Chapter 4- Discretions.

71 Hour-Ahmed was on the roof of the Watch House, above the window through which, two weeks before, he had entered Vimes' office and his life again. He was smoking one of Vimes' cigars and felt, at this point in time, almost completely happy.

A full moon winked through the clouds but Ahmed wasn't watching the skies. His eyes were fixed on a dingy street corner far below, with the kind of ferocious intensity born of thousands of hours watching the desert dunes for the tiny speck of blackness that wavered between shadow and foe. His eyes gleamed.

Time passed, in the darkness. Ahmed was flat against the slates, the coil of smoke that rose and imperceptibly joined that of the chimney the only indication of his presence. He could put you in mind of a lizard, if they were black-swathed and scarred and very, very clever. A figure shuffled into view on the black street corner. Ahmed saw its head turn very deliberately, looking around it for something or someone. Moonlight glinted on metal as sword was pulled with a silken noise that carried to the rooftop, and the figure made a sudden stab into a patch of shadow that looked no different from any other. There was a gasp and then a thump as another figure slumped forwards onto the cobbles. The sword was sheathed again and Ahmed grinned to himself in the darkness, showing a flash of gold teeth. Ah…a professional. Ahmed always liked a challenge. With an easy grace he jumped into a crouch, exhaled his last smoke-ring and flicked his cigar away. He looped a thin cord, blackened with soot, around a chimneystack. He adjusted the harness around his waist and grasped the cord tight with both hands. Then 71 Hour-Ahmed leapt like a cat and away into the night.

Lord Vetinari also watched the sleeping city, from the high windows of the palace. At night, with the little lights twinkling and the criminals and miscreants (for the most part) safely tucked up in bed, the Patrician found he could almost pretend Ankh-Morpork was as innocent as it looked. He sighed. Enough of that. Turning from the scene he went to his desk and lit the lamp. There were just two sheets of paper on his desk. Through the flickering of the candlelight, the heading of the largest page could just be made out as showing the official seal of the Klatchian kingdom. Curly Klatchian script scrawled across the paper, but the other sheet was blank. Lord Vetinari carefully picked up his pen and dipped it into the pot of ink by his side.

There were two things, Ahmed reflected as he dropped from the roof, which spoilt his happiness in Ankh-Morpork. The first was that Vimes had no idea of the truth of why he was here. Ahmed had never lied to the man. His fondness of him was no pretence, it was just that…well, spending time with Vimes was not the only reason he was here. The reasons for his presence had begun as a glimmer in the desert in Klatch, and spread and grown and people had fanned it into a spark and swept it across the ocean and the wind had made it a flame. And now, the plot was burning merrily on both sides of the sea and it was Ahmed's job to put it out. The second thing, of course, was Vetinari. Ahmed was finding it hard, very hard, to ignore the man's hatred for him. Having that hanging over him was making his job a lot more difficult. And then, of course, there were the personal reasons. Ahmed had seen the way Lord Vetinari looked at Vimes. He'd made a point of coming to every meeting he and the commander had, and standing just behind Vimes, whistling and absentmindedly sharpening his huge curved sword. It amused Vimes but it made Vetinari livid, and Ahmed took pleasure in watching the Patrician's eyes, the only part of him to show any emotion, dart about as they searched for some way that he could retaliate without knocking bricks out of the delicate walls of diplomacy. Ahmed had learned to watch eyes in the volatile courts of Klatch, where the merest flicker could be a signal for some horde of warring tribesmen to bear down upon you. But he also knew that Klatch could crush Ankh-Morpork, and very nearly had, not so long ago. Being Khufurah's right-hand man meant that Vetinari was rendered as harmless as a toothless lion.

The scratching of the pen ceased, in Vetinari's shadowy office. He regarded what he had written and carefully blew it dry, then folded both sheets of paper neatly and precisely and slipped them into a crisp white envelope. An intent observer might have had time to notice the words 'Regarding the true nature of the man known as '71-Hour Ahmed' before the paper was whisked out of sight. The name he wrote on the front of the envelope, in careful black italic script, was 'Commander Samuel Vimes.'

Ahmed landed on the cobbles without a sound. He could sense the other man's presence, by the way his hands tingled and the hair on the back of his neck lifted. Ahmed had spent a long time refining his senses. He fancied, sometimes, that he could smell steel and hear murderous intent, and taste fear. Somewhere close, a sword was drawn. Ahmed adjusted his grip on his own sword, and crept forwards one step at a time. He knew the man waiting for him was going to kill him, if he could. He was an assassin, one of many sent to Ahmed over the last two weeks. The bastards never seemed to learn. For all that they were so proud of their Assassins' Guild, and knew every detail of their heritage, they never seemed to remember that Ahmed had been trained there too…

'Ahmed!' The voice invaded the silence and pounded on Ahmed's alert ears like stones on a drum. He cursed, ducked and rolled backwards, hearing the telltale swish of a blade cutting the air just above his head. He lashed out and caught a handful of cloth in one hand and hauled himself towards his unseen assailant, stabbing with his knife, and shouted;

'Vimes! Get out of here!' There were a busy few seconds where many more people than could have possibly been there hit Ahmed and bore him to the ground. He struggled and felt the material he was holding rip.

And then there was light. Ahmed blinked furiously, swearing at Vimes through the green and purple afterimages. But then he saw him standing next to Angua calmly pointing a crossbow at a young man with his lower face covered by a black cloth. He was completely immobile, his legs dangling some way from the ground, but this was mainly because Sergeant Detritus was standing just behind him and had picked him up in two massive fists. He grinned at Ahmed, showing diamond teeth. The Assassin's eyes were fixed unblinkingly on Vimes. Ahmed looked at the piece of ripped black cloak in his hands.

'Vimes! What the hell are you doing here?!' Vimes puffed at his cigar.

'Trolls have excellent night vision, you know. It's a good thing Detritus saw you lurking in the shadows.'

'A good thing! You could have gotten me killed!'

Vimes suddenly spat out his cigar, handed the crossbow to Angua, and strode towards Ahmed. He thrust his face close to the other man, his eyes slitted with rage.

'I could have gotten youkilled? You were doing a bloody good job of that yourself!' he snarled, his face inches from Ahmed's. 'I don't suppose you saw the other assassin behind you? If Angua hadn't moved so fast I don't know what might have happened…' Vimes trailed off.

Somewhere in the midst of the cold horror creeping through Ahmed's mind and body, he found time to be gratified at the anguish Vimes was suffering at the thought of him in danger- his hands were shaking with anger. He gripped Ahmed's cheeks in his hands and leaned their foreheads together.

'You've not been telling me the truth, I fancy,' he whispered, so quietly that the others couldn't hear. 'We shall have a talk, Ahmed, but not now.' He released him and Ahmed wanted to grasp his hands again, to beg for him to touch him, but Vimes was angrier than he'd ever seen him and he remained silent, watching the Watchmen as they struggled not to meet his gaze.

'I thought he killed the other…I saw him do it…' said Ahmed, looking at the two young Assassins as Detritus carried them to the cells.

'It was a trick' said Vimes shortly, locking the doors behind them. 'They knew you were watching. They knew a lot more than you thought.' He would not say another word until they had mounted the stairs and shut the door of Vimes' office behind them. Vimes locked it, turned and then leant heavily on the frame, staring into Ahmed's eyes. Suddenly he strode across the space between them and kissed him hard on the mouth, with a passion that Ahmed had never seen before. They did not speak for a few minutes, then Vimes broke away and went to sit behind his desk. Ahmed sank down on another chair, his mind frantically working on the plausible excuses, counter stories, lies and edited versions of the truth that he might convince Vimes to accept. But then he caught Vimes cool gaze and knew that only the truth would be accepted now.

'I'm not stupid, Ahmed-' the Commander began, but the other man interrupted him.

'Sam. I'm sorry. You were right, I haven't been honest, but…there are complications. Parts of my life I would rather you knew nothing of. And I'm a policeman, for gods' sake! We don't trust anyone, do we? I always play my cards close to my chest, as do you.' Vimes leant back in his chair, idly playing with his letter opener. The glint of the metal was reflected in his eyes.

'You and Vetinari aren't the only ones with spies, you know. I've got my people on the streets. I knew there was a plot to kill Vetinari months ago, and I knew that Khufurah would be sending someone. I didn't realise he would send his best.' Ahmed looked him squarely in the eye as Vimes continued. 'Can you imagine my surprise when I realised he'd sent you? Do you know what I've been doing all week? Watching every move you make, trying to figure out whose side you're on. Are you here to protect Vetinari, or to help kill him? Were you sent because Khufurah knew how I felt for you, to use me as a tool to get closer to the Patrician, or to make your protecting him less obvious? Did you really feel anything for me at all?' Vimes shook his head ruefully. 'Those questions have been torturing my brain since you arrived. We policemen really do trust no-one, even those we love. But here's the mistake I made, see.' He leaned forward conspiratorially.

'I started to trust you. Because I wanted to believe that you were here for me and no-one else. So what you insisted on coming to my meetings with Vetinari? You're a diplomat. So what there were times when you sloped off and even my best undercover guys couldn't follow you- you're good at getting swallowed by places. And I swallowed everything you said until tonight, when I saw you climb on that roof and sit and wait for three hours in the dark with a big knife on your back. That's not the action of an innocent man. And sure enough, you jumped down to attack none other than a member of the Patrician's personal guard. So I guess you're not here to help me do my job. You're here to test my loyalties. Well done, Ahmed! I haven't done anything to stop you. I should have taken you down right away, knowing what I knew, bit I didn't, because I can't bring myself to do anything that might hurt you. And if you turn out to be embroiled in this plot, you know you'll be lynched.'

Ahmed had turned away at the end of Vimes' long speech, and his face was in shadow. Vimes began to feel queasy, as if he had just thrown up. In a way, he thought crudely, I just have. I've vomited my feelings out into the open to a man I hardly know. And feelings can do a lot more damage than a regurgitated dinner.

Ahmed sighed.

'You know, Vimes, I'm disappointed in you.' Vimes was flabbergasted at the extent of his effrontery. 'You seemed to have done your homework, and for a moment there I thought it was all up. But no. You've picked up a conclusion and gone running away with it like some kind of overexcited puppy.' He was grinning now, leaving Vimes completely baffled. 'But you're such an endearing puppy. And you did well, really. Worked out quite a few things…my dear man, whoever said the plot was to kill Vetinari? I assure you that the plot I am here to contravene is entirely based on killing you.' He leant back and lit a cigar, grinning all over his scarred, mischievous face.

The Patrician looked at his handiwork. The envelope lay in the little brass tray with the dragons on it, from which Drumknott took the letters three times a day and ensured they got to their intended recipients. All he had to do was leave it there, and that incriminating document, containing everything that Vetinari's sources had been able to dig up on Ahmed, would be on it's way to Vimes in a matter of hours. He didn't have to do anything, really…

Vetinari picked up the letter and drew the candle closer. With barely a flicker of hesitation he lit the corner of the envelope and watched it burn for a while, the light papery ashes curling from the glowing orange flames, licking the darkness with destructive tongues. He was experiencing the totally novel feeling of being ashamed of himself. For the millionth time that day, he cursed Vimes. Forging paperwork? Telling tales? Vetinari couldn't even pretend that he was only descending to Vime's level, because the man's twisted, crabbed and above all misplaced honour kept him high above such dirty dealings as those. Vetinari had only himself to blame for the depths he now stooped to. But no more. Havelock Vetinari could scarcely believe what he had nearly done. Everything he had written was true, but to send it anonymously to Vimes had such an underhand, cowardly, jealous tinge to it. If Vimes were to learn the truth, Vetinari would tell him to his face. Yes. The truth, the truth about everything.