AN: Okay, to start with, I have permission to use these chapters. To continue, I've changed them a bit. To conclude, please enjoy.
Chapter One: Of Octiron and Sapient Pearwood
The first shot went wrong; the catch slipped off before the assassin could aim properly. The bolt buried itself deep in the flowerbed. The second shot was nearer the mark, hitting the wall of the huge house before clattering to the ground. The third shot was textbook: it flew straight, neatly punching through the glass. And it would also have punched through the skull of His Grace the Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch, had he not at that very moment bent to rinse his razor. The arrow skimmed his neck en route to the wall, where it hit so hard that - though it smashed a tile - the pieces didn't even fall off. The arrow stood at the centre of a web of tiny cracks.
But by then, the assassin was gone.
Vimes thought he felt his heart stop when the arrow slammed into the wall. He twisted his head rapidly, but the arrow seemed to have come from nowhere. Damn. What had he expected, for the attacker to hang around? But he was off the register, and had been for over a year now. This wasn't a Guild job. This was far, far worse.
An hour later, most of the vast bathroom was cordoned off. "I've never seen anything like it, sir," said Cheery Littlebottom in an awed voice. "That arrow is worth about as much as a small country."
Vimes frowned. "What size of a country are we talking about here?"
"Lancre, maybe?" she hazarded,cursing Ankh-Morpork awkwardness."Possibly Ee?"
"And how's that, exactly?"
"The tip is octiron, sir."
Vimes looked at it. "There's not that much of it."
"No, sir. But the shaft is sapient pearwood."
He goggled at her. "How can you tell?"
Cheery gave him a worried look. "Well, sir," she moved as though to touch the arrow, "it's the way it wriggles when I go to pull it out."
Vimes hastily shut his mouth.
"Someone tried to kill me – with that?"
"So it seems, sir."
"But… why?"
"You said you were dealing with that bit, sir."
"No, I mean why would anyone make an arrow like that?"
Cheery shrugged again. "It's intrinsically magical. I've heard of wizards making staffs out of sapient pearwood. I don't know how it would help, though. You can't put any spells on it. Just through it."
He nodded. "Right." Magic meant that it was not his problem. Well, it was his problem, but it made it all right for him to be a bit hazy on it. For now. "Get some wizards up here to take a look at that thing. Young ones, the older ones never seem to know what they're talking about. Unless food is involved," he added.