Power Play: Chapter 5: Breaking Ranks
By Tinselcat
Rated: R for violence
Disclaimer: All characters and places (and most nouns) belong to Terry Pratchett and are used without permission. Don't sue. The only thing I have of value is my computer (which is full of my crappy artwork) and my fish (who has mood swings).
Author's Note: Here's another chapter! For the love of god, don't kill me!
**************************
Vimes tried to light his cigar. The hand holding the match trembled so badly, he wondered if it was even his own. He finally tossed the cigar to the floor in frustration and pinched out the match. Was this what happened when you lacked for sleep? Gods, he might as well be drunk. He stared at his desk, the myriad of papers seeming to melt and merge into one another until it became mere blotches of yellow-white and gray. He stared at it. It offered no answers, no insight, nothing. Just sat there like a big. . . like a big. . . like a big fucking pile of paper. Almost two weeks had gone by since the Patrician's disappearance. . . god, it seemed like a lifetime. . . and for all of those days he had been pushing the watch to full capacity. They didn't complain. It was never a good idea to complain to Vimes anyway. He could see their fatigue. And they could see his. The watchmen close enough to him to risk being yelled at told him so. He wasn't sure when he had last been home. Sybil had stopped in several times to bring the watchmen food. It was the ones he trusted that he was pushing the hardest: Carrot, Angua, Dorfl, Cheri, Nobby, Colon and Detritus. They had all been pulling overtime shifts, patrolling the city in a grid work pattern, trying to pick up anything they had missed, sleeping for only three or four hours at a time at the watch-house. But they would keep going until this thing was over. He knew that much about them: they would share in his tenacity without hesitation or question.
There was a knock on the door.
Vimes jerked upright and realized that he had dozed. He wondered how long he had been like that.
He cleared his throat, "Come in."
Angua and Carrot, the practically inseparable pair, stepped inside and saluted smartly.
Vimes had considered assigning them to different shifts, concerned that their personal feelings for each other would interfere with their jobs, but so far he hadn't been given any reason to believe that they were being distracted. "Good watchmen. . . women. . ." he mumbled.
"Pardon, sir?" Angua raised an eyebrow.
"Er. . . nothing. What is it?"
Carrot cleared his throat and tapped his cheek with a finger.
"Eh? What?" Vimes squinted at the cryptic gesture.
"Ah, sir, you have. . . on your cheek. . ." Angua did the same.
Vimes's hand flew to his face and hastily removed the piece of paper that had stuck to his cheek by way of drool. "Yes, thank you, just going over some paperwork." He muttered, shuffling the mass of parchments around on his desk, trying to make them appeared more organized, but failing miserably. "What do you have to tell me?" He asked, folding his hands on his desk and looking up at them.
"We were on patrol in the shades last night and I think I picked up that scent that a lost when I was tracking the kidnapper before."
Vimes stood up so quickly he knocked over his chair, "What?!"
"I can't be positive sir, but I think I may have found the place. . ."
Vimes immediately started barking orders, "Carrot, rally the men. Rally the women, too. Tell everyone to. . . to. . . to do something!" looking like a lunatic on the edge of a precipice, he waved his arms and shouted, "somebody do something!"
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
It took Vimes and company a mere two hours to organize and initiate an attack on the decrepit building that Angua had indicated as the likely hideout. By that time, Vimes had had enough of caution. The only thing left for him was to run in, sword drawn, yelling at the top of his voice. They were surprised to find the place quite lightly guarded. Carrot was the first one to break into the cell where Vetinari was being kept. He called for Vimes before making any moves. He paused in the doorway. The echoes of the Watch taking care of the scattered guards seemed muffled as he stepped through. There was just enough light to see the starkly pale figure huddled in a corner. Vimes licked his dry lips and approached the still form, unconsciously treading softly and silently, as if the slightest sound might shatter the man that he'd finally found.
He knelt beside Vetinari, flinching as he saw the angry red welts on his back; a mockery of the lines of his ribs.
"Lord Vetinari..." Vimes whispered, reaching out a hand that hovered uncertainly over the Patrician's bruised shoulder. He felt like he was hallucinating, or dreaming, and any moment he would wake up at his paper- covered desk. This wasn't true. Vetinari was unmovable. He was solid. Invulnerable. There was nothing about the man that could be intimidated or fooled. And yet, here he was, kneeling beside a man who was human: hurt, exposed, curled into a fetal position. He lightly touched a finger to Vetinari's shoulder, and nearly jumped a foot in the air as the Patrician jerked.
He murmured something that was almost a sigh and twitched again. Vimes looked over his shoulder at Carrot who was standing strictly to attention, which could inspire confidence in any uncertain situation. "Carrot. . . uh. . . get. . . get. . ." he looked helplessly back-and-forth between Carrot and Vetinari, gesturing helplessly with his hand.
"Shall I acquire a stretcher, sir, and send for Igor?"
"Yes! That's exactly what you should do! Go do it!"
Carrot saluted and turned about, marching out briskly.
Vimes opened his mouth to address the patrician again, but simply let out his breath all at once, realizing that even if the patrician could be roused enough to recognize him, he would still, eventually, have to touch him. Physically. Which just seemed. . . strange. One didn't *touch* Vetinari, not if they wished to retain use of their hand.
But he wasn't looking down upon the ruler of Ankh-Morpork right now, was he? He was looking down upon a man who had been captured and tortured. Suddenly, Vetinari, one of the most powerful people on the face of the Disc, was just another guy doing his job, who had been wronged.
Vimes took off his cloak and gently settled it over Vetinari's huddled form. Taking a breath, he slid his hands beneath Vetinari's shoulder's and knees and slowly picked him up. He was alarmingly light, even for someone as naturally slim as him. To hell with waiting for the stretcher, he was going to get Vetinari out of here now.
Vetinari groaned; a pained sound that rattled through his throat.
"Sir?" Vimes whispered hopefully, "can you hear me, Sir?"
Vetinari's chapped lips worked several times before he rasped weakly, "D- don't. . ." He licked his lips, his eyelids fluttering, "I'll kill you. . ."
"Sir, it's Commander Vimes. I'm not going to hurt you. . . I'm. . ." He cleared his throat, "We're. . . we're going to take care of you, Sir."
Suddenly, Vetinari raised his head, his eyes seeming to finally focus on the present as he squinted. "Vimes?" he whispered, before going limp with a sigh.
Vimes held Vetinari a little closer to his chest as he left the dungeon.
*********************************
Rincewind awoke from his uneasy slumber with a jerk, his head snapping up from its resting place on the back of his hand. He flinched as his neck cracked, but ignored the cramp as his attention was drawn to the noise that awoke him. He rose from the chair in the anteroom to Vetinari's office where he'd taken up a temporary residence, much to Drumknott's disapproval.
He staggered unsteadily to the door to the hallway and peered out to see a watchman pounding down the hallway in his direction. He was shoved out of the way from behind by Drumknott, who had also heard the slam of a door.
"What? What is it? Is there any news?"
Rincewind sniffed to himself. That Drumknott had no business giving *him* disapproving looks: His hair was just as rumpled and the circles under his eyes were just as big, from his constant vigil at his desk.
"Sir!" the Watchman saluted smartly, "We've retrieved Lord Vetinari, Sir, and he's being brought to the palace right now!"
Silence followed his proclamation.
The watchmen fidgeted uncomfortably under the shocked stares of the two men in front of him.
Slowly, almost in unison, Rincewind and Drumknott turned to look at each other, and as if their brains were operating at an identical frequency (unlikely. . .), they both began to run down the corridor in the direction that the watchman had come from.
The watchman stared down the hallway after them. He waited absently for one of them to come back and tell him what to do. No such directions were forthcoming.
He walked back down the corridor, and tried to look like he was involved in something productive.
*************
Yes, I know it's short, but I think I'll probably be posting shorter chapters, because then I'll post more frequently. I swear to god, if you throw that Molotov Cocktail at me, I won't be able to finish the story, and then where would we be?
By Tinselcat
Rated: R for violence
Disclaimer: All characters and places (and most nouns) belong to Terry Pratchett and are used without permission. Don't sue. The only thing I have of value is my computer (which is full of my crappy artwork) and my fish (who has mood swings).
Author's Note: Here's another chapter! For the love of god, don't kill me!
**************************
Vimes tried to light his cigar. The hand holding the match trembled so badly, he wondered if it was even his own. He finally tossed the cigar to the floor in frustration and pinched out the match. Was this what happened when you lacked for sleep? Gods, he might as well be drunk. He stared at his desk, the myriad of papers seeming to melt and merge into one another until it became mere blotches of yellow-white and gray. He stared at it. It offered no answers, no insight, nothing. Just sat there like a big. . . like a big. . . like a big fucking pile of paper. Almost two weeks had gone by since the Patrician's disappearance. . . god, it seemed like a lifetime. . . and for all of those days he had been pushing the watch to full capacity. They didn't complain. It was never a good idea to complain to Vimes anyway. He could see their fatigue. And they could see his. The watchmen close enough to him to risk being yelled at told him so. He wasn't sure when he had last been home. Sybil had stopped in several times to bring the watchmen food. It was the ones he trusted that he was pushing the hardest: Carrot, Angua, Dorfl, Cheri, Nobby, Colon and Detritus. They had all been pulling overtime shifts, patrolling the city in a grid work pattern, trying to pick up anything they had missed, sleeping for only three or four hours at a time at the watch-house. But they would keep going until this thing was over. He knew that much about them: they would share in his tenacity without hesitation or question.
There was a knock on the door.
Vimes jerked upright and realized that he had dozed. He wondered how long he had been like that.
He cleared his throat, "Come in."
Angua and Carrot, the practically inseparable pair, stepped inside and saluted smartly.
Vimes had considered assigning them to different shifts, concerned that their personal feelings for each other would interfere with their jobs, but so far he hadn't been given any reason to believe that they were being distracted. "Good watchmen. . . women. . ." he mumbled.
"Pardon, sir?" Angua raised an eyebrow.
"Er. . . nothing. What is it?"
Carrot cleared his throat and tapped his cheek with a finger.
"Eh? What?" Vimes squinted at the cryptic gesture.
"Ah, sir, you have. . . on your cheek. . ." Angua did the same.
Vimes's hand flew to his face and hastily removed the piece of paper that had stuck to his cheek by way of drool. "Yes, thank you, just going over some paperwork." He muttered, shuffling the mass of parchments around on his desk, trying to make them appeared more organized, but failing miserably. "What do you have to tell me?" He asked, folding his hands on his desk and looking up at them.
"We were on patrol in the shades last night and I think I picked up that scent that a lost when I was tracking the kidnapper before."
Vimes stood up so quickly he knocked over his chair, "What?!"
"I can't be positive sir, but I think I may have found the place. . ."
Vimes immediately started barking orders, "Carrot, rally the men. Rally the women, too. Tell everyone to. . . to. . . to do something!" looking like a lunatic on the edge of a precipice, he waved his arms and shouted, "somebody do something!"
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
It took Vimes and company a mere two hours to organize and initiate an attack on the decrepit building that Angua had indicated as the likely hideout. By that time, Vimes had had enough of caution. The only thing left for him was to run in, sword drawn, yelling at the top of his voice. They were surprised to find the place quite lightly guarded. Carrot was the first one to break into the cell where Vetinari was being kept. He called for Vimes before making any moves. He paused in the doorway. The echoes of the Watch taking care of the scattered guards seemed muffled as he stepped through. There was just enough light to see the starkly pale figure huddled in a corner. Vimes licked his dry lips and approached the still form, unconsciously treading softly and silently, as if the slightest sound might shatter the man that he'd finally found.
He knelt beside Vetinari, flinching as he saw the angry red welts on his back; a mockery of the lines of his ribs.
"Lord Vetinari..." Vimes whispered, reaching out a hand that hovered uncertainly over the Patrician's bruised shoulder. He felt like he was hallucinating, or dreaming, and any moment he would wake up at his paper- covered desk. This wasn't true. Vetinari was unmovable. He was solid. Invulnerable. There was nothing about the man that could be intimidated or fooled. And yet, here he was, kneeling beside a man who was human: hurt, exposed, curled into a fetal position. He lightly touched a finger to Vetinari's shoulder, and nearly jumped a foot in the air as the Patrician jerked.
He murmured something that was almost a sigh and twitched again. Vimes looked over his shoulder at Carrot who was standing strictly to attention, which could inspire confidence in any uncertain situation. "Carrot. . . uh. . . get. . . get. . ." he looked helplessly back-and-forth between Carrot and Vetinari, gesturing helplessly with his hand.
"Shall I acquire a stretcher, sir, and send for Igor?"
"Yes! That's exactly what you should do! Go do it!"
Carrot saluted and turned about, marching out briskly.
Vimes opened his mouth to address the patrician again, but simply let out his breath all at once, realizing that even if the patrician could be roused enough to recognize him, he would still, eventually, have to touch him. Physically. Which just seemed. . . strange. One didn't *touch* Vetinari, not if they wished to retain use of their hand.
But he wasn't looking down upon the ruler of Ankh-Morpork right now, was he? He was looking down upon a man who had been captured and tortured. Suddenly, Vetinari, one of the most powerful people on the face of the Disc, was just another guy doing his job, who had been wronged.
Vimes took off his cloak and gently settled it over Vetinari's huddled form. Taking a breath, he slid his hands beneath Vetinari's shoulder's and knees and slowly picked him up. He was alarmingly light, even for someone as naturally slim as him. To hell with waiting for the stretcher, he was going to get Vetinari out of here now.
Vetinari groaned; a pained sound that rattled through his throat.
"Sir?" Vimes whispered hopefully, "can you hear me, Sir?"
Vetinari's chapped lips worked several times before he rasped weakly, "D- don't. . ." He licked his lips, his eyelids fluttering, "I'll kill you. . ."
"Sir, it's Commander Vimes. I'm not going to hurt you. . . I'm. . ." He cleared his throat, "We're. . . we're going to take care of you, Sir."
Suddenly, Vetinari raised his head, his eyes seeming to finally focus on the present as he squinted. "Vimes?" he whispered, before going limp with a sigh.
Vimes held Vetinari a little closer to his chest as he left the dungeon.
*********************************
Rincewind awoke from his uneasy slumber with a jerk, his head snapping up from its resting place on the back of his hand. He flinched as his neck cracked, but ignored the cramp as his attention was drawn to the noise that awoke him. He rose from the chair in the anteroom to Vetinari's office where he'd taken up a temporary residence, much to Drumknott's disapproval.
He staggered unsteadily to the door to the hallway and peered out to see a watchman pounding down the hallway in his direction. He was shoved out of the way from behind by Drumknott, who had also heard the slam of a door.
"What? What is it? Is there any news?"
Rincewind sniffed to himself. That Drumknott had no business giving *him* disapproving looks: His hair was just as rumpled and the circles under his eyes were just as big, from his constant vigil at his desk.
"Sir!" the Watchman saluted smartly, "We've retrieved Lord Vetinari, Sir, and he's being brought to the palace right now!"
Silence followed his proclamation.
The watchmen fidgeted uncomfortably under the shocked stares of the two men in front of him.
Slowly, almost in unison, Rincewind and Drumknott turned to look at each other, and as if their brains were operating at an identical frequency (unlikely. . .), they both began to run down the corridor in the direction that the watchman had come from.
The watchman stared down the hallway after them. He waited absently for one of them to come back and tell him what to do. No such directions were forthcoming.
He walked back down the corridor, and tried to look like he was involved in something productive.
*************
Yes, I know it's short, but I think I'll probably be posting shorter chapters, because then I'll post more frequently. I swear to god, if you throw that Molotov Cocktail at me, I won't be able to finish the story, and then where would we be?