Now that you've seen them all angsty and sad, it's time to find out how everyone finds out-and a little more about our mysterious ambassador…
Locks and Doors, Chapter 2: Knives, Beers and Cigarettes
There was no announcement put in the Times, nor gaudy ribbons hung around Moss Street. One would be hard pressed to find anything vaguely celebratory at all, despite the heartwarming news. They knew better, this time around; they were not overly suspicious folk, but they didn't wish to jinx it, all the same. Even so, news like that blessed upon the Myrrna Embassy leaked and flowed to those who might find such news interesting.
The Patrician had noted the difference in demeanor at a conference of imports; he had mentioned it in veiled passing to Commander Vimes in their next weekly meeting. He and Captain Carrot said nothing, as men were prone to do, but a little smile darted between them as they walked back to the Yard. Sybil and Angua had both let out a symphony of coos and awes in delight that caused every man within a hundred feet look for an exit without really knowing why. Sam Vimes had been halfway down the stairs before he caught himself doing so. Carrot still twitched slightly when Angua looked into the windows of a baby store. Even Detritus had begun to talk about pebbles. It was only after one of Igor's russet potatoes had attempted to maul Sergeant Stronginthearm did various members of the Watch return to their normal states of mind; carnivorous starches generally had that effect on people.
Save for a few more of these outbursts, life kept on at a steady pace in Ankh-Morpork. It was a week later a Commander, Captain and Sergeant strolled- well, more accurately, staggered, into the Bucket. It had been a particularly nasty day involving a set of unlicensed thefts that had left a bad taste in Angua's mouth, and the Alchemist's Guild blowing its top (and much of the floors below) again. All of them could use some sort of a drink, and Vimes did not want to go home just yet to the attentions of a four month old child. One of them pushed the door open; all were too tired to really notice who. He had gotten halfway over the threshold before he spun around on his heel, dragging his two officers with him.
"What the hell is he doing here?" Sam Vimes had always gotten far with suspicion. Suspicion kept him alive in a city known for its 'Suicides'.
A large honest brow furled. "Who, sir? It's just the rest of our fellow officers-"
"And an ambassador!"
Carrot and Angua peered through the slightly opened door. Sure enough, a man they had met once before sat huddled in one of the far booths, dimly illuminated by an overhanging lantern that had seen better days. He scowled at several pieces of paper in front of him, alternating between sipping his beer, tapping a cigarette and scribbling something down. Anyone else, looking at him briefly, might have taken him for a Palace clerk.
But Palace clerks generally were not almost as tall as the Captain, nor did they look like they had spent most of their life Outside; if not driving the plow, then at least hitched to it. It was like someone had taken a good tavern brawler, given him a shave and played dress up with him. The clothes fitted on a technical level, but they seemed to belong to a different man. Palace clerks didn't generally frequent the Bucket anyway. They were lucky to frequent anywhere besides the Palace.
Angua frowned, but turned back to her Commander and shrugged. Carrot, however, simply walked through the door towards the booth. The other two were left to exchange horrified looks before scrabbling after him. Too late to sneak out now; when Carrot entered, everyone noticed.
The ambassador, however, only seemed to notice Carrot when a two meter tall shadow hovered at his shoulder. Carefully, he put out the cigarette in the ashtray next to him and looked up nonchalantly. "Hello, Captain, Commander," he nodded to Vimes on the other side of Carrot, "Sergeant. Care to sit down?" He motioned to the rest of the empty booth while sweeping up the paper into a loose stack.
It took a good minute for Vimes' brain to catch up. "Er…"
"Oh, for some God's sake, there's plenty of room, and all the other tables are taken. Anyways, I've never gotten to properly thank you all for what you did for Sara." He motioned to the barkeep, who soon arrived with three beers and a lemonade. "Unfortunately, the Patrician won't let me give you monetary thanks, as it would put him in a bit of a tight spot. Seems he's having a hard enough time with approving you budget- something about a dartboard, if I recall- and the outrage of a foreign dignitary donating to it would put the city leaders in a tiff about loyalties. No idea what he was talking about- if I am to take the word of Lord Downey, Myrrnatians are the furthest removed from the term dignified." There was a bit of lopsided grin there, as if he were reminded of something both pleasant and illegal. "But I think they can overlook a round, at least."
They pushed into the booth, and Vimes frowned. There was a bit of that air that annoyed him about all nobility, but it felt more for his benefit. And hadn't he heard something about Lord Downey getting a black eye for some comment? The official story was a fall, but…. "What are you doing here, anyway? The Bucket's not generally known for attracting the genteel crowds, and, besides…" A small, etiquette-minded voice that he generally ignored kicked him between the eyes, "Er, Congratulations."
James blinked slowly several times, completely lost. Vimes grasped at straws. "Er, you know, your wife's expecting…?" Carrot and Angua nodded happily, caught up with their Commander's line of thinking.
Blue eyes went from the look of one lost to one with a serious tic. "Does EVERYONE know?" There was a grating edge to his voice, that one gets from speaking around clenched teeth. The three looked at him, confused, and a bit worried- had they said the wrong thing?
The ambassador sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. "We've known for a week! We haven't told anyone yet!"
Ah, thought Vimes; I know that feeling far too well. "Vetinari generally knows everything, whether you want him to or not." He shrugged and sipped his lemonade. "Welcome to Ankh-Morpork."
"Damn. Thank you for your well wishes. Anyways, I needed a beer and a quiet place to think." He motioned to a stack of papers. "Sara kicked me out of the house-er, embassy- again."
It was Vimes and Angua's turn to stare incredulously. Carrot just looked worried, and a bit like a giant kicked puppy.
James looked at their faces, and waved a hand dismissively. "No, nothing like that! Er, Captain, could you stop looking at me like that? I think that's the most disturbing face I've seen. Thank you. No, she just needs some time to herself. So she picked a random thing to have an argument over, then shoves me out the door. I get a chance to get all my nasty habits out of my system, and she gets some quiet time. Works brilliantly to keep us sane, if you ask me."
Vimes nodded. Sybil would probably do the same thing if he stuck around most of the day. Carrot and Angua had a nice excuse every month. People just weren't meant to spend every waking hour with each other. Hells, Sargeant Colon and Mrs. Colon had worked it out perfectly, working different shifts.
He was struck then on the fact he was having a conversation he would normally have with Colon or another member of the Watch with an ambassador. Something was definitely off kilter, here.
"What was the argument about, if you don't mind me asking?" Angua peered over the rim of her glass.
Whatever James's answer was, it was lost in sound of the Bucket's door smashing against the wall. Two large men with crossbows surveyed the crowd, before the burlier of the two addressed their audience. "Nobody move! This is a robbery!"
Everyone in the Bucket sighed. Angua groaned, and went to unbuckle her breastplate. The other man swiveled to face her. "HE SAID DON'T-"
Vimes wasn't exactly sure what happened next. One moment, the two unlicensed thieves were shouting at Angua, the next, they're grabbing for the foot long, stiletto, assassin knives sprouting from their left shoulders, the strings of their crossbows sliced neatly in half. Angua was still sitting in the booth, mouth open and hand at her breastplate clasp. He couldn't really see much else, because the ambassador's extended arm was in Carrot's grasp.
Vimes looked from James's hand to the two thieves now collapsed on the floor. He didn't even see him move. Carrot had, he must have, but he'd only been able to grab him after he'd thrown two. Visions of Cruces' death flashed through his head- Carrot was fast for a big man, and he'd only gotten the man's arm after he'd thrown both. He turned to gape at the man sitting next to him.
James frowned at Carrot, his gaze cold. "Captain, please let go of my arm."
Carrot looked to Vimes, who nodded warily, before releasing the wrist.
"Thank you." The ambassador rubbed his wrist momentarily before moving past Vimes and standing up. He walked over to the feet of the two men, looking at them disdainfully. "Anyone going on duty soon?"
A few hands rose hesitantly at the bar. "Right. I'll leave them for you then." He stooped down, and grabbed the handles of each blade. With a swift jerk, and a strangled scream from the thieves, James was wiping the bloody tips on one man's shirt. With a single movement that spoke of many years of practice, he placed them back under his sleeves.
He turned, as if to return to his seat, but with one swift movement grabbed both man by their collars, one in each hand. He pulled them close to his face. "You're going to go with the nice Watchmen, right? And you're going to tell them everything."
Vimes couldn't see James's face; his back was to the booth. But judging from the faces of the two thieves, he wasn't sure he wanted to. The voice was a cold bitterness that belonged to those of quiet bloodthirsty rage. Just the snarl alone told of a pile of dead bodies just waiting to be discovered.
With a final jerk, the two men's head smashed together, before they were thrown outside and the door closed. James looked at his hands unpleasantly before wiping them on a handkerchief. He slid back into the booth, and picked up his beer as if nothing happened. After a moment, he looked over the rim at his three table companions' stares.
"What?"