, just as the watchman was about to charge the wizard. "Wait!"
"Why?!"
"--" A huge explosion of noise drowned out Rincewind's reply. The whole Tower of Art seemed to shake to its very foundations. Stone chippings fell from the ceiling, draping all the men in a layer of dust.
Omar was shaking as if he was convulsing. "That's why," muttered Rincewind, "If we'd have tried anything before he would have blown us to bits."
"He can't now?" Vimes said, watching the shaking man.
Rincewind shook his head. "He doesn't need to now."
"Why-?"
Vimes's question was drowned out by the wail from Omar. He shrieked, throwing out his arms wide... and it seemed to Vimes that his arms continued to spread long after they should have stopped, elongating; claws bursting from the end of his finger tips. The Octavo slipped from his grasp as the cry became deeper, rawer.
More animal.
There was a sickening, crunching sound as Omar's head split; something vaguely insect like bursting forth, mandibles dripping with human fluids.
"Get the book, get the girl and get out," said Vimes, lips barely moving.
Rincewind paused for a moment as his two basic instincts came into conflict; survival in pole position followed closely by his sense of moral obligation. "Why?" he said slowly.
"Because I've got a sword and you haven't."
It was a good argument, and one Rincewind was prepared to accept.
"Okay."
The creature, whatever it was, roared, turning eight eyes onto the two men. "I'll go left. You go right."
The creature lunged forward; Vimes dived left as Rincewind rolled right. Vimes found his feet and came up, sword drawn. The creature regarded him for a moment and then swiped at him with a claw. Vimes was surprised to find that when he parried the blow with his sword the arm was sliced neatly and fell to the floor.
The creature screamed and charged at Vimes. His sword was knocked away and he heard it skitter across the floor. The.. Thing was on him, all hot blood, breath and bristling hair. Its jelly-red eyes were a few centimetres from his own. He reached out, clawing at its face, kicking it fiercely, bringing his knee up to pound it in the abdomen as well. It reacted by trying to bite him, huge mandibles clamping down on his shoulder. He felt the links of his chainmail digging into his flesh, but it offered quite a lot of protection from the teeth.
Vimes lowered his head and butted the creature. It flailed madly as he slammed a palm into what he assumed was a face blindly. It was easier than fighting a human somehow, when Vimes always had to be mindful of leaving marks that didn't show in later interrogations, of trying to disarm and injure rather than kill; of not allowing the beast off its chain, /not/ letting it make the kill.
Here there was no such need. He punched the thing again as it tried to shift position, bite into flesh rather than metal. Vimes bought his knees up and pushed hard against the thing. They rolled over and over. Vimes was on top of it now, hitting it again and again, using his elbow as a hammer. His hands were slippery with a greenish blood.
The creature wailed in pain; Vimes recognised the anguished cry as a death rattle, heralding the end. He hit it again and it bit into his arm, not protected by any armour. Vimes roared in pain and smacked the creature one final time. He wondered briefly if the mandible was poisoned as the world began to spin sickly, fading slowly from sight. He hit the floor unconscious.