There was a feeling of something in the air as Lewton and Gaspode walked away from the Palace. What was it called... Lack of Rain? Something in Lewton - Not Needing a Drink? Hope, that was the first word he was looking for. Happiness was the second. Gods. 'And the question is, name two words that only ever seem to happen to other people.' Well, now they were happening to him. Repeat, Gods. He'd saved the world, hadn't he? Maybe he deserved it. Maybe he should go home. Was that the sun rising? Had it been his imagination or his lack of sleep that made the last however long it had been since Carlotta gave him the Mundy case seem like one never-ending rainy night?
He turned a corner in his journey towards his office in Morpork, and someone was standing in front of him, red cape flapping in the breeze.
"Vimes," said Lewton, without much surprise. He'd used up all his meagre supply of surprise already last night. "I suppose I'm still not cleared of the murders that it is perfectly well documented were committed by the Cult of Anu-Anu? I suppose you want to arrest me, just for the hell of it?"
"No, no." said Vimes, "I just wanted to ask you a few questions. Like, is there any particular reason I spent the last night on all fours with something of an excess of body hair, and why Angua tells me there was another werewolf in the Watch House the night you visited me?"
"If it's not one thing with you, it's another. Where do I start?"
A little less than eight years ago...
"You shjknow what?"
"What, Sam?"
"Thatsh Conshta.. consha.. conshabbler... Samuel to you. I shjould have you demoted for being pished on duty, Lewton."
"Of course. Do you define 'pished' as being, for example, too drunk to pronnounce your own rank title, maybe?"
"Shut up. Thatsh.. thatsh inshubordination, that is." Vimes turned back to his latest drink. It was of the kind more suitablefor paint-stripping. Fixing his eyes unfocusedly on a small smudge on the wall that appeared to have split into three, he had a good go at remembering exactly what it was he was trying to forget.
"Of course I'm not under the affluence of inkahol, Ossifer," Lewton murmured to himself. He couldn't seem to get properly pissed tonight. Not enough to mess his thoughts up anyway. Just enough to prevent them from straying from the depressing subject matter he was trying to forget. You did, after all, have to remember what you were trying to forget. All else was maddness.
It certainly seemed that way tonight. He was dimly aware of the young man at the piano,playing some smoky blues that hit him where it hurt and would have brought tears to his mind if not his eyes even if he hadn't previously been in such a melancholy state of mind. He knew the pianist -Samael was liable to inherit the posh place in Ankh his father owned, but all he was really interested in was the music -had even come to this disreputable Morporkian toilet of a pubsimply because hethought someone here would listen. However, even he was having trouble concerntrating, since a gang of student Assassins had decided to see if it would be a ripping jape to give the beaks the slip and toddle off to a salty dive in Morpork full of the people their parents warned them to stay away from. Their loud voices, flashy clothes and unintelligable lingo, as well as putting off many of the regulars, were in serious danger of putting off his playing.
One of the trainee Assassins was sat on the other side of Vimes, sipping a glass of water that the bartender had begrudgingly dredged up from somewhere under the bar, and watching the others out of the corners of his eyes.
It was some time before either Vimes or Lewton spoke again. Eventually Lewton said, "I think we should get out of here now."
Vimes raised his eyes carefully. "Why?"
"Two things: one, the Assassins look about ready to swing on the light fittings any moment now, and two: we've run out of money."
Vimes nodded, and made a reasonable attempt of standing up. He was alright until the floor unaccountably decided to move sideways, and end up under his right side. Floor wasn't supposed to do that.
It was only with Lewton's support that he managed to arrive back at his lodgings. It was a tiny, sparse room thathad had so many people living in it, one a at a time, that it had lost all personality and could only ever be looked upon a somewhere to stay and not somewhere to live.
If you'd asked them about it later, they wouldn't have known what to say. In fact, if you asked them later, they'd probably have been too drunk to have given you an intelligable answer even if they did. If they'd lived today, in our world, they might have referred to it as 'a rebound thing'.
Either way, you had to agree that it was one way of forgetting.
