Page 19 of 19
Chapter XXXII
The situation room at Pseudopolis Yard was not a happy place. For one thing it was overcrowded. It wasn't that there were a lot of people in it, but it was a small room and one of the people was Sergeant Detritus, who was more or less a crowd all by himself. The others present were: Commander Carrot, Captain Stronginthearm, representing the night watch, Harry, representing the day watch, Sally, reporting for the Secret Service, Vlad, reporting on the prevoius night's events and, very unusually, the Duke of Ankh-Morpork.
Vimes wasn't happy that there were so many vampires on The Watch and was even less chuffed that there were three in this room, or possibly two – one and two halves. He supposed he should have been pleased the two halves were there, otherwise he would have been the only human in the room. Carrot was, technically, a dwarf; as any dwarf was happy to confirm. He bit his cigar and kept his mouth shut. Just. At least about that.
"So, does anybody here have any idea what's going on?" he asked.
Out of respect and due to a long familiarity, that wasn't exactly friendship, Carrot let him get away with it.
"The first thing we should do, I think" said Carrot, carefully taking back control, "is hear from Corporal Vossarionovich as he can give us an overview of what happened last night."
This was literally true as Vlad had spent a lot of time in the air, just occasionally diving down to help out where he thought he was needed. Everyone nodded, even Vimes they thought, though they couldn't be sure as Detritus was standing, or rather squatting, behind him so that he was largely in darkness. However, as the light of his cigar went up and down they assumed he was nodding.
"Vell," Vlad began, "vee vere prepared for trouble, zee smell of zumzink afoot in ze vind, as Nobby vould zay, zo vee had many more Vatchmen on duty, unt Vatchvimmin too, of course," he added, nodding towards Sally.
She could have slapped him for that. A Watchman was a Watchman, whatever their sex, and he knew it.
"Get on with it," muttered Vimes, through the side of his mouth that wasn't chewing his cigar.
"However, vee vere not prepared vor how much trouble zer vould be..."
"How many were there?" asked Vimes.
"Tvelve-huntret unt seventeen," replied Vlad, "give or take a dog."
Vimes was annoyed by the vampy precision, as if 'over a thousand' wouldn't have sufficed. He was also irritated by Vlad's suggestion that dogs might be involved in any of this. He liked dogs. Certainly more than he liked vampires. Yes, he'd been wrong about Sally, he admitted that, grudgingly. And, well, Harry was almost above criticism and he'd never heard a bad word said about Vlad…but they were Watchmen, for gods's sakes. Vampires, in general, were rather different.
"And how did we cope?" asked Vimes. Carrot seemed happy to let the duke continue to behave as though he were still commander of The Watch.
"Vee coped very vell," said Vlad, "vee could even haff coped vis a bigger number…"
"But not a lot bigger," Harry added. He was slightly annoyed that this civilian was questioning one of his men so he directed this to the commander.
"How much bigger?" asked Carrot.
It was exactly the question that Vimes was going to ask, until he realised, belatedly, that he was no longer in charge. Being a duke made him rich, but it didn't make him important, at least not to these people. He approved of that.
"If we pulled together both shifts then over three thousand maybe four; with all the reserves then five, I'd say, but not more than six."
"So," said Carrot, "we know our limit. What are the chances of that limit being exceeded?"
"Unless something changes, then it is inevitable," said Harry.
They sat in silence for a moment as they each considered what the alternative to their coping would involve.
"So," said Carrot, deciding that the alternative to coping wasn't not coping, "how do we change things?"
"Well," said Stronginthearm, shaking himself out of his dark reverie, "we could shutdown those bloody newspapers for a start." He wasn't great fan of the free press at the best of times; he was doubly annoyed that so many dwarfs were involved in producing their lies, but the clincher was that the Nyheterssons were making a fortune out of it, and he'd never liked them, typical Copperhead dwarfs he'd always thought.
"It wouldn't work," said Sally, on behalf of the Secret Service.
"Why not?" asked Carrot, he often found that he liked the reasoning of his fellow dwarfs and Stronginthearm's suggestion made sense.
"Well, I'll grant that they don't make things any easier, especially that woman in The Post…"
"Hoppkins, you mean," Harry interrupted, "the Queen of Spleen?"
"The very one, thank you," she said, sniffily. He mumbled an apology. "As I was saying, shutting them down, even if we could, would not change anything. First we'd be accused of being them, which means everyone they don't like, and that's not just Omnians, because different us obviously hate different them, anti-Omiteism is just what brings them together. Also, without the News they'd just get their news elsewhere: from their neighbour, the man in the pub, the woman in the shop… This stuff doesn't need facts, because it didn't have any of those to begin with; there certainly weren't any in the newspapers."
"True enough," agreed Carrot. "Any other suggestions?"
"Has anyone spoken to the wizards?" asked Harry out of the cerulean.
"Hah!" snorted Vimes.
"Pfff!" snorted Sally.
"Rrrrrrr," rumbled Detritus.
Some people liked Omnians, Patrick and Lucy for example, some people liked Watchmen-and not just other Watchmen- there were even sad benighted serfs who love the aristocrats, but nobody liked wizards.
"Why in gods' names would we do that!?" asked Carrot.
"Doesn't anyone else think there's something suspicious going on here?" Harry persisted.
"I'm not sure I follow you," said Carrot.
"Well," Harry continued, "there've been Omnians in the city for years and it didn't seem to bother anyone. Hells, last Hogswatch they were happily mixing and laughing with everyone else around the bonfires, even though they don't really approve of the Hogfather and nobody minded. And that's about when it started."
"You know, I think you're right," said Sally.
"Sergeant?" said Carrot.
"That's about when I started to notice the snide comments, the nasty looks and the horrible sniggers. And that was before the papers started saying anything. And then the muggings started, but we thought nothing of it, what with all the background violence that we've got so used to…"
"And then the black crosses started to appear. You'll remember that I embarrassed myself in front of both you and The Patrician because I didn't know what it meant, but you did," Harry added.
"It means 'keep out'," said Carrot.
"Yes," Harry agreed, "but there's more to it than that. Have you noticed that some of the crosses now have little hooks on the end of each arm?"
"Yes," said Carrot, "is that important?"
"Yes, it is," said Harry, "I've been doing some research: the hooked cross is a very ancient symbol and it is pure hatred, it doesn't just mean 'keep out' it means 'get out or we'll kill you'."
"And you think that for all this hatred to arise in such a short time without there being any obvious leader is a bit suspicious?"
"Yes," said Harry, surprised by the quickness of Carrot's uptake, "and more than a bit."
"Put like that, I think I'm inclined to agree with you," said Carrot, "magic?"
"Of the darkest sort."
"We shall mention it to The Patrician at our meeting this afternoon." Harry's face fell at the thought of it. "Would you care to accompany us, your Grace?" continued Carrot, now addressing the duke.
"Ah, no thank you, Commander, I think I'll give that one a miss if you don't mind. Did we make many arrests?" he asked, quickly changing the subject.
"Yes, quite a lot," said Carrot.
"I didn't see any downstairs," said Vimes.
"Ah," Harry chipped-in, "there was a bit of a misunderstanding there."
"Really, what was that?"
"Go on, tell him Harry," said Sally with a smirk.
Harry looked hopefully at his Commander but Carrot just nodded for him to continue.
"Well, as you know, we don't have all that many cells, so when Sergeant Detritus asked me what he should do with them I said that I would like to lock them all up but that we would just have to let them go."
"I dudn't hear him right," said Detritus, in his defence.
"Some of them got locked-up quite badly before we let them go," said Sally, "décourager les autres, as they say in Genua."
Vimes managed not to laugh, but only just.
"That's modern policing for you, I suppose," he said.
"Well, I think that's everything," said Carrot, wrapping-up, "Harry and I have an important meeting to attend. Stronginthearm, you're in charge while we're gone. Von Humpeding, see if you can find out anymore about what's behind this. Your Grace, thank you for your valuable input and Detritus, try not to lock anybody else up, the hospital is already overstretched."
"Sur!" said Detritus, banging his hand on the ceiling as he saluted
As they were all leaving Sally came up behind Harry and whispered in his ear.
"If you'd said knock-up then I could understand the misunderstanding, but that would have been weird. However, lock and beat probably don't sound that similar even to Detritus."
"As you were, sergeant," snapped Harry.
"Yes, sir," she replied, with a salute of her own and then skipped merrily away.
Women! Thought Harry, can't live with them; can't kill them. In this case quite literally.
If anything, Harry thought, this walk to The Patrician's Palace was worse than the one before; then he'd just been filled with apprehension, now he was filled with a sense of impending doom. It wasn't as though he could even talk to Carrot about it. They were in this together, of course, of course they were but, on the other hand, they weren't in this together, because Carrot was his boss. Not that he thought the Commander would throw him to the werewolves just to save his own skin, of course not. Mind you, had their positions been reversed…
Drumknott was waiting at the door of The Patrician's office when they arrived, which he was sure wasn't a good sign, and he opened it to admit them, which he thought was probably worse, as he closed the door behind him.
"Ah, come in, come in," said Lord Vetinari getting up from behind his desk and motioning them towards a small table that had been set with three comfortable chairs and also sherry and biscuits. Harry really had no idea at all what to make of this; he couldn't have been more lost if he'd been looking for a black spot on a black cat in a dark mine, while blindfolded.
"Will you join me in a sherry?" asked The Patrician.
"No thank you, my lord," said Carrot, answering for both of them, "we're on duty."
Right then Harry would have killed for a sherry' or at least bitten someone's arm off…well, maybe a finger; a hand at most.
"As you wish, do be seated."
They did as they were bidden and Harry noted that The Patrician didn't bother with the sherry and biscuits himself. It had probably been a test. Gods' know everything else was.
"So," Vetinari began, "much has changed since we last met, hasn't it?"
"Yes, my lord," they agreed in unison.
"Have you discovered the meaning of the black cross yet, captain?"
"Yes, my lord," Harry replied, "but there's more to it than we first thought…"
"The Hooked Cross?" asked Vetinari.
"Er, yes, my lord," said Harry, deflated.
"Well done."
He supposed that if he were going to be patronised then it was best to patronised by a patrician, as they were practiced in the art, but it still didn't mean he liked it.
"Your men acquitted themselves well last night," he continued, now directing his attention to Carrot. Harry would have said 'thank you', Carrot didn't, as he didn't think it was his compliment to take.
"Is there any reason to believe they cannot do so again?"
"No, my lord."
"Is there any reason to think they cannot do so indefinitely?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Then we appear to have something of a problem, don't we?" said The Patrician
Is this an understatement competition? Harry wondered.
"Yes, my lord."
"Do you have any contingency plans?"
"We have calculated how many rioters The Watch can handle if we double-shift and call on all our reserves and it is a great many more than we had to face last night."
"Probably five or six thousand, I would have thought."
"Yes, my lord," agreed Carrot.
"And beyond that?" asked Vetinari.
"We cannot cope," said Carrot, simply.
"Well, of course I could call out the militia, but they are not generally of the same calibre as The Watch, and might actually be on the wrong side in this one. Is there anything else we might try?"
Carrot look directly at Harry, who nonetheless took a moment to take his cue:
"Well," he began, "we've been thinking that what with the speed at which this has all escalated that there may be magic at the root of it."
"I'm sure your right," Vetinari agreed.
"Weeell," Harry went on, slightly non-plussed, "we were wondering about, in that case, if the wizards might help in some way."
"An interesting thought," said Vetinari, "indeed one that I had myself. Unfortunately, I must report, after my meeting with the Arch-Chancellor this morning that we can expect no help there."
"Why not?" asked Harry.
"Mr. Remembar said that the University must always remain, 'neutral in all matters of politics' I think were his words."
As if you don't remember ever word that he, or anyone else, has ever said to you, Harry thought, enviously.
"They're a bunch of selfish, over-privileged cowards," Carrot translated. As though Harry hadn't understood.
"And on that note, gentlemen," said Vetinari, rising, "I think our business is concluded. Thank you for your update."
As if we told you anything you didn't already know they both thought as they made their way to the door that Drumknott was already holding open.
"Oh, sergeant Mudd," said The Patrician at the last moment, "might I detain you briefly?"
Carrot didn't even look back and Harry retook his chair feeling more perplexed than ever.
"Have a sherry, Harry," said Vetinari, "you look as though you need it. Also, the biscuits are very nice."
"Thank you, my lord," said Harry gulping down the one that had been poured for him and eyeing the one that had been poured for Carrot. "Did you want to talk to me about something?"
This, he thought, must be the most stupid question he'd ever asked. Why else was he still here, after all, sherry appreciation?
"Indeed I do," said Vetinari, refilling his glass, "I believe The Watch has just taken on a new recruit who is a distant relative of yours."
"Ddyy mmmn, Lucy?" he asked, with a mouthful of biscuit, which was indeed very nice.
"The Donna Lucrezia, yes."
"We're eighth cousins," said Harry. Actually, in vampire circles –at least the ones that didn't consist of peasants with torches- this wasn't considered too distant.
"Quite so," said Vetinari, "I wondered if you might assign her to a special project on my behalf."
"Of course, my lord," said Harry, sipping his second sherry, "anything."
He knew it was a mistake as soon as he'd said it, this was The Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, for gods' sakes, anything could mean, well ANYTHING!
"There is a child, a little girl, currently residing with the Seamstresses in Apothecary Gardens; I would like your eighth-cousin to be her protectress."
"Just that?"
"Just that."
"Might I ask why?"
"You may, but I can't answer you."
"Of course," Harry nodded.
"No," The Patrician attempted to clarify, "it is because I don't know."
Harry doubted that anyone had ever seen Vetinari this unsure of anything in his life, not even his mum, assuming he had one.
"I only know that she is important, very important, and that her importance is intimately related to what we have been discussing."
That was more than enough for Harry. He stood up, snapped to attention and saluted.
"It shall be done, my lord," he said.
"I'm counting on you, captain," said Vetinari.
"We won't let you down, my lord," he affirmed and, turning on his heel, he strode out of the room a far happier man than when he'd entered it.
It was genius: Lucy would be looking after the little girl and then, to some reciprocal extent, the girl would be taking care of Lucy and leading her towards the light. Not back towards, of course, that would be silly as Lucy had never previously been one of the light's biggest fans. It would not only work, it was wonderful, it was perfect; it was a match made on Dunnmanifestin itself.
Unfortunately, it was also too late.
It had been getting cold lately Nanny had begun to think. Well, not cold, exactly, what with it being the height of summer and all, but certainly colder than she remembered it being normally at this time of year. Mind you, her memory wasn't what it used to be, as she'd be the last to admit. Oh, nobody ever said anything, 'course not: the boys was too polite and the girls was too scared and the grandkids didn't notice or if they did they didn't care and the great-grandkids were still in nappies, most of them. But whatever anybody might say about Gytha Ogg's failings, and there was plenty stupid enough to say a lot, nobody could ever say she was stupid. Well, apart from Esme, natch, but that was different.
Whenever she'd say something that suggested her mind was going its own way the daughters-in-law and granddaughters-in-law would look down and the boys would look away. Apart from her favourite, who'd look her straight in the eye and frown. Oh, she knew it was wrong to have favourites but she couldn't help it. Now, of course, her real favourites was any of them as couldn't walk more than ten feet without falling over –apart from Neville on a Saturday night that is- but Nena had a special place in her heart. She knew that that girl had suffered. The way all women who had also suffered could always tell.
Anamaria –Nena to Nanny- was the black-haired, black-eyed, brown-skinned beauty that her grandson Shane had met in far off Hersheba when he was a sailor. Now Nanny was the first person –often the only person- to say that any Ogg was as good or better than anyone else, but even she was at a loss when it came to Nena. Shane was a good looking boy, most people agreed, a strapping six-feet of sea-harden muscle, with a sharp and cunning brain and a decent sense of humour and, more importantly, a sense of honour and duty. He was a good catch for any girl in Lancre, and most girls on the Disc for that matter…but not for Nena.
People in Lancre mostly didn't approve of people who weren't from Lancre and certainly didn't like people from "Forn Parts", but somehow, right from the start, they could all see that Anamaria was different.
To begin with, none of them could understand how Shane had persuaded her to marry him. She was as close to the perfection of the female form as any of them –sometimes feverishly- could imagine: a tall, graceful, sultry dream of flowing curves and full-lipped enchantment. When she smiled it was like someone striking a match in a dark room, when she laughed it was the sound of rain after a drought and when she danced –in her frilly, little, white Hersheban, off-the-shoulder dress in her bare feet with her painted toes and her ankle chains - she had all the men, and most of the women reaching for a strong drink. All of the women were envious and jealous of her, and all of the men were in love, or at least in lust with her. She could have been the most divisive person in the whole community, and was quite the opposite, once that the women all realised, with great relief, that she wasn't interested in their men and the men realised the same thing, with crashing disappointment. In fact she hardly talked to the men at all, apart from Shane, but talked to the women all the time, especially the old ones, and she loved children. No one could find a bad word to say about her, not even Granny –try though she might- who'd thought her too good to be true. Though, when Anamaria had named her own little girl Esmerelda even the old baggage herself had given up the fight. Yes, Nena could always warm Nanny's heart, and her feet, but tonight she'd sent her away. Nena had just nodded, as though she knew why. There was a lot more to that girl than any of them knew, and Nanny regretted that she would never get the chance to find out all of it herself.
Then it suddenly went from being rather chilly to being really quite cold, but Nanny decided not to reach for her glass of scumble.
"Good evening, your lordship," she said to her long expected guest.
"GOOD EVENING, MRS. OGG," said Death. "I TRUST YOU ARE KEEPING WELL."
"Oh, I can't complain, my lord," she said. Witches in general, and Nanny Ogg in particular were not generally ones for standing on ceremony, even for kings, but there were exceptions. "Well, I could," she laughed but who'd listen?"
"I ASSUME YOU HAVE BEEN EXPECTING ME."
"Yes, my lord. I have a word or two I want to say to that Weatherwax woman," she laughed again.
"SHE SAYS MUCH THE SAME ABOUT YOU," He replied in the hoarse rattle that he fondly imagined was a chuckle.
"Can I just ask one little question before we goes?"
"WE HAVE LITTLE TIME, MRS. OGG."
"Just one?"
"VERY WELL."
"Will it all turn out alright out in the Big Onion?"
"THAT I CANNOT SAY."
"You won't tell me?"
"NO, I DO NOT KNOW."
"But we've got Right on our side, right?"
"THERE IS NO RIGHT AND WRONG, MRS, OGG, THERE IS JUST ME."
"That's rubbish," she said, "and YOU know it." This was, she knew, no way to talk to the Grim Reaper, but she was past caring.
"THERE IS GOOD AND EVIL, BUT THERE IS NO JUSTICE. THERE IS JUST ME."
"In that case, it's time I left."
"YES," He agreed, "IT IS. THERE IS NO NEED TO RISE."
"I wants to," she said, petulantly.
"VERY WELL."
She struggled out of her chair, He swung His scythe and she slumped back into it. Blackness.
How long the blackness lasted she didn't know but then it started to turn into a sort of grey fuzz which then began to grow both brighter and greener, and then it suddenly resolved itself into the little meadow up behind the castle where she and Granny used to play when they were children.
There was a girl in it now, of about eight or nine Nanny would have guessed, though it was hard to tell from the back. She was skinny and big-boned; her hair was dirty-blonde, long and unkempt; her dress was torn, she wasn't wearing any shoes and her feet were dirty. She was singing to herself, or the birds or the sky, in a sweet, off-key voice and dancing in awkward, gangly sort of way that said she didn't care who saw her.
"Hello," said Nanny, awkwardly.
The girl span round and Nanny thought she looked oddly familiar, especially that gap between her two front teeth.
"Hello, Gytha, do you want some greeners?" she said holding out a handful of plums.
"Esme?" asked Nanny, tentatively.
"The one and only," the girl replied. "I've been waiting AGES!" she added, all feist and annoyance, throwing a greener at Nanny. She caught it surprisingly easily and wished she could have bitten it like she used to…and then she looked at the hand that had caught it. It wasn't an old lady's hand; it was small and young and plump and strong, so she flipped the plum over her back and caught it in the other hand. She felt her soft, smooth, unwrinkled face with her palm, ran her fingers through her thick, luxuriant hair and slapped her firm young thigh. She clenched her full mouth of teeth, then unclenched them, popped the plum in her mouth, chewed it up and spat out the stone. She stretched her supple back, flexed her hard biceps and looked down at her sturdy little legs
"I'm ready for an adventure, Gyth," laughed Esme , "what do you think?"
"Moo and Margs!?"
"I will if you will."
"Yippee!" cried Gytha.
And so the adventure began.