CRIME SCENE INVESTIGATIONS • A BLACK LIMO • SPIDERS • PUNCTUATION MISTAKES • DISGUSTING MATTERS • JUST REALLY REALLY GROSS
They sent the wizard Vimes had spoken to in the apartment at the end of the hall to fetch the Watch. In the meanwhile, they kept the apartment shut up.
Death had not yet reappeared.
"Did you two get anything out of yours?" Vimes asked, still feeling disoriented over the sudden turn things had taken.
Carrot and Angua both shook their heads.
"He was saying a lot of nonsense," Carrot said, looking with pity at the bodies on the floor. He had found a blanket in one of the rooms to cover them up. "Something about becoming the greatest wizard of all time. He said he was going to learn how to live forever."
Vimes felt his face wrinkle in confusion. "He could have talked to the vampires, or the zombies—"
Angua shook her head. "Suggested that. He said they were inferior forms of living, the prejudiced git. I think among the two of them he was definitely the leader."
"Mine said they were acting under someone else's orders," said Vimes.
"Oh, that's not good," said Angua.
"We need to see their life-timers," said Carrot.
They looked through their pockets, which revealed nothing, nor did a more detailed search of the dwelling when the rest of the Watch showed up and roped the place off. Soon enough, patrolmen and officers were bustling around the small space.
Vimes stopped Cheery as she moved in with the iconograph to document the scene. "Captain, most of the city has their life— their hourglasses by now?"
"Yessir," Cheery said. "According to the latest reports, about 90%."
Vimes looked glumly at the former Mulch and Chelle. "So if you had to guess about these two—"
"Statistically, I should think at least one would have one," Cheery said.
"I thought you would say that," Vimes said. "Carry on."
She didn't ask questions, which was a good quality in a Watchman. Vimes returned to Angua and Carrot, both who looked a little wan for the experience.
"I've been trying to call Death, sir," Carrot said, quietly showing his own hourglass and coin. "Nothing yet."
"I think we may be on our own, especially if whoever hired these two figured out how to harness the life-timers," Vimes said, grimly. He waved to Cheery to let her know she was in charge of the scene— she barely looked up to acknowledge— and led them back onto the stairs into a space with less ears.
"You think they gave their life-timers to their employer?" Carrot asked as they made their way across the octagonal lawn. It was what they were all thinking. "Maybe they thought he would use them to give them longer life. Mulch sure seemed certain."
"I don't think they knew what they were doing, poor kids," said Angua. "And it got them killed."
Vimes growled. "He killed our only leads, whoever he is. And I don't think we can count on having got Death in our corner any longer."
His Watchmen looked grim. The life-timer in his pocket felt very suddenly heavy. They were back to square one of the Thud board, and probably they were on the Trolls' side.
That was when Angua sniffed the air. She looked down the street just as a sleek black carriage bumped to a stop in front of them. If it hadn't been a bad look for a Watchman to run, Vimes would have booked it the other direction.
The door opened, and Drumknott, Vetinari's secretary, smiled benignly at them. "The Patrician requests you at the palace."
"All of us, or just me?" Vimes asked, resigned.
Drumknott smiled blandly. All of Drumknott was bland, if you forgot that he worked for Vetinari and thus was very, very dangerous. "Your Watchmen are welcome to come as well."
"Er, sir," said Carrot, leaning in closer to Vimes. "I thought I might go see Dibbler again—"
Vimes tried not to let himself visibly blanch at the thought. So many unattended life-timers… yes, it was certainly better if Carrot rounded them up before someone else could. He nodded brusquely. "Of course, Captain."
Carrot nodded, and exchanged a glance with Angua. He couldn't quite make sense of the exchange himself, but when it was done, she stepped up beside Vimes, who sighed.
Vetinari, it seemed to him sometimes, needed to learn how to make appointments. Then again, that gave Vimes more time to plan an escape, which was probably what the Patrician was trying to avoid.
Carrot loped off towards Throat Dibbler's most recent stomping grounds, and Angua and Vimes got into the carriage. "He say what he wants?" Vimes asked. More accurately, the question was will you tell me what Vetinari wants, because Drumknott usually knew these things.
"I couldn't say."
"Of course not."
People got out of the way when they saw Vetinari's carriage, so they were to the Palace quick enough. The Patrician's black-suited goons were not appreciated properly when Vimes was there, so at a nod from Drumknott they disappeared to stand stolidly outside the doors of the antechamber into Vetinari's office.
"One moment," Drumknott said, and went into the office proper, shutting the door behind him.
"Reporting everything he saw, heard, and tasted when he was picking us up," Vimes told Angua, stretching out his legs to maximum slouching potential. He glared at the clock on the wall in front of them. "The Patrician will want to know before he sees us. Vetinari likes to pretend he knows everything."
"Not everything," Angua said, quietly, taking out her hourglass and examining it. They watched the sand as it fell from one side to another, steady and sure.
"Not everything," Vimes agreed.
They stewed in the uncertainty of being the only ones on the Disc who knew Death was missing in action. Vimes wondered, idly, if there was a Death of Dragons. Had to be. The poor things died often enough due to the mistakes of nature, breeding, and putting things in their mouths that they oughtn't.
The door opened. "Lord Vetinari is ready for you," said Drumknott.
"Thanks," said Angua, when it became clear Vimes wasn't going to. Drumknott inclined his head, and closed the doors behind them as they entered.
Vetinari was sitting at his desk, and there were already two chairs set in front of it instead of the usual one. He was reading something, or at least looked engrossed in reading something. The Patrician was a busy man, after all, or at least when he cared to show that fact.
He looked up. "Ah, Commander Vimes," he said. "And Captain von Uberwald, is it?" He smiled. "Thank you for taking the time to see me."
Both Watchmen remained standing, helmets tucked under their arms in perfect uniform standard.
"Sit, won't you?"
"Yessir," said Vimes reluctantly, and he and Angua sat.
Vetinari glanced over the paper once more, then straightened it with a stack of other paperwork and put it in his desk drawer. "You have been very busy lately, haven't you?"
"That's the Watch," Vimes said stoically, trying not to think of the Death token in his pocket. "We're always busy, sir."
"Hm," said Vetinari. "But more so than usual, I should think? The whole city is talking about the hourglasses. If you catch the— what is it you're calling him— reverse pickpocketer, I suspect there will be a riot before he can even make it to jail."
Vetinari would know by now that the life-timers were not being put into people's pockets by a mortal creature. He was smart enough for that, which either meant he was trying to get them to think he thought it or letting them know he knew. Just talking to Lord Vetinari was liable to leave a man with a headache, and often to realize he'd been outsmarted only days later.
Vimes disliked feeling like he was being worked at like a puzzle box when he was in the Palace, and thus typically made an effort to look like the simplest box alive.
"Maybe, sir," he said. "Did you call us in for a progress report?"
The Patrician's lips twitched, though Vimes couldn't tell if it was in amusement or disapproval.
"Certainly, I would appreciate you telling me what you know. But I have to admit I am more curious about the two young wizards who were killed under Watch supervision."
Vimes found himself suddenly, viscerally curious as to what Vetinari's life-timer looked like. Black, right? It had to be black, with a man like that, maybe even with black sand on the inside. Or maybe it was all pink with glitter sand…
Angua bristled next to him. "If you're implying we did something wrong, sir—"
"No, no, Captain," Vetinari said, waving away the suggestion. "Of course not. I am only wondering how two healthy young men manage to die within minutes of each other while the Watch looks on."
He knew it had something to do with the life-timers, Vimes was sure of it. But he didn't know what the timers were, not for sure. And it probably wouldn't be a good thing if politicians were suddenly to find out how to kill their enemies untraceably, from afar.
"Poison, sir," said Vimes. "Took it 'afore we even got there; by the time we snagged them it was already too late."
"You're saying they poisoned themselves?"
"Couldn't say, sir." Vimes stared ahead. "We weren't there, you see."
"Mmm," said Vetinari. "Do you mind if I ask what led you to the University?"
Yes, thought Vimes, but somehow he was pretty sure that wasn't what you were supposed to say to the dictator that ran your city and funded your job.
The door swung open after a perfunctory knock and Drumknott peered through it. "Sorry to interrupt, sir." He walked across the room and whispered in Vetinari's ear. Vetinari's eyebrows rose, just a little, but he smiled benevolently.
"Of course, Drumknott. It could be important."
Drumknott crossed the room again and emerged holding a piece of parchment. "Captain Carrot sent this along for you, Duke Vimes," he said as Vimes winced at the name.
Vimes would bet anything that Drumknott had read that letter already, and had been giving Vetinari the highlights, not asking for permission. He took the paper with narrowed eyes and angled it so only he and Angua could read it.
He had to stifle a smile. It was from Carrot all right, from only the first glance. The commas alone were enough to make a grammarian weep.
Dear, Commander Vimes,
I have just finshed talking to C.M.O.T Diblr. I am sorry to say he sold all the hourglases he had just a few, minutes before I got there.
Vimes felt himself pale despite himself. All that time, in the hands of someone who would use it for evil. He looked at Angua; her lips were drawn tight too. He looked back down at the letter.
I have told, Detritus to collect, any hourglases that people try to sell to Diblr so we can keep an i on them. Diblr could not remember who bot the timers so i think I might have to get more mony from the 'special' fund back at the watchhouse. No, sign, of our other freind yet.
There is another idea I had but I will need to go back to the univercity universitee to see if it is possible. Will, get, in, contact with you when I can. And tell Angua I might need her soon. Thankyou,
Captain, Carrot Ironfoundersson.
"I hope it isn't an urgent matter," Vetinari said. Vimes finished reading and tucked the letter into his pocket. He looked up to answer, mouth open.
Death was standing behind Vetinari.
Angua and Vimes jumped. There was a slight clatter of armor as the two of them straightened up and their breastplates impacted the chairs. Out of instinct, Vimes grasped for his sword before his brain could remind him that attacking Death was bad, and, worse, didn't work.
This series of events was alarming enough even for the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, who turned quickly in his high-backed chair, a knife appearing out of somewhere into his hand. Of course, for him, there was nothing there.
Vimes coughed, trying to draw attention back to them. "Nosir," he said, feeling his heart race from the sudden surprise. "Nothing urgent, er, sir."
"Just Carrot checking in," Angua said, slouching into a deliberately relaxed pose.
Vetinari turned back to them, suspicious. "Is something wrong?"
I ᴀᴍ sᴏʀʀʏ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪᴏɴ. I ᴅɪᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʙᴜsʏ. I ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴘᴀʀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴍᴀʏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴀʟᴀʀᴍɪɴɢ. Death was still behind the Patrician's chair, still invisible but looking none the worse for wear.
"Everything's fine," Vimes said. "Just a, um—"
"Spider," said Angua. "It's gone now, sir."
"Skittered right up the wall," said Vimes helpfully.
For his part, Death seemed to realize he'd appeared in the midst of an awkward situation, and moved from behind Vetinari's desk to stand instead by Vimes and Angua.
Vetinari squinted suspiciously. It was obvious he wasn't buying it, which was fair. "You have been spending a lot of time with the wizards of late," he said. "Perhaps—"
Vimes had been keeping his gaze steadily on the Patrician in the vaguely awkward way of a man who had just apparently flinched at a spider on the wall. Now, mostly on instinct, he felt something moving in the corner of his eye, and whipped his gaze to the door. Black smoke was pouring out from under it.
This time, he did stand up, shooting to his feet and drawing his sword. "What the hell is that?" he asked.
"It looks like the smoke from the book," Angua said. She had gotten to her feet and drawn her weapon when he had, but only now seemed to be spotting it.
"Did something happen to you two at the University?" asked Vetinari. "Something, perhaps, with hallucinogenic properties…?"
Angua and Vimes turned to look at Death.
Aʜ, he said. I ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴ sᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ sᴍᴏᴋᴇ. Sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ I ʀᴇᴠᴇᴀʟ ᴍʏ ᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ ᴀs ᴡᴇʟʟ?
"No!" said Vimes and Angua.
There were two thuds in the distant hallway outside.
"…how many guards were there on the door?" Vimes said.
"Ah," said the Patrician. "Two."
The smoke was curling under the door, coating the floor in oily-thick blackness, almost up to the tops of their shoes.
"And Drumknott?"
"Still in the hallway." Vetinari had secreted the knife away again somewhere, but now he was holding his cane, which was rumored to be rather sharper on the inside.
Vimes swore. Drawing his sword, he crept up to the door. "What's the worst that could happen?" he reasoned. "I mean, Drumknott surely keeps his hourglass on him, right?"
If Vetinari looked surprised by the sudden inclusion of hourglasses into the conversation, he didn't show it. "Yes, we both have ours," he said.
There was a scream outside. It sounded a lot like Vetinari's secretary.
"Okay, so he could still be in danger," Vimes allowed. "Er…" he looked at Death.
Tʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ sᴏᴜʟs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀʟʟᴡᴀʏ.
"Do you think your guards might not have kept such a close eye on their timers?" asked Angua, slowly.
"Possibly," Vetinari allowed, looking less than pleased about it.
Vimes sighed and opened the door.
Drumknott was cowering in a corner while the two guards advanced on him slowly, eerily quiet. Their eyes were quite blank, no trace of what little intelligence the palace guards had to begin with. They didn't move quite right, a strange kind of hyper-fluidity that suggested they had more bones in their bodies than they ought; they slithered toward Drumknott rather than walked.
As Vimes watched, Drumknott removed a letter-opener from his boot, and flung it with clerical accuracy at one of the guards. It struck in the middle of the forehead, with the sort of meaty thud that echoes in your ears for hours afterward, but the guard didn't seem to notice. Indeed, thought Vimes, swallowing back a gag, the letter-opener didn't seem to bother it— and it was certainly an it now— at all, leaving the knife where it sat between the eyes, slowly oozing blood.
"Watch the Patrician!" Vimes snapped at Angua and darted into the hall.
He didn't have much of a plan besides keeping his sword out straight in front of him, but apparently, Death did. He reached the guards just as Vimes reached Drumknott.
Vimes yanked the confused clerk by the arm, back towards the safety of the office, but found himself halted in his steps through sheer force of awe. Death was wielding his scythe in a way that really helped you remember he was very, very old and very, very powerful.
Death scythed through the two guards, splitting them neatly in half in the same impossibly powerful motion. The black smoke poured out of the halves like an open wound— and somehow more disturbingly than the actual open wounds, which were gushing with sticky dark blood.
"What the f—" said poor Drumknott, who had witnessed two guards apparently proving the theory of spontaneous hemicorporectomy [6].
This would have been disturbing enough on its own, but then the four halves started to move, wriggling and crawling towards the frozen Vimes and Drumknott. "Buggerallandbloodyhell!" Vimes yelped, and sprinted for the Oblong Office with speed, dragging the clerk behind him.
Angua shut the doors behind them then turned to gag, then straightened back up with professionalism. "Small gods, sir," she swore.
"All right, Drumknott?" asked Vetinari.
Drumknott straightened his lapels and sniffed with a vaguely disapproving air. "Nasty business, sir," he said.
"Zombies?" said Vetinari.
"Nosir. Zombies don't bleed, and most of 'em have much more to say when you poke 'em in the eye, sir," said Vimes, breathing hard.
"Such as ouch," Angua said helpfully.
"I'm more than sure you've got a couple secret passages out of here," Vimes said. "Care to show us to one, your lordship?"
But Vetinari was clearly barely paying attention. "This black smoke; I can see it now. That doesn't seem like a good omen."
Iᴛ's ɴᴏᴛ.
That's never a comforting thing to hear from Death, who sort of makes a career out of ill omens.
"Back exit it is," Angua said, ushering Vetinari and Drumknott forward. "After you, sirs."
Calmly, Vetinari skirted the smoke and opened a door. He looked down, as if to check that the floor was still there— it was— then entered. The Watchmen peered in curiously. The room appeared to be a small coat closet, with fresh wooden floors and one or two menacing black cloaks hung up on hooks. On one wall was a portrait of Wuffles the dog.
Oʜ, ʜᴇ sᴇᴇᴍᴇᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴄᴀᴛ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴ, Death sighed, sounding disappointed.
Vetinari reached out his cane and tapped the jewel in the middle of Wuffles' collar. With a rumbling sound, the wall opened up.
Vimes and Angua gaped.
"After you," Vetinari said.
Nᴏ, said Death. Tʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs sᴛɪʟʟ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀ ʜᴇʀᴇ. Aɴᴅ I ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴀɴʏ sᴏᴜʟs ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴅᴇsᴛɪɴᴇᴅ.
Vimes grit his teeth. "All right, Captain, you escort the Patrician to the safe-house of his choosing, then leg it back here, understand?"
"Sir—" Angua protested.
"I've got backup," Vimes said, thumbing a finger in the direction of Death. "Try to catch up to Carrot, see what he's cooking up. Go, now."
Angua scowled, but anyone could see that getting the Patrician to safety was the top priority at the moment— tyrant or not, Ankh-Morpork would collapse without Vetinari. Someone, or, worse, Carrot, would have to take charge of the city, which was why Vimes was certain Vetinari wouldn't let himself die yet.
She growled deep, a throaty noise that most humans weren't capable of. "Fine," she said, and gestured the others through the passageway. "If you wouldn't mind, sirs."
Vetinari stooped to go through the doorway, which had clearly been built for slightly shorter dictators than he, but paused. "I should like to meet the friend who is helping you when this is all over," he said. "I have my own ideas of who it might be."
Wasn't that just ominous, thought Vimes.
Vetinari ducked through the door and disappeared into the gloom, Drumknott following at his heels.
[6] Something which had previously only been speculated about by owners of large factories with big threshing machines, who were lax on their safety measures and even more so on telling the truth.