Chapter 18 - Nob Hill
Ernest Winkelson looked anxiously around him. Things were getting hot for a fugitive on the streets of Ankh Morpork. He was a wanted man, with a price on his head - and even worse, Lord Vetinari had placed it there. A couple of Ankh Morpork's less intellectually gifted citizens had decided to try to win the reward by hitting him with clubs. If that went on he would soon run out of detonations and poxes. The place to go, then, was up. Out of the stews of the city and into the more airy heights of Nob Hill. Lord Cyril Pownder, the erstwhile leader of the Brotherhood, lived in a huge and rambling mansion, ironically just beside that of Lord Vimes, of the City Watch.
Winkleson ran there, and gave his Lordship, who had supposed his secret identity to actually be a secret, a very nasty surprise. He was resting his bruised and battered buttocks on a velvet cushion, and trying to calculate just how much his abortive plot had cost him, when Winkelson arrived, preceded by an outraged butler who had just had his shirt front singed for demanding a calling card.
Lord Pownder prepared to tell that frightful outsider Winkelson where to go. As he opened his mouth, Winkelson raised a casual finger and destroyed the priceless vases flanking his lordship with two thunderbolts, thus quadrupling the cost of the conspiracy in a moment. Outraged, Lord Pownder shouted for his guards.
Winkelson sighed. "Do you really want me to blow your servants up as well as your vases, your lordship?"
"Yes!" cried Lord Pownder. He caught his butler's eye. "I mean, no. They will riddle your worthless carcass with holes, you ugly damned cockroach." Then he yelped as Winkelson set fire to the cushion beneath him.
"Do not call me a cockroach," said Winkelson between clenched teeth, "or 'Winkelson', come to that. I'm not your kitchen boy. You can call me Mr Winkelson, or sir." He paused, and drew a breath, looking at the frozen expressions of Lord Pownder and the butler. He had the upper hand, now. And he would have a real power base once the zombie and vampire arrived. Good, he should receive the respect he deserved. "Yes," he said thoughtfully, pushing Lord Pownder aside, brushing the burning cushion from his armchair, and taking the seat. "'Sir' is good."
Buffybot sat happily on the convenient flat-topped chest she'd found, right next to a telescope. "Choose a nice high spot out of town, call that dragon - and give it that bloody Orb back. Then tell it to shove off." Commander Vimes' words had been very clear. And he'd had a smart idea regarding the twist the Orb needed to propel its owner between worlds - he'd told her to twist it three quarters of the way on its spring, and then shove a matchstick into the remaining gap to hold it open. The dragon only needed to swing it around a bit until the match dislodged, and she'd be gone. Commander Vimes really was very clever, Buffybot thought, fingering the matchstick in her pocket. It should work perfectly - and she'd found an excellent high spot to say goodbye to the dragon as well. Commander Vimes was bound to be pleased when she told him.
She grinned across at her companion, who grinned right back at her. "Isn't this thrilling?" asked Lady Sybil, stepping out onto the balcony of the little turret, and looking out at the sky, "I do so hope she comes!"
The tower of the Unseen University was undoubtedly the tallest building in Ankh Morpork. Anyone could have told you that. And the second tallest building was the great bell tower by the city gate, which rang to warn the citizens of fire, flood or invasion (not that they could do anything about those things by the time that the watchers on the tower spotted them). But the third tallest building in Ankh Morpork might have come as a bit of surprise to most people. Because it was Lady Sybil Vimes' ancient family home, which, while not that tall in itself, just happened to be on a hill. And to have acquired an extra storey to one of its corner turrets in the last few years. (In which Commander Sir Samuel Vimes had just happened to install a telescope, as well as a small clacks tower which from time to time sent laconic signals to the Watch House far below.) All in all, it made a perfect spot to call a dragon.
"Do you find that chest comfortable, dear?" Lady Sybil was looking down at Buffybot. "I would have thought all the studs and metal bands might be a little uncomfortable. The High King of the Dwarves gave it to us. It's a great honour, apparently, but I couldn't really think what to do with it. Sam said we should put it up here in case we had to withstand a siege." She winked, "Take a look inside."
Buffybot threw open the chest, and her mouth formed a 'ooh' of delight. Battlebread! Chakram bagels, hard dough batards, batch loaf bricks, discus naans, rock scones and, most precious of all, the almost invariably lethal Glazed Bloomer.
Lady Sybil was using the telescope now, to cast around the skies in search of the dragon. Then she leaned out of the turret window and frowned. "Now what on earth is that coming up the street?" Buffybot rushed over eagerly, and looked down.
"A hunchback with a broken umbrella on his head?" said Lady Sybil doubtfully.
"No!" cried Buffybot, "Though that would be cool. It's even better than that. It's Spike!"
Spike lurched down the street, the large black object slung about him by Lady Margolotta hanging round his head in heavy folds, and smelling of musky perfume. From time to time he bounced off a building, but no sooner had he regained his feet than the pull of the ring began again, dragging him relentlessly onwards.
"When I get my hands on that sod," he muttered indistinctly to himself, "tearing him limb from limb is going to be far, far too good for him. Much too quick and much too bloody painless. I'm going to take him to a butcher's shop, and get a cleaver, and in-between blinding headaches I am going to chop him smaller than any meat grinder could ever hope to manage."
There was a polite cough beside him. He looked down to see a pair of feet shod nearly in pointed patent leather shoes, keeping pace with his own jerky steps.
He strained to catch a scent. "And who the hell are you, dancing boy?"
"Excuse me, sir." The voice was thin, and expressionless. "My name is Wilkins. I've sent by my mistress, Lady Sybil Vimes, to try and assist you."
Spike snarled. "Know a bastard called Winkelson, looks like he's wearing his coat with the coat hanger still in it? Find him and club him with an axe, that'd be very helpful."
Wilkins gave a little disapproving cough. "I'm afraid I don't know the gentleman, sir." He kept pace for a moment. "Would I be right in thinking that sir is a vampire, and is wearing a lady's riding habit on his head to try and avoid the sun's rays? And obeying some sort of magical summons?"
"Oh no," said Spike bitterly, "I'm doing this for fun. Walking the streets of Ankh bloody Morpork with a woman's skirt on my head is a great lark."
Wilkins coughed again. "I am sure there are many young gentleman at the University who would agree with you, sir. However, if you did perhaps wish to change into something more comfortable, I think it can be arranged." Spike bounced off the wall beside the street. "Since your path appears to be taking you into our vegetable garden," said Wilkins smoothly. "There is a door just a little further along, sir. Please allow me to open it for you. Meanwhile, Lance Constable Bott has called for the attention of the Watch. Sir Samuel should be here shortly."
Having despatched Lance Constable Bott on her mission, Vimes had conducted a proper Watch meeting. Shifts were disrupted, and officers tired and disoriented, after days of working twelve hours on and twelve hours off. And they still hadn't caught the bloody dragon. So, he and Captain Carrot and the sergeants had needed to do some major work on the rota. He had just been winding up, when the alarm was called below. That accursed zombie troll was loose again - and judging from the noise he'd caused some damage to City property.
He rushed out on to the landing, scattering rota sheets behind him, to direct the recapture, when a dwarf handed him a clacks message. He stopped, and the Watch officers crowded around him to hear what it said.
His lips moved as he made out the message. "What the hell is Bott doing at my house?" he hissed, "And why is that vampire there ... oh, never mind. There's bound to be some mind bogglingly annoying explanation." And, pausing only to point Detritus and Littlebottom after the rapidly disappearing figures of Buffy and Porphyry, he and the rest of his troop took a sharp right and began to thread their way through the streets towards the ancestral home of the Ramkins.
Porphyry was also travelling in the direction of Nob Hill, of course, but he had taken a more direct line, walking stiff legged, arms straight out in front of him, through the walls of the various buildings in-between. As Vimes and his companions ran first left and then right through the gridwork of streets and alleys he just kept ploughing onwards, shedding lumps of zombie flesh among the rubble as he went, and making a terrible mess of Igor's stitches.
Buffy headed stumbled along after him. So far he had bulldozed through twelve walls, several market stalls, a row of pigpens and a puppet show, scattering pumpkins, pigs, puppets, and finally screaming children, in every direction. Buffy dodged, jumped and swerved to avoid the chaos. Pausing only to disentangle her legs from the strings of one particularly tenacious puppet, she pounded grimly along the pavement in Porphyry's wake, her axe clutched in one hand, and Igor's pot of glue in the other. If Porphyry's head fell off again, she was just going to stick the damn thing back on and keep him moving until he'd summoned the void.
She looked back. Two figures were steaming after her, one of them huge, with enormous legs pumping, head obscuring the sun; the other short, square and bearded, and waving an axe. She would have been more alarmed if she hadn't met them already. Sergeants Detritus and Littlebottom were on her trail, and gaining fast.
End chapter
thus showing that Captain Carrot's earlier suggestion hadn't been so foolish, after all.
only without the twelve hours off. This arrangement simply meant that they were only paid for twelve hours, not twenty four. The news that this was something that the Union was planning to look into was going to give Vimes a nasty surprise in the near future.