Chapter Thirteen

In which the Watch House cells are crowded, the storm begins and ends, and there is light

Louisa was, among other things, meticulous.

She carefully brushed her hair until it gleamed like extremely well brushed blonde hair. She made sure that not a single strand was out of place when she had finished weaving a complex and rather heavy bun out of it. She fixed all the small smudges in her makeup. She smoothed out her dress.

Then she swept over to the cauldron where the alchemists were clustered, looking woebegone, and said imperiously "Where is the sleeping potion?"

"Er, here, your ladyship," stuttered the one closest to her, whose name she had, despite aforementioned meticulousness, completely forgotten. He fumbled with something small and black and then handed her the vial, which was full to the brim of something disappointingly clear and unimpressive looking.

"Why, thank you," she said, and gave him a brilliant smile that made him blush hotly, because it often paid to work on people skills and in any case she was leaving this dump soon anyway. Then, with all eyes on her, she uncapped the vial and drank every last drop.

There was a shocked silence, and then a thud as she hit the floor. The alchemists, who had a good instinct for self-preservation, hurriedly backed away, knocking over several stools in the process.When it became apparent that she was quite unconscious, they looked at each other, went very pale, and fled the basement.

Alchemists move fast. By the time the Watch was knocking at the door, they were dressed in more ordinary clothes(a) and indistinguishable from their brethren.

At least, to the human eye.

---

"Watch investigation, sir," said Carrot. "We've got a warrant, see?" He brandished the mallet in an entirely non-threatening way at Silverfish's face.

"What? Oh. Yes. This way, Mr... " Silverfish squinted at the face looming large in front of him, and had a sudden burst of memory, of the sort Carrot tended to inspire in people. "Captain Carrot, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir, it is," said Carrot. "Lead on, Mr. Silverfish."

Mr. Silverfish, looking faintly bemused(d), did so.

Carrot was rarely impressed by things that were as familiar to him as the Alchemists' Guild Building, and Sally hadn't been there long enough to pay attention to it, but Angua was always vaguely awed by the speed with which alchemists tended to be able to erect a rough Guild Hall after the most recent explosion. She wondered how they did it.

Then she had other things on her mind, though, because familiar scents - one scent, really - were working their way up through the bloody floorboards.

"Carrot?" she said, tensely. Behind her, she could hear Sally's fangs lengthening.

"Right," he said. "Sir, with your permission, we will now be continuing our investigation downstairs."

"Er, really? Er, I don't know -"

"Thank you very much, sir. The Watch appreciates your compliance with government policies and valuable assistance."

"Er, I didn't actually -"

"We will keep it in mind during future interactions with the Alchemists' Guild."

The little light in Silverfish's head had finally gone on. "Oh. Yes. Quite."

"This way, I believe?" Carrot said brightly. Behind him, the vampire and the werewolf rolled their eyes in unison.

"That's just the way to the old basements, no one -"

They never found out what no one did there, though, because Carrot was already briskly descending into the gaping mouth of the basement, with Sally and Angua close on his heels.

"Well?" said Angua, as they reached the dank room that lay beneath the Guild.

"Come look," said Carrot, without turning to face them. He was bent over...

... Louisa, whose prone form was on the floor. Even in unconsciousness, she appeared quite composed. She looked as if she had been about to meet someone important, actually. If Angua wasn't mistaken, she was wearing fresh lipstick.

Hmm.

Next to her, Madam was standing and smiling at them. Her eyes were dull and lifeless.

Sally shuddered.

"What is it?" murmured the sergeant.

"He's... suppressed her."

"Oh."

"Constable?" said Carrot. He was attempting to rouse the woman.

"Lost cause," said Angua briskly. "She's really out of it, I can smell it. I think she took some sort of drug. And Madam has been, er, made to obey von Dhampyr's wishes."

Carrot looked blank. "How - oh. The whole... telepathy thing you told me about?"

"Yes."

"Tele,"he muttered, apparently on automatic, "meaning I see, andpathos, meaning oatmeal, so that would be... I see your oatmeal?"

"I see your brain," said Angua patiently. "I can read your thoughts."

"Ah." He glanced at Madam. "She looks it. Angua, can you -"

"I'm on it," she said, and ignored the incredulous look Sally gave her. She closed her eyes, lifted her face slightly...

First there was the purple haze, tinting the world of scent, which she recognized as what she was coming to think of as the Damnably Weird Potion Thing. She tried to push it aside and the feeling that came with it. Yes, here - Louisa's pale, vernal green pool, streaked with darker emerald.

The scent of angry, bloodthirsty male vampire hit her nostrils, all of a sudden, and at the same time she realized that was what she had smelled under the overwhelming DWPT in Louisa's room. It was, for some reason, glittery electric blue, but somehow none the less forceful and mildly terrifying for that.

Without opening her eyes, she listed in monotone what she was sensing.

Next came the alchemists. They had been clustered around the concentrated purple spot from which the rest of the DWPT odor emanated, and were barely shadows in the nose's eye, but still there and traceable. Recent, then.

"There were alchemists here," she said finally. "I can probably find them even now, if you like."

"Do you think it's worth the effort?"

She hesitated, and then said, "Probably not. They stink of fear. I'll be able to find them again one way or another."

"All right, let's get these two back to the Yard. Shall we?"

And before they left, Carrot made sure to make it absolutely clear to Silverfish that the Watch was in no way trying to impinge on Guild rights and would not of course suggest that the basements be blocked off until further investigation could be done.

Silverfish sagged and mumbled, when the six foot six dwarf was gone,

"I was afraid of that."

(a) For alchemists. Which is to say they changed from a dark(b) cowled robe into a dark robe sans hood, and remembered to put on their lightweight helmets.

(b) Incidentally, robes worn by alchemists are made of the same material as the rather more, er, practical clothes worn by Vetinari's Special Clerks, because in both professions there is a distinct need for something that doesn't show the little marks. In the case of the alchemists' robes, however, the marks that might otherwise have shown would have a rather wider range of colors. For the clerks, there's only ever one(c).

(c) Because Igors never come to their attention. If they did, it would be a green-black-black instead of a red-black-black, and who knows what terrible clashing could occur? It's these little details that really make the difference in Morporkian style choices.

(d) Not, on the whole, an unusual expression for Mr. Silverfish.

---

It was a dark and stormy day.

Which was odd, because only a few hours earlier the sky had been quite blue. Not odd compared the rest of the strange weather they'd been having, but... odd.

Stranger yet was the trio strolling down the way, had there been anyone outside to see them. But Ankh-Morpork citizens have an instinct for trouble in the same way spiders have an instinct for rain, and the current weather handily combined the two traits. If they had been outside, they might have observed that the tallest of the three was walking behind the other two and appeared to be looming as best he could, which was quite well.

They might also have noticed that one of the leading pair was using a cane but appeared quite spry, insofar as it is possible to tell with silhouettes, and the other one was proceeding in a way traditionally associated with watchmen. The one proceeding was carrying an axe, which the looming one occasionally glanced and smirked at. Yes, a careful observer would have been able to tell, as a smirk makes a quiet yet distinct noise.

They might have noticed, too, that a thick blue coil of smoke was rising up above the head of the one with the axe, and might have come to the conclusion that here was a dark and eldritch power at work.

Vimes removed his cigar and breathed out more smoke. Vetinari politely took two steps to the left before continuing. Vimes grinned. Madness, he thought, if what he was doing could really be called thinking, had its good points. Although it was hard to plead temporary insanity to an audience of scorpions, but hey, he might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

"Not really a good day for a stroll through our charming city, I am afraid," said Vetinari, without warning. "The weather, alas, is being uncooperative." Something about his tone of voice suggested that it should have been cooperative. Knowing Vetinari, this was probably true.

Gabriel hissed something unspeakable.

He was not, on the whole, a happy vampire. The thing about Gabriel was that, frankly, in his view the only good human was a mad human, because the madness made the blood heady and sweet in a way he could never have imagined while limited by his stupid, early days as a man, trapped in that heavy body and always, always feeling the stuff rushing through his veins and fearing the loss of it. And, well, neither Vimes or Vetinari looked like they would be very appetizing at the moment.

He was hungry,damnit.

Well. That would all be over soon. He had more of it with him, and he would give it to them all and then he would feed, and everything would be perfectly fine. Pseudopolis Yard was just around the corner.

Constable Visit-The-Unbeliever-With-Explanatory-Packets(a) really was a very nice man underneath it all. He did his best for the whole world, spreading the Good News in convenient, metaphorically bite-sized pamphlet form, and he honestly believed every word he said and read(b) about his religion.

So he didn't deserve the horrible shock that he was met with when his allegedly insensible and mad boss, his other, bigger boss who was often considered to be equally mad and certainly very unholy, and a Foul Creature with fangs standing behind both of them in what definitely looked like a pose that could break the Nineteenth Piece of Friendly Advice for a Concerned Omnian, that is, "Try not to impose on other people by looking cool, scary, or extremely tall. Saws can be taken up if necessary in order to accomplish this goal."

"Hullo, Constable Visit," said Vimes, amiably as if he wasn't a part of one of the most terrifying trios in history.

Constable Visit tried to recover.

"It's Visit-The-Unbeliever-With-Explanatory-Packets, sir," he said reproachfully, out of habit.

"-The-Unbeliever-With-Explanatory-Packets, I was just about to say that," said Vimes defensively, equally out of habit. He blinked and seemed to remember something. "Oh. Yes. Tell everyone they are not, under any circumstances, to come down to the cells with us, will you?"

"Are you sure, sir?"

"Very," said Vimes, glancing at the vampire. "And now I think we'll be off."

The vampire looked displeased but didn't say anything. And as they filed through the door to the cells, Visit could have sworn that Lord Vetinari smiled pleasantly at him. He shuddered.

Really, it was a mercy that he made sure the fool didn't remember any of it, thought Gabriel, as they went up and down the Cell Stairs(d).

"What is the point of these, exactly?" he snapped, as they began the descent.

"People complained," said Vimes cryptically. Gabriel did not press the point, because he was more concerned with the voices he could hear floating towards them from an open cell.

"...I think she's faking it, now," said the werewolf sergeant. "Yes, look, she's peeking through her lashes, see?"

Then she must have smelled him, because he saw her face go ashen. "Bugger."

"What -" said von Humpeding, and then she saw him. He had already closed the door behind him, and with a twist of his mind made sure they all heard the lock click.

"Louisa," he said. She was already on her feet, looking business like, because the watchmen were busy being surprised and hadn't thought to restrain her.

"My lord," she replied. "How goes - why on the Disc did you bring them along? For that matter, why on the Disc haven't you killed them yet?"

"Apparently we aren't mad enough for him," said Vimes.

She looked momentarily thrown off, and stared at the newcomers. "My lord? Did something happen with the potion? I am sure we can deal with the alchemists -"

"I do not believe so," murmured Gabriel, "although I grow less certain by the moment." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. "Nobody move."

The movement, to his shock, continued. Vimes was lighting another cigar.

"Mad, brain not like real brain, I see your bloody oatmeal too," the man offered wearily, by way of explanation. And, yes, behind him, the unaffected Carrot was standing very still. Vetinari, on the other hand, was perfectly mobile and was in fact looking speculatively at his cane.

The two undead, of course, were unaffected.

"Very well," said Gabriel, and muttered something fast and angular sounding. Thatat least stopped them from walking around and also from attacking him (not that they would have had success at that endeavor in any case). All this magic wasn't helping his mood, though.

"Fix this," he said urgently as soon as the spell was done.

She frowned thoughtfully at some inner vision. "Give the potion to the sergeant," she said finally. "Watch her kill the rest and then feed on her, it'll be almost as good, she'll be so bloated with blood by then."

Angua jerked within the complex bonds of the spell.

Gabriel smiled.

"As always, you have the perfect solution, my love," he said, and drew aside his wings in order to have better access to the flask. He removed it from its place, flashed her another, toothy smile and opened it under the werewolf's nose.

Then everything went a little bit quickly for the mental health of, well, anyone, even mad wizard vampires.

Angua's face Changed. This time, though, there was no terror, only the serene and absolute ruthlessness of a real predator. It was neither lupine nor human nor even that of a dog; it was the face of a true lycanthrope on the fine line between that it was born to walk.

He had intended for her to attack Humpeding first, and, indeed, when she broke her bonds she lunged for the short, slim constable.

But then Sally moved in a way that was impossibly - or rather inhumanly - fast, and was half behind the pouncing werewolf, although her feet were in the same place. She threw Angua back, and Angua half turned, so that the first thing to hit her impeccable olfactory organ was the marginally stronger scent of von Dhampyr.

Vampires and werewolves may have a lot in common, but as everyone knows, sometimes the important thing is the simplest one. Werewolves really hate vampires. They really, really do.

Gabriel and Angua went down, fighting tooth and claw, which meant exactly what it sounded like.

Louisa, who had been considering things, screamed and swooned.

And Sally, who had also been considering things, and had a... hunch, glanced at Vimes.

He looked at her, nodded, and took from his side the axe he had been carrying all along. It gleamed.

He tossed it to her, and she caught it with one hand, and winced in surprise as the skin of her palm started to burn. Then she raised the weapon.

Gabriel saw her, obviously, but he merely laughed. "You certainly can't hurt me," he gasped, as he and Angua wrestled for their control, "you silly girl. Don't you realize I have magical protect-"

The axe came down. There was a soft, unreal noise, the sound, perhaps, of thaums splitting apart under the incoming blade.

There was a grisly, very real noise. The vampire's head, still laughing, toppled to the floor. The werewolf, triumphant, started to worry the still moving white form -

There was a flash of light, which was, to the eyes of the unmagical beings in the room, more appropriately described as a flash of dark. The octarine went straight through them.

Then the magic was gone, and outside, the clouds broke and the sun shone through. All that was left of the wizard vampire was a pile of ashes on the floor. Angua was out cold, and looked human.

Sally was screaming.

Eventually, she subsided, and all that was left was the heavy, heavy silence.

(a) It's shorter in Omnian. Really. Don't believe me? Look it up. The word is 'Nhoj.' Not easier to pronounce, no, but shorter!

(b) Which was difficult, because as of December 27th, the Year of the Half-Digested Kipper, there had been 82,943 schisms within the Omnian Church, but Visit was a man with an open mind and it was so very open it could fit 82,943 different interpretations and still have room for a few cunning arguments, although that was his friend Smite(c)'s area, mostly.

(c) Smite-The-Unbeliever-With-Cunning-Arguments. Or, in Omnian, Enitsugua.

(d)They were some of the strangest stairs in the history of architecture, not counting the work of B.S. Johnson, obviously. They went up, and then down. They had no apparent purpose except possibly to give Vimes a reason to say "And he'll make sure you don't fall down the stairs on the way to the cells. Right, Detritus?" Not that having no stairs had ever stopped him from saying that, but now complaints that there were no bloody stairs were effectively nullified, and his paperwork was cut down by 50. It was a win-win situation(e).

(e) Except for the people who were threatened, I mean promised, that they would not fall down the stairs, but you can't have everything.