FORESHADOWING
REVIEWS
Watchman, I swear you're stalking me. Five minutes after uploading, you reviewed. I know it was kind of short and I apologise for that… Vimes will return at the end of the fic and he'll not be any too pleased, so watch for him.
Jess: Do you ever think of anything else? (Not that I'm one to talk… cough Moving on…) I know it's unlikely but I want Vetinari ignorant about this bit. And he does sort of like the Watch so you never know
BS MIKE: Ta very much
Ozodrac: That would depend on what exactly you think it is. Hehe.
Blank Ned: Sssh. You create scary images of a stalker-Vetinari going around peering in windows. My brain can't take it.
Egleriel: Y'know, I'm not sure what I'll do to him at the end. I know roughly how the story pans out but I don't know what to do with Ronnie yet. Don't worry, he'll pay.
Artemis-chan of Redwing: Always nice to see a new fan. Glad you like it.
I must apologise and grovel shamelessly about the lateness of this chapter. I was horribly stuck in a hole and couldn't think of any way out of it. But, thanks to Ozodrac, I see a way out of the hole. So, here it is.
CHAPTER THREE
The watchmen were gathering slowly, sneaking sidelong glances at Rust and muttering amongst themselves. Standing either side of Rust, both werewolves were trying very hard to pretend they couldn't hear what was being said; the Watch as a whole didn't like Rust very much following the fiasco with Klatch a couple of years ago, and the story of Vimes' trip back in time on the Glorious Twenty-Fifth of May had leaked out one way or another – his lordship hadn't exactly covered himself in glory on either occasion.
Carrot was trying to ignore the muttering because he clearly felt he should be trying to show respect; Angua was trying to ignore it in case she started laughing at some particularly imaginative insult. Some of them, particularly the dwarfish, was both obscene and exotic; dwarfish was almost as good a cursing language as Uberwaldean. Rust, blissfully ignorant as usual, stared at the growing ranks in disapproval. "I didn't think the rot had gone so far," he muttered.
The two exchanged glances, wondering what the hell he was on about this time. They didn't have much time to wonder about it, though, since Rust had stepped forward to the edge of the dais and clapped his hands loudly. "Listen up, you men!"
Angua muttered out of the corner of her mouth, "I could push him off…"
Carrot shook his head fractionally. She sighed. "It wouldn't hurt him very much, it's only a couple of feet high…" He just looked at her. She shook her head. "Spoilsport." Reluctantly they returned their attention to Rust, who had launched into a very long and very boring speech that sounded like it had been written by someone with access to lots of stirring revolutionary speeches and no common sense whatsoever. Apparently Rust really did believe that mere words could impress Watchmen who were not only extremely cynical (1) but had met him before.
(1)The most cynical animal on the Disc is the tortoise. Tortoises always expect the worst, mostly because it always happens to them. Policemen, however, are amongst the most cynical human beings (and dwarfs, and trolls, and…)
About ten minutes later, Rust was still being immensely fond of the sound of his own voice, and even Carrot was half-asleep on his feet, when suddenly there was an extremely loud and dramatic explosion. This wouldn't even have been worth a passing glance in Ankh-Morpork on a normal day, but it had come from the opposite direction to the Alchemist's Guild, usual source of anything which created sparks, clouds of smoke, noxious and odd-smelling gas clouds and other chemical gems known and dreaded by anyone within burning distance.
This was sufficiently interesting in itself to merit investigation, and it had the added advantage of being a very long way away from Rust; there was very nearly a pileup at the door in their eagerness to go and see what it was before Carrot imposed some sort of order and sent one shift to the scene and the others to the Watch Houses to wait for reports.
The section that were sent in the direction of a nicely ominous cloud of black smoke found themselves standing in stunned silence a few minutes later, staring at the smoking ruins of what had apparently once been a street complete with buildings. Carrot, longest serving Watchman present (2) was reminded of the incident with the dragon some years back when it had crashed and ploughed up a section of street; this looked eerily similar.
(2)Fred Colon and Nobby Nobbs had been there too, but on this occasion had decided they could serve better by staying behind nice strong walls. Just as well, really.
They all stood in silence for a few minutes, staring blankly at the wreckage, before the silence was broken somewhat eloquently by one of the newer lance-constables. "What the bloody hell happened?"
What the bloody hell happened, indeed. To answer that question we need to go back a day or so, and move across the city to what was at the time a rather pleasant airy attic room. At the moment, it's more three quarters of a pleasant attic room and a rather large hole.
The cause of the hole should be introduced at this point. He is currently measuring the exact radius of the burnt patch on the only whole wall remaining, in between worried glances at the hole in question, and occasionally he glances down at a scrap of paper in one hand and mutters things like, "I wonder what went wrong?" (3)
(3)The last words of a surprisingly large number of people.
It is of course none other than Leonard of Quirm. This time he's actually managed to keep his mind on one thing long enough to finish it. And, although a lot of people on the street might beg to differ, it wasn't any sort of war machine. He really has made a flying machine.
It just can't fly all that well.