The Unexpected II

Again, disclaimer: none of the Discworld characters or related indicia are mine, I'm making $0 off this, and it's all done in good fun, eh? Leggo me ear!

"They didn't believe me," said Anton Mirill, slumping onto his bed. His roommate shrugged.

"Can you blame them? Showing up at the Watch House at four in the morning gibbering about death and destruction?"

"Well, they ought to be used to it," said Mirill. "Look, I can't help what I saw. I know it's going to happen. I can feel it."

"Good for you. Excellent. You'll get top marks in scrying," said his roommate, who was from Uberwald and didn't have any truck with Seeing The Future. "Even if it does happen, this plague, we'll get through it. We've got through plagues before."

"Not like this one," said Mirill crossly. "I saw half the city dead. Bodies everywhere."

"Well, then, that'll cut down on the overpopulation," yawned his roommate. "Go to sleep, Anton. You can't save the world on your own, and we have class tomorrow."

Mirill scowled at him. "Do you always have to be so damn matter-of-fact?"

"As a matter of fact," said Radu Florescu von Uberwald, "yes. It's in my blood, you see." *

**

Audax leaned against the wall of Remitt the armourer's, arms folded, watching as the dwarf hammered out her breastplate. He'd got what she could only describe as a....form.........to hammer the metal over, and she found her gaze transferring itself slowly to Sergeant Angua where she sat beside the forge. Lucky we're almost the same size, she thought. The other woman didn't like her; that was plainly obvious, which was fine by Audax. Very few people liked her. Nevertheless, there was something odd about Angua. She wondered if they'd met before somewhere, and decided it was extremely unlikely. Angua didn't look more than about twenty-five or six, and certainly memorable; even in the heat of battle, Audax thought she'd be able to remember that face. ** Nobby'd muttered something about her and Captain Carrot, whom she hadn't met yet. According to general rumor, he was the rightful ruler of the city. Undoubtedly a complete prat.

Remitt drenched the breastplate in greasy water with a hiss, and handed it to her. "Try that on, miss."

She grinned, adjusting herself, and rapped the metal sharply. "It'll do. Thanks. How much do I owe you?"

"Two dollars," Remitt said smoothly, and was a little taken aback by her teeth as she grinned.

"Care to repeat that?"

"One-and-six," he said a little crossly, which was the price Angua had quoted her. She fished in her money-pocket, which she'd sewn into the leather jerkin she wore under the mail, and handed it over.

"Much obliged," she said, and buckled on the breastplate, shoving her helmet on her head and shaking herself as the layers of metal and leather settled into place. "Good evening to you."

Remitt watched them go, wondering. The shorter one hadn't been a .........what the taller one was, but she was dangerous nonetheless. Might be worth watching.

Outside, Angua was waiting for her. "Not bad," she said, grudgingly. "Most people'd have paid what he asked and gone away happy."

"Mmm," said Audax. "However, what he did was only worth about a dollar, and if I'd had the forge and the, ah, special anvil, I'd have done it myself for less. Where are we going?"

"Patrolling up Elm Street." Angua fell into the proceeding walk, gentle and steady and easy to keep up all night. Absently, Audax fell in step beside her. She could feel the other woman looking at her with the measuring glance of the not-quite-convinced. "What're you doing here?" Angua asked, after a minute. "Really."

"Really?" She smiled a bit. "Doing what I do best. Watching." She'd realized what was odd about her companion.

Angua made a wordless little noise of discontent and kept walking. Audax fished out a dogend from behind her ear and lit it with her magical cylinder, unconcernedly. "So," she said. "What are you?"

Angua turned like a snake and stared at her. "What do you mean, what am I?"

She shrugged. "It's okay if you don't want to tell me. I'm just curious."

Angua stopped and gave her a measuring glance. She smiled, shrugging. "It's fairly obvious. The teeth, first off, and then the way you move; it's almost perfect but not quite. A little too....streamlined, shall we say?"

Angua kept staring.

"And of course there's this," she continued, fishing out a silver ring on a chain briefly and watching as Angua's face stiffened. "Kind of a giveaway. You went all cold and distant as soon as you got close enough to me to feel it."

Angua's stare had a little of the smoky campfires of the Pleistocene in it. Audax sighed. "Look....I don't give a molly what you are. Just trying to get things out in the open. If it makes you feel any better, my great-grandfather was an eylak, up in the mountains. The Kuriscu clan."

Angua blinked. "The shape-changers?"

"The same. You look a bit more high-class," she said, tilting her head. "Family of one of the Barons around Bonk, no doubt."

Angua sighed. "Look," she said. "Let's go and have a drink, okay?"

"What a good idea." Audax gave her a pointy grin and let herself be led down a side street, past businesses open rather later than one would expect, and noted absently that the young ladies of the area were also out rather late, and didn't seem to be able to afford many clothes. Ah, she thought. This is familiar.

So were the footsteps behind them. Angua glanced at her and saw nothing more than mild, unconcerned curiosity; but before she could turn, snarling, Audax's fist blurred, moving just a little too fast for the eye to follow, and met a jaw with a sound like a hammer striking raw steak. The man who'd been trying to sneak up on them made a thick helpless noise and crumpled to the cobbles. Audax turned, shaking some life back into her hand, and looked down at him.

"Oh dear," said Angua mildly, kneeling down by him. "Poor old Fingers Murphy. You didn't have to hit him that hard."

Audax shrugged. "I don't like being crept up on," she said, joining Angua by the recumbent thief and gently tilting his jaw this way and that. "Not even dislocated. He'll be fine, minus a tooth or so."

"You do know about the Thieves' Guild?" Angua asked.

"Oh yes. However, I feel that my need of my own money is a little greater than theirs." Audax flipped open the man's cloak, exposing a tunic embroidered with rather expensive silks. "Lessons learned, eh?"

Angua sighed. "Drink," she said. "Now."

Lord Vetinari paced, visible to careful watchers in Sator Square as a thin black silhouette moving with measured intent back and forth across the dim yellow glow of his office window. This would, on the face of it, seem to be a stupid thing to do in a city where half the inhabitants wanted him dead and the other half wanted him to stay in nominal control but report to them for orders, but Havelock Vetinari was clever enough to get away with doing apparently foolish things. As a matter of fact, the window of the Oblong Office was guarded by an extremely fine mesh of miridathrium, the rarest and most valuable metal on the Disc***; it would stop anything short of a siege crossbow while remaining as transparent as silk chiffon. Not even Drumknott knew about the screen, and Vetinari took pains to let this state of affairs remain so.

He paused by the window, watching the darkened city scurry about its business. The clacks from Sto Helit had come that evening, and it only took an hour or so for the signal to transmit from city to city across the tower network. What he had to do now was decide whether or not to do as Kelirehenna advised and shut down all access to Ankh-Morpork; the queen had never particularly distinguished herself as a paragon of wisdom or clear thinking, and Ankh-Morpork wasn't the kind of city one closes off with impunity; the lifeblood of the city was trade, and thousands of thousands of pounds of goods entered and left by the gates day after day. They had enough supplies inside Ankh to survive a few months, certainly, but it would be unpleasant.

Someone knocked at the Oblong Office door. Vetinari didn't move from the window; after a moment Drumknott's equine face appeared round the door. "Clacks for you, my lord. Urgent."

The Patrician turned, strode to his desk. Drumknott approached and handed him the slip of paper, standing diffidently to one side of the desk as Vetinari scanned the message. It wasn't good news.

TO LORD VETINARI FROM BARTHOLOMEW RODLEY DUKE OF QUIRM STOP PESTILENCE IS APPROACHING QUIRM STOP WARN YOU DO NOT LET REFUGEES INTO CITY STOP SCREEN ALL MESSENGERS FOR DISEASE STOP STOCKPILE SUPPLIES STOP GOOD LUCK.

Vetinari sighed. "Drumknott," he said. "Summon Commander Vimes. The Watch is going to find itself very much needed."

**

"Pointy teeth?" said Carrot mildly, polishing his breastplate. He and Nobby, along with several of the other guards, were waiting for the first night patrol to come off duty. "What, like vampire teeth?"

"No, just sorta.....pointy," said Nobby. "Said she'd 'ad 'em sharpened. To scare the criminals."

Carrot frowned. "How odd. Did she say anything else?"

"Not really. She's been in the army though. Some regiment I never 'eard of."

Carrot refrained from pointing out the multitudes of regiments this left open for question. "I see," he said, rubbing the breastplate with his sleeve and scowling at it. Someone's pike had left a nasty scratch in the mirror surface. "I'm sure she'll be a credit to the Watch," he said. "She's out with Angua?"

"Yeah," said Nobby, looking pointedly at him. "Alone."

"Well, I'm sure Angua can take care of her," said Carrot comfortably. "Angua's very good with new recruits."

Yeah, thought Nobby, and after a night's patrol with her half of them unaccountably decide the Man's Life ain't the life for them. Must be the teeth, or something. Or maybe the way she doesn't even grin when she kicks you inna wossnames for being forward. He shrugged. "She's a doctor, too," he added. "Medical Officer in the Genua City Watch."

"Well, that'll come in handy," said Carrot, fastening the breastplate. "Igor does what he can, but it might be useful to have someone whose idea of medicine doesn't involve sewing new bits on." He looked a bit guilty. "Not that Igor's not a wonderful surgeon," he added. "Just......fond of experimentation."

"I dunno," said Nobby, "I sort of liked the swimming potatoes. Clever, that. Fish and chips in one bite.****"

Carrot shrugged and put on a kettle for the last cup of tea before patrol. "Certainly does take all sorts to make a world," he said.

**

And now pull away a little, the city swirling below us with the slow inexorable spin of the Disc itself; the myriad lights and darknesses of the streets fade into a general orange glow, and shrink into one point of light; all the cities of the plains around the Circle Sea are revealed now, as we rise above the clouds. It's as if a great big necklace has been broken and scattered in a total mess over a crumpled landscape of black velvet, the cities lying like jewels (and who's to say they're not, from this far up?) among the minuscule mountains and rivers of the toy landscape. And withdraw further; now we can see the jagged peaks of the Ramtops, stabbing at the thin sky, and among them the green ice spire of Cori Celesti, crowned with the semidetached central-heated hall of the Disc's Gods, Dunmanifestin; and all around it hang the lambent curtains of the aurora coriolis, the Hublights, rippling and dancing in the night like the breathing of the world.

Let us move in a little, and peer through the double-glazed windows of the Great Hall. They're playing a game again; they always are, when they're not hurling thunderbolts merrily at each other or their believers, or having complicated celestial wars. This time it looks like "Exclusive Possession." Om has three hotels and both Scoone Avenue and Sator Square, but Fate takes the board with a Get-Out-Of-The-Tanty-Free card and for a moment it looks as though he's going to win. But what is this?

Yes, it's the Lady, she of the green dress and eyes, nameless if you know what's good for you, who always shows up to spoil Fate's fun. She holds up a tiny token. It looks like a miniature alchemist's flask—an alembic, to be specific.

"May I join?" she asks in a low purring voice. Om curses colourfully and folds his arms, but the other gods look rather uneasy and exchange glances. Finally Io and Fate agree to let her in, and she counts out her money.

"I do love games," she says happily. "Don't you?"

* Along with many other things, among which were the desire to look down his long nose at everyone, the ability to turn into a fruitbat, and a rather cavalier attitude toward life and death.

**Or at least that torso.

***Not to be confused with octiron, which is also rare, but which is magical. Miridathrium is just rare. And very strong and light. The Cunning Artificers make watches out of it for the more obnoxious young rich lords.

****The idea never really caught on. Neither did Igor's Gogol Noses, which had rather cute little legs and lots of energy.