Chapter Seven

In which the madness of Watchmen takes many forms and a heart-warming aunt-nephew scene of happy familial love takes place

On the evening of December 26th, Captain Carrot of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch discovered that said Watch had a sudden deficiency of dwarf officers.

"Angua," he murmured to the werewolf sergeant standing at his shoulder, who looked as puzzled as he did, "do you know where Grabthroat and Hackknee have gone?"

"No, I don't. Look, Stronginthearm and Stronginthearm(a) have disappeared too."

"And Oakenshield(b). In fact I don't think there's a single dwarf in the building. Besides me, obviously."

"Obviously," said Angua, with a dryness that her partner in Er umness(c) completely failed to notice.

"Detritus?" said Carrot to the sergeant, who was currently trolling the desk in a manner so completely friendly and hospitable it was a mystery to all concerned why the queue of complaining citizens had suddenly disintegrated.

"Yessir?"

"Have you seen any of the dwarf officers recently?"

"Come to fink of it, sir, no."

"Do you know where they went?"

"They was all in a huddle an hour or so ago, I know that."

"Did you see them after that?"

"Yessir. They was all heading toward the door."

"I see," said Carrot calmly. "Thank you, Detritus."

He looked at Angua and mouthed Cheery. She nodded.

"Perhaps it's time to go and see what's happening," said Carrot, evenly. "Detritus, just... just keep order while we're gone, will you?"

"Yessir."

They went.

(a) Stronginthearm is one of the most common dwarf surnames currently in circulation, rarer only than the well-known Glodssonssonsson (rinse and repeat as necessary).

(b) Meanwhile, in the Roundworld, the tectonic plate on which the United Kingdom rests shifts slightly as Tolkien hissownself does barrel rolls in the grave...

(c) Closely related, as these things can be defined, to 'hem hem'-ocity and 'Is there someone in there with you, Capt-I see, yes, I'll just be going now, thanks so very much"-itality.

---

Sybil came down soon after the yelling started.

"For goodness sakes, Sam, I really don't think -" she began, and then stopped as the entrance hall came into view.

Willikins, who was, at heart, a butler, was nevertheless pressed very firmly in an attempt to stay out of the way of the ballistic Vimes. He looked positively unnerved, a sure sign that something was so incredibly amiss it was coming back in the other direction and was about to hit him on the head. Or possibly already had.

Sam himself was standing at the center of the hall. Standing wasn't really the word. He was stirring up a cloud of dust(a), and appeared to be fighting himself. Sybil wasn't sure how, but there was definitely tussling going on and who else, after all, could he be fighting?

He also, it dawned on her, appeared to be foaming at the mouth.

"Er... Willikins?"

"Yes'm?" said the butler, in strained tones.

"Could you send a clacks to Captain Carrot and ask him to come over? I think we may need some... assistance."

"He's standing between me and the door, ma'am," said Willikins, reasonably.

"I can see that. Perhaps... oh, yes." She carefully went to the living room, where a Dis-Organizer was resting on the coffee table, and opened it.

"Hello, Lady Sybil Ramkin! How can I help-"

"You do a special clacks service, yes?"

"Oh, yes, Lady Sybil Ramk-"

"This is the message. To: Captain Carrot. Sender: Sybil Ramkin. Sam has gone - appears to have gone," she added conscientiously, "absolutely mad. Any help appreciated."

"Er," began the imp, nervously, "You have to say Message: before saying the message..."

Sybil decided that there were occasions when politeness simply did not pay off. "Imp," she said, "if you don't do it now, I'll give you to Sam as his personal Dis-Organizer!"

It was gone so fast she barely saw the blur.

"Right," she said firmly, and then went back to see what she could do until Sam recovered some semblance of sanity.

(a) Something that ought to have been impossible, according to the laws of physics, since Purity had mopped and dusted and so forth barely half an hour ago, but certain conventions are stronger than mere physics, and one of them is the Cloud Of Dust With Random Limbs And Swearwords Peeking Out in a traditionally comic representation of a fight scene.

---

In a tunnel that had only recently been abandoned by a certain group of deep-down grags...

"Gr'duzk, d'hrak!(a)" shouted a dark, clinking figure, who was standing on a small footstool which fortunately was all that was necessary to bring it up by a head above the rest of the teeming mass of dwarves, who watched it with rapt attention.

It went on, speaking in a curious mixture of Morporkian, Dwarfish, and deep-down Dwarfish. For the audience, it was not so much about the meaning of the words as the flow and the emotion behind them, because words, for dwarfs, define the world. It was demagoguery at its finest.

In their midst, Captain Carrot crept through the crowd in an extraordinarily conspicuous fashion. It was a mark of how enthralled his fellows were that no one noticed him. Behind him, a handsome golden wolf padded, unnoticed despite the crush of the throng.

When they were at the front of the growing mob, Carrot whispered, "Is that Cheery?"

The wolf next to him managed a passable nod.

"D-mn!(b)" he said. "Is there anything... different about her scent?"

The wolf hesitated and lifted its long nose, snuffling quietly to herself. Her lips peeled back over its teeth into something approaching a visual growl. She took a shuddering breath and jerked her head, more loosely this time.

"What?"

Angua gave him a look that radiated sarcasm, even with added lupine features.

"All right, tell me later." He stared at the short figure. "She's... not acting right."

Tongue out, ears flattened back, mouth stretched into a doggy grin, a general No shit, Havelock(c)expression.

"Not just what she's doing," said Carrot, impatiently. "Of course there's that. But the way she moves, speaks... It's all wrong."

The wolf looked as thoughtful as wolfishly possible.

Carrot listened. She watched him carefully, based on a hunch.

When his expression started to melt into one of absolute belief, and the curiosity in his eyes faded, to be replaced by fanatical fervency, Angua bit him in the arse.

(a) Lit. "Lend me your ears, friends, Morporkians, countrydwarves." Usually translated as "Hey you!"

(b) A linguistic feat possibly only achievable by a human with all the human capacity for softer consonants, brought up as a dwarf and thus with all the dwarfish talent for putting in unexpected punctuation in the middle of words where lazier races would put a vowel.

(c) Not actually referring to the current Patrician of Ankh-Morpork in any way. Havelock Solmes was a Morporkian private detective in the 1800's, renowned for his general talent for stating the incredibly obvious, subsequently making incredibly unbelievable inferences based off his 'observations', and never actually managing to solve a single case, except for one, commonly known as the Study in Vermillion, the criminal of which he finally caught by accident two months later while visiting the barber.

---

A different Havelock was carefully writing a memo on the advisability of sending certain only mildly misleading clacks to Lady Margolotta von Uberwald when the door burst open.

It was the first time in the last five years that someone had charged into his office without him telling them to first, as far as he could recall, and he was fairly sure it was the first time in a much longer period that they'd done it without knocking. Typically, the last time it had been Vimes.

This time it was Madam.

"Yes?" he said composedly, looking up at the purple-clad invader. "Was there something you needed, Madam? I'm afraid I'm rather busy at the moment, though of course I am always glad to entertain my loving aunt."

She smiled. "I'm afraid whatever you are busy with must wait."

"Really? Do sit down, by the way," he added pointedly as she lowered herself into a chair.

"Thank you, Havelock," she said, cheerfully ignoring his tone.

"You are, of course, permanently welcome."

"Good, because I may be here for some time." She smiled at him.

"To what end?"

"Getting certain questions answered."

"I am unaware of any -"

"Havelock," she said, by way of warning. "You can either tell me what the truth about Vimes is or you can tell me what you know about Louisa."

"And if I do not?"

"You would deny your poor old aunt the satisfaction of knowing the truth before she croaks?"

"Hardly fair, Madam. You have many full years of life left, I hope."

"Not if you set an assassin on me by tomorrow."

He covered his mouth, presumably to hide a smile. "Well, yes. I wasn't actually planning to, you know."

"Really?" she says, half-way to genuinely surprised. "I'm amazed. Is not all this prying irritating you?"

"Not enough to become violent over it. That would be entirely unnecessary."

"Tsk, Havelock, have I taught you nothing? You know me, after all."

"Indeed I do, Madam." He leaned back in his seat and looked at her over steepled fingers. "One would think that would be incentive notto kill you. Or so they tell me."

"Oh, I don't know. It would be traditional, after all."

"Would it?"

"Royalty and so on, I mean."

"Ah. I see. Though I am most certainly not a king. I do not believe, in any case, that in this situation such drastic measures are necessary."

"Perhaps," she said, more quietly. "But what measures are necessary?"

"Pardon?"

"Was there a reason you introduced me to His Grace, Havelock?"

He must have been practicing, she thought, when she saw his extraordinarily innocent expression. There was no other way that kind of look of naiivity could be obtained by ordinary mortals.

"What possible reason could there have been?" he said, his voice dripping the strawberry daiquiri that is the sound of blamelessness.

"I don't know, I'm sure. That's why I am asking you."

"I see. And, remind me again - why do you expect me to answer you? You know me as well as I know you, do you not?"

Not bloody likely, thought Madam, although genteelly. No one knew Havelock well. Havelock probably didn't know Havelock well. It was a good enough thing in a Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, but it was annoying at times like this.

Worse, she had to admit there was no reason for him to answer her. The King of Psuedopolis wasn't fool enough to try to wage war on Ankh-Morpork, even if she did use one of her Strong Suggestions. She couldn't threaten him with anything, and there was even less to bribe him with.

But...

She paused, then said brightly, "I suppose I don't expect any such thing. I really ought to know better by now."

Havelock waited, an expression of amiable disbelief firmly plastered on his sharp features.

"It was a passing fancy, no doubt. I should turn all my attention to this terrible deception Louisa and Jamie seem to be playing at."

His expression changed, very slightly. It would have been almost unnoticeable to anyone who hadn't known him for the last forty years or so. She congratulated herself silently.

"I will not intrude further on your time..."

"One moment, I think, will not do any more harm." His face was perfectly blank, always a sign of internal conflict in her nephew. Eventually, he said calmly,

"Perhaps you should... direct your inquires towards one Dr. Lawn. I believe he can usually be found at the Lady Sybil Free Hospital."

"Why, thank you, Havelock," said Madam, with a brilliant smile. "You are too kind."

He looked at her for a long minute and then smiled back. "Quite. And now... do not let me detain you..."

She swept out, triumphant.

Once he was confident he was alone, the smile widened into a positive grin. "Quite," he murmured to himself.

Drumknott came in silently, but Vetinari, who had good reflexes, was already wearing his official faces. "Sorry, my lord, but she completely ignored me and I did not like to call the guards, as she is your aunt..."

Vetinari waved a languid white hand. "Do not concern yourself over it, Drumknott. What else has happened?"

"A message from Clerk Brian, mylord."

"And?"

"Your surmise appears to have been correct, my lord. Vimes has been acting most strangely."

"How unfortunate. Please convey my best wishes to Lady Sybil."

"Yes, sir."

"Where is Captain Carrot?"

"In the Treacle Mine Road tunnel, I believe."

"Tell him I would like to see him immediately, as his commanding officer has been incapacitated."

"Yes, my lord."

---

In fact Captain Carrot and Sergeant Angua were now outside the Treacle Mine Road tunnel. Carrot was sitting on the steps (gingerly) leading up to the building while Angua went behind a convenient cart and Changed. At one point he handed her a shirt and breeches.

After a moment, she came out.

He looked at her expectantly.

"She smells mad," said Angua, succinctly. "Absolutely fucking bonkers. Not in a good way."

"...I see," said Carrot, slowly. "Er. Well then."

"What was she saying? The Dwarfish was too fast for me."

Carrot appeared to be thinking.

"She was talking about... what it is, to be a dwarf."

Angua blinked. "Like Hamcrusher, you mean?"

"No. Not at all. She wasn't talking about killing trolls, or wearing clang, or hatred of the dwarves in the sunlight."

"Then what was she talking about?"

"She was talking about the darkness. About the love that blooms when you hold true iron. About the knowledge of belonging, of being part of the earth from which you came..."

Angua touched his arm, gently. He shook himself, and nodded.

"You're right. Completely mad."

"It does seem unlike her. The speech itself wasn't harmful, then?"

He hesitated. "I don't know. It made a thousand dwarves dream of returning to the mountains where they were forged. Is that harmful?"

"Economically speaking, yes. And what other manner of speaking is there, in Ankh-Morpork?"

"You're right. And they weren't Cheery's words, were they."

"Doesn't seem like it."

They stood in silence for several minutes.

Angua noticed the blinking semaphore first, and prodded him. "Clacks from Pseudopolis Yard."

"What? Oh." His lips moved for a while in silent calculation. "V... E... T... I... N... A... R... I - His lordship... wants... to... see... Captain - me... now..."