DISCLAIMER: I am not Terry Pratchett, I have no money, sue me not.
AUTHOR: ihadanepiphany
This is my first try at a Discworld fic, though I've been writing Star Wars for a while, so do be kind and tell me where I'm going wrong.
Basically, I was reading Night Watch and my mind latched onto when Nobby said that he didn't want to go to the Tanty because Sconner was there and it wouldn't let go until I started this. So read review and possibly flame.
Sentences between * * mean thoughts okay?
Try and enjoy.
It was 12:30 and Ankh-Morpork was its usual Saturday night self. Watchmen, women, dwarves, trolls and other *1) were patrolling, nodding occasionally to the various bar patrons that whizzed by horizontally about window height.
Normally Sergeant Fred Colon and Corporal Nobby Nobbs would be doing the same thing, occasionally even going over to the landing site of said patrons to "investigate the situation." But not tonight.
Tonight, they were patrolling one of the quieter parts of the city, near Cockbill Street. They were supposed to be doing Gleam Street, but Nobby had arrived in a funny mood and Colon had swiftly swapped beats. He'd seen lots of people in that mood and usually he'd have stuck with Gleam Street and let him get it out of his system before heading to the pub for a few hours. But the sight of Nobby with that look had unnerved him enough to go for a quiet beat; Nobby half homicidal half polite all pissy was not an everyday occurrence and he wasn't quite sure what he'd do.
*The last time I seen him like this* Colon thought, glancing at Nobby *Was when that messenger came, about ten years ago was it?* his train of thought was derailed by Nobby stopping dead. Fred's feet stopped before the rest of him, having learnt long ago that if another copper stopped and you didn't you might not live to regret it.
'What is it?' he hissed after he won against gravity, barely. Nobby didn't say anything, just stared at a house on their left. It looked just like every other house in the row: dirty, dishevelled, squashed mercilessly by its neighbours. And no soundproofing worth a damn.
Colon winced inwardly when he heard what Nobby had stopped for, shouts, yells, a thin terrified voice raised in pleading protest. And, of course, the sound of a punching fist.
'Domestic disturbance,' he said. He looked at Nobby, wondering why it was suddenly affecting him so much after all the ones he'd attended over the years, even rookies grew immune to them after the first half-dozen which in a city like Ankh-Morpork was within a week. Nobby didn't say anything. 'Disturbing the Peace,' Fred said after a moment, not being able to stand the noise inside and the silence outside anymore. Nobby still said nothing, just strode toward the house leaving the astonished sergeant to catch up. *2)
A middle-aged unshaven man –with such a stench of whiskey emanating from him that both Fred and Nobby looked for a way to breathe through their earholes- opened the door after a few minutes of pounding and "Night Watch, open up!". With a glance, the two Watchmen could probably have told his life story; big man in a little group had big dreams of big success and big riches and instead got filthy little back-end job, living in a filthy little back-end house. His lawyer –should any go within a barge pole length of him- would probably use words like "snapped" and "frustration" and "venting" but Nobby and Colon weren't lawyers and they weren't looking for excuses.
'We've had a complaint about this place,' Colon said after the whole introduction identification we'd-like-to-ask-you-some-questions-so-you'd-better-hope-we-don't-catch-on rigmarole.
'Oh yeah?' the man asked, wiping his hands on his already heavily stained vest. Glancing at them, both coppers noted the raw and bloody knuckles. 'By who?'
'That's not important,' Colon told him a bit more coldly; having subtly changed his position he could now see past the man into the room beyond. 'What's important is that you're disturbing the peace.'
'An' its not the first time neither,' Nobby added.
The man, buoyed up by his inflated sense of self-importance, spread his hands and shrugged innocently.
'Is it my fault if they wont keep their mouths shut?' Colon didn't move a nano-meter; he really didn't want to see Nobbys reaction to that little piece of evidence. There was a moment of silence.
'They?' Nobby asked quietly, far too damn quietly in Fred Colon's opinion.
'Wife and kid,' the man replied, obviously, and wrongly, thinking that he had found kindred spirits. 'They keep getting outta line you know? Gotta teach him lessons, show him who's boss.'
*Oh Gods* Fred thought in the ensuing silence. *If this guy cant tell a killing mood when its in front of him, I'd better arrest him now for his own bloody protection* *3)
'I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name,' Colon said after shifting his weight ever-so-slightly but ever-so-significantly in front of Nobby.
'Grimes,' the man replied, extending a hand with a smile. 'John Grimes.' Fred took the hand, slapped a cuff on the wrist, pivoted the surprised man expertly and caught the other wrist before Grimes knew what was happening.
'Mister John Grimes,' he said, standing back slightly but maintaining a vice-grip. 'I hereby arrest you for disturbing the peace, for admitting to disturbing the peace *4), for past events of disturbing the peace, for admitting to past events of disturbing the peace…'
'What the hell do you think you're playing at?' Grimes roared. 'You can't do this!' He twisted violently so that Colon lost his grip, though Colon saw what Grimes didn't and let him.
'For telling a Watchman his job, for resisting arrest…' *5)
Grimes spotted that he could knock Nobby off the steps and escape. What he hadn't spotted was Nobbys steelcapped boots and what he hadn't reckoned on was the owner's anatomical precision with said steelcapped boots.
'For intending to escape arrest, for attempted escaping arrest, for intending to injure a Watchman during escaping arrest, for attempting to injure a Watchman during escaping arrest.' Colon paused for breath and looked to Nobby. 'How about we tell him the rest on the way?'
'Sure,' Nobby said, looking at the heap that was John Grimes huddled in his own little world. His eyes flicked to the half-open door around which Grimes's family were peeking. 'But they're coming with us.'
*1) This /was/ Ankh-Morpork.
*2) Usually, Cpl. Nobby St. J. Nobbs has a personal danger radar that would put household pets and even ship rats to cringing shame. Other coppers use him as a kind of thermometer to gauge "situations." In normal times Nobbys infamous boots would not be threatening to break down doors, but currently walking streets on the other side of Morpork with Nobby inside them. But as it has been pointed out, these are not normal times.
*3) And the Being Blood Stupid Act of 1581
*4) Being Bloody Stupid Act of 1581 again.
*5) For centuries the city i.e. the ruling minority, has struggled against the non-ruling majority's unsatisfactory habit of bending, breaking or just plain ignoring the laws by creating more in the hope that eventually the sheer weight of the accumulated laws would make people behave properly and not go around being people. It hasn't quite had the desired effect just yet, but coppers tend to find all the extra laws handy and put them to good use.
When Sgt. Colon and Cpl. Nobbs strode into the Watch House half-dragging half-carrying Grimes not many of the other coppers took any notice; it was Saturday night after all and they had their own jobs to do. The only one who took any interest in them was Cpl. Ping and that was only because as duty officer that night it /was/ his job to take notice of such things.
'I'll go chuck him inna cell,' Colon said after the books that receipts had been signed and witnessed.
'Yeah,' Nobby replied. 'I'll bring these two to Igor.'
The "these two" that Nobby was referring to were Grimes's wife and nine year old son. Ping started to open his mouth about how Igor wasn't supposed to work on people that weren't Watch, suspects or witnesses, took one look at their condition, a glance at Nobby and shut it again.
'What's up with Nobby?' he asked Colon when the trio disappeared and the Sgt. Reappeared. 'I've never seen so, so, /that/.'
'Anniversary,' Fred replied bluntly. He'd been wondering that very same thing the whole trek back to the Watch House carrying that heavy bastard it was the only explanation he could come up with. Ping seemed to understand however, as he made some kind of gesture towards the door to Igor's cellar.
'No good ever comes from anniversaries,' he said on seeing Freds odd look.
'Couldn't agree with you more,' Colon sighed as he went to make his report. 'Couldn't agree with you more.
A while later, Nobby left Igor's cellar in a bit of a dream. Igor had checked the wife and kid – Selma and Ben he remembered – over before ordering a big meal for them both. While they were gobbling down the unexpected boon, Igor drew Nobby aside.
'Domestic was it?' he asked quietly.
'How'd ya tell?' Nobby replied a bit grumpily.
'The difference between new and old injuries ishn't that difficult to spot,' Igor told him, a touch icily. 'There's some old shpots that need patching, some new bruishing, but beyond that all they need is a better diet.' *6)
'Thanks Igor,' Nobby sighed. 'Give us a shout when they're ready to talk.'
'Will do,' Igor said, before turning to another patient.
*New bruising* Nobby thought, walking through the Watch House, not paying any attention to where he was going. The hour of the morning meant the Saturday night revelries had passed and Ankh-Morpork was back to its normal state of chaos, *7) so Nobby didn't really have to know where he was walking his feet were guiding him to bed anyway. He shuddered as he thought of exactly how many things that could mean, and being a copper that meant quite a long list. He thought again of how he and Fred had come to that particular house.
They had stopped because they arrested him. They had arrested him because that found out what he was doing. They found out what he was doing because they stopped. They stopped because Nobby heard the son. He heard the son because his cries had mirrored Nobbys thoughts.
*No daddy! Please! Stop!* Nobby stopped dead as that cry ripped through his mind, dredging up memories as feelings he had buried years ago. *I wont do wrong anymore daddy, I'll be good. I'll be good daddy, please? Daddy?*
'Easy lads,' a Watchdwarf was saying, taking advantage of the lessened traffic flow and extra hands in the Watch House to supervise the moving of a filing cabinet from one place to another. Lost in the awful memories, Nobby didn't hear them. 'Take it easy lads!' the dwarf shouted as the cabinet started to overbalance.
*Please daddy no!*
'Look out!' the dwarf yelled as the heavy cabinet ponderously and inevitably started toppling. People dived out of the way of the thing, except for Nobby who didn't notice the half-ton of wood and metal falling on top of him. An entering troll spotted the problem, lunged over and, catching Nobby, flung him across the room just before the filing cabinet fell to the wooden boards with a crash that lifted the desks. There was a careful few moments while everyone picked themselves up, dusted themselves down and looked to see if Nobby Nobbs was under it. * 8)
'Why?' Nobbys muffled voice was heard to say. 'Am I upside-down in a pile of cloaks?'
'You'd prefer to be squashed flat under a cupboard?' a relieved constable asked, helping the bewildered corporal to his feet from where the cloak stand used to be.
'Less of that bloody cheek,' Nobby growled, then winced as an all-too familiar pain made itself known in his arm. 'Gods dammit,' he grumbled, picking his way through the scattered paperwork, pens mugs and other miscellaneous item that had come off the desks towards Igor's cellar. 'And clean this place up!' he yelled.
Catching the eye of the dwarf who had been in charge of the whole thing, the troll picked up the filing cabinet, which had taken three men and two dwarves to shift, with one hand and deposited it gently in its new spot.
*6) To the more observant person, there may be slight differences to this new Igor as opposed to more traditional Igors. No, the constant quest for self-improvement and subsequent scars are there. No, the love of a good big thunderstorm and the ability to make lightning do what metrologists break into cold sweats over is also there. As is the knack for making that little purple bit stop messing about and do what it's supposed to do. /This/ Igor breeds prosthetics in jars, potatoes in aquariums calls no man "Master" and only lisps when he remembers to. See?
*7) To the newcomer the transition is not readily apparent. Mainly the difference is the amount of reports being written about the Saturday night chaos during the everyday chaos.
*8) The particular stance used by everybody looking belongs in the pages of The Book of Stupid Things People Do. The feet are flat on the floor and stay there, the hands are either in pockets or arms are crossed, there's an expression like the person is investigating the contents of a back tooth and the body is tilted turned and slanted until the watcher can see what's going on.
Igor looked up from Nobbys arm with a stern look.
'I know its broken,' Nobby said to get it over with.
'Really? Igor asked in mock astonishment. 'What's the next part of my job that you'll tell me how to do?' he moved over to his instruments and, selecting one, began setting the bone, Igor fashion. 'It's not a clean break, very near the wrist but still a doddle to fix.' He worked in silence for a moment as Nobby tried to ignore the pain, which was less than he expected. 'There are some other breaks here as well,' he said conversationally. 'Three lower and one upper.'
'Two upper,' Nobby corrected unthinkingly, then stopped, annoyed at himself.
'Quite an adventurous life you had as a child,' Igor went on, as if he hadn't heard. 'Falling off walls and out of trees, yes?'
'Yes,' Nobby lied woodenly.
'How strange then how they are all clean, normally an impact fracture is uneven. All these breaks are more like snaps.' Igors mis-matched lifted to look into Nobbys. 'And doubtless if I were to look I would find the same on the other arm.' *9)
'Maybe, I don't remember,' Nobby said sullenly, he felt like a child under that piercing but not unkind gaze. *I'm sorry daddy*
'There's one that isn't set properly,' Igor said after a moment, dropping his eyes back to his task again. 'Just above the elbow. I can reset it.'
'Yeah whatever.' But Igors hands had already done the job with professional skill.
'There,' he said after a few minutes. 'All done. Don't use that arm till the day after tomorrow,' he warned Nobby, bundling the arm securely in a sling. 'And you're off duty for four days, those breaks are too near the joint to be messing about. Do you hear me Corporal?'
'Sure,' Nobby mumbled.
'And if you should remember anything about how your arms came to get such injuries,' Igor began.
'Thanks,' Nobby said, before turning and leaving the cellar.
Fred Colon had just finished his report and was chatting to the constable behind the main desk; Ping had finished duty, before he went home when Nobby came up from the cellar with his arm in a sling.
'What the hell happened?' Colon asked when Nobby passed.
'Filing cabinet incident,' Nobby replied sourly. Automatic copper instinct made Fred look at his fingers. 'Bloody thing fell, Slate chucked me outta the way, arm broke.'
'Ah, right,' Colon said, the relief palpable. 'So where are you off to?'
'Gotta tell Mister Vimes I'm on leave don't I?' Nobby said as he left, pointing to his sling as evidence.
'Till when?'
'Thursday night.'
'See you then Nobby,' Colon shouted after him. Nobby waved a hand with out turning around. He trudged up the stairs to the Commanders office and disappeared from Freds puzzled view.
*Since when does Nobby tell Mister Vimes when he's on leave?*
Sir Samuel Vimes was wondering the same thing. Normally Cpl. Nobby Nobbs just told someone and rightly expected the grapevine to tell Vimes or told him himself when he was cornered the next day. Never had he actually told Vimes himself before he took leave.
*Well almost never* Vimes reminded himself. *There was that one time about ten years ago wasn't there? Something about a messenger?* His recollection of the time period in question was so full of holes it couldn't even be used for a net –crawling into whiskey bottles for years will do that- but he remembered that, mainly because it was one of the few days where he was mainly sober and the shock of Nobby asking for leave had shoved aside the alcohol long enough for it to be put down on record.
'Grandmas funeral is it?' Vimes asked jokingly, he had heard the filing cabinet even up here.
'No sir,' Nobby said. Vimes frowned slightly, he had been expecting something like, no sir that's next week.
Captain Carrot, standing to the left and behind Nobby noted the frown, but amazingly enough, Nobby didn't.
'For how long?' he asked at last.
'Four days,' Nobby replied. Vimes and Carrot shared a swift look, Igors report was already being digested by the Paperwork and both had expected him to exaggerate. *What's up with him?* flashed across bother their minds, though in Carrots case a little note was tagged on the end of the thought to find out and help.
Vimes filled out the appropriate form and passed it across to Nobby who signed, saluted and left.
'Sir,' Carrot began, before Vimes gestured him into silence. He waited until he heard Nobby go down the stairs, then got up and went to one of the dust-covered cabinets behind the door,
'Sir, what are you looking for?' Carrot asked as Vimes sifted through the papers, sneezing and cursing at the dust. *10)
'This,' Vimes replied, puling out a sheet of paper. The Night Watch when it was just him, Fred, Nobby and Leggy Gaskins didn't generate that much paperwork and leave slips were the rarest. 'What's the date?'
'Fifth of may,' Carrot answered, a bit puzzled. 'What's that?'
'Nobby asked for leave once before,' Vimes explained. 'And it was,' he squinted at the faded ink. 'Ten years ago, exactly.' He sat in his chair, musing the mystery.
'May I see?' Vimes passed the slip over silently. 'There's no reason,' Carrot pointed out.
'There was a messenger that night,' Vimes muttered,' Vimes muttered. 'Dandy fop from the palace, all nose and sneer. Came looking for Nobby verbal message.' He stared at the Paperwork in front of him, willing the unfocused memory to become clear. 'Something about the Tanty?'
'Why would a Palace Messenger came to give a message from the Tanty?' Carrot asked, thoroughly dislodging the Commanders train of thought.
'Any time someone died in the Tanty, the Palace sent a messenger to the closest family.' Vimes made a face. 'Personal touch and ultimate humiliation combined. In most parts of the city it was a family's worst nightmare seeing a Palace messenger coming up the street, or a dream come true.' He stopped as the last piece snapped into place. 'Sconner!' he nearly shouted. 'Sconner died in the Tanty.' He remembered the look on Nobbys face earlier that evening. 'Oh Gods,' groaned.
'What is it sir?' Carrot asked, not having all the information he hadn't made the leaps Vimes did.
'Nothing I can do anything about,' Vimes said grimly. *I just hope he picks somewhere quiet to get it out of his system.'
*9) In working for coppers, Igor had picked up a few tricks. One of them was direct eye contact when someone had something to hide and in this he was rather advantaged as most people would admit to anything rather than try to look Igor in the eyes. Of course appearing concerned had a factor in this tactic but not much.
*10) The paperwork had survived the fate of Treacle Mine Lane by not being there at the time of the dragon. When Cubby arrived and began his piecemeal destruction Colon had, for some unknown reason, decided to take it home for safe-keeping. Not because the wage bill was in it and he couldn't find it in the two minutes he had so he grabbed everything. Of course not. But however it happened, the paperwork had survived and was moved to Pseudopolis Yard where it was filed in order and in a big new filing cabinet, left behind the door and promptly forgotten about.
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