Chapter 5 - Two Paths Meet
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Notes/Disclaimer: The Discworld and all its characters are the sole property of Terry Pratchett. If I could worship him as a God, I would, but I'm not quite sure how he'd take that. At any rate, no money is being made off of this.
Warning: Little bit of Greebo/Vimes, little bit of Greebo/Vetinari.
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Vimes decided to go on patrol on his way back from the Patrician's office, not because he really wanted to, but more simply to spite Vetinari. He'd show the man rising crime rates. But on the way home, he began to realize with a sinking feeling where all of the Patrician's paperwork had come from.
An hour later and he wasn't even trying to go on his patrol route anymore; he was simply heading back to the Watch house and stopping whatever Incidents he stumbled across along the way. Brawls were the least of it; everywhere people seemed to be in a panicked state, as though the apocalypse were a fat man and they were getting in the way of his run to the buffet. They couldn't scramble away fast enough. There was so much yelling and screaming that Vimes thought the city must be burning down, but most of the time when he stopped people to ask them what was happening, they couldn't even say what was wrong or why they were yelling. It was infuriating.
When Vimes finally got back to the Watch house, it was almost dusk and he was in a foul mood. He could tell by the sudden appearance of a saluting Carrot that it was about to get a lot worse.
"What is it?" he snapped.
"Sir!" Carrot saluted. "There was a huge street brawl, Sir! A troll gang attacked a couple of old ladies. We subdued them and brought the ladies here for protection."
"You thought the old ladies needed Watch protection?" said Vimes. Just great. Trolls going around beating up little old ladies in the streets. Things really were getting out of hand.
"No Sir," said Carrot. "We brought the ladies here for the trolls' protection, Sir. One of the women had a mean pair of steel-tipped boots on her."
Vimes paused and looked at Carrot with narrowed eyes, but there wasn't the slightest trace of sarcasm or irony about the damnably honest man. He was completely serious.
"Where are they?" Vimes asked, deciding he'd better see to this now.
"Down in the cells, Sir," said Carrot.
Vimes nodded and made his way down to the cells. Even before he got there he could hear the loud voices conversing peevishly. He wasn't even surprised when he reached their cell and found that they had a full tea set and picnic spread out between them. It was just that sort of day.
"Hello ladies," he said, already knowing that this conversation couldn't possibly go well. "Might I ask what you were doing fighting in the streets with a bunch of trolls?"
"Only having a bit of fun dear," said the shorter, plumper woman. For some reason, her voice sounded slightly familiar, although Vimes couldn't pinpoint exactly why.
"They started it," muttered the other.
Vimes sighed. "I am Commander Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch. And you are?"
"Gytha Ogg," said the shorter one. "And this is Ezmerelda Weatherwax."
Vimes looked them up and down, taking in their unperturbed appearance, despite a fight with trolls and time spent in a Watch jail cell. From the corner of his eye he spotted an innocent-looking broomstick leaning against the wall. He was quite sure the Watch had never had a broomstick.
"You two are witches?" he guessed.
Ms. Ogg smiled widely at him. "My, you're a clever one, aren't you? Figure that one out all by yourself, did you?"
Vimes got the vague feeling that he was being made fun of. "I want you to know up front that I don't take much truck with magic," he said. "I don't trust it."
"Very sensible of you," the older witch spoke up. She peered at him with dagger-sharp eyes that reminded him of Vetinari's. "Neither do I."
Her words gave Vimes pause. "But… you're a witch."
"Of course," she said. "Doesn't mean I trust magic. I'd be a fool if I did."
Vimes decided quite suddenly and out of nowhere that he liked this old woman. "If I let you two back out," he said, "would you try not to get into any more fights? I have enough trouble on my hands as it is."
The two women seemed to suddenly perk up. "Really?" said Ms. Ogg with obviously feigned disinterest. "What sort of trouble?"
"Everything," said Vimes bluntly. "Everything's going to hell all at once. Fights. Riots in the street. Burglary. General alarm and panicked mob mentality." He paused. "You two wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"
The witches exchanged a silent look. Then they both turned to look at him.
"Actually," said Ms. Ogg, "it's what we came here to stop."
The sky was dark and roiling with thunderclouds. There would be a storm tonight, Vetinari thought. Probably a knock-down, drag-out, trying-to-prove-something thunderstorm, from the look of things. As he strode down the hall towards the kitchen, he wondered if he'd be able to sleep through the thunder.
It was already almost time for him to sleep, but the air was far too oppressive and thick. He clutched a candle tightly in one pale, long-fingered hand. It wasn't just the heat from the storm. Something about the atmosphere was full of Foreboding. It might as well have been screaming, "Look how ominous I am! Something is about to Happen!"
Vetinari knew something was definitely wrong, if for no other reason that because he was nervous. He was never nervous. Never. And yet now even going to get a glass of water before bed was making his heart beat a little faster and his hair stand up. He'd long since bred that reaction out of himself, or perhaps sliced would be a better word for it, so the only explanation was that something was very wrong.
The first crack of thunder echoed through the Patrician's quarters, making the walls shake and windows rattle in their frames. Vetinari nearly jumped at the sound, but then ruthlessly quashed the instinct. Only fools feared thunder. He was no fool.
He rounded a corner into the kitchen and very nearly dropped the candle.
The fitfully flickering firelight cast dancing shadows over the figure crouched on his kitchen table. The man was naked, his hair wild and disheveled, and his eyes were wide and staring. One eye, sharp and piercing, seemed to reflect the candlelight more than was natural, while the other was a pale, ghostly orb that seemed to float in the darkness. The flickering light picked out a long, jagged scar that ran over that milky eye.
The man stared at Vetinari, his back hunched, and his mouth opened silently, revealing teeth that were just a bit too pointed. His bare, highlighted muscles were tensely clenched, and dripping wet. With a start Vetinari realized that it had already started raining, and he had not noticed.
Vetinari took a few slow, calming breaths, trying to control the speed at which his heart was beating. He was not used to being startled, and especially not so many times in one night. He stared at the stranger; there was no doubt that this was the vigilante from the reports. But he was no hero character; he looked like a dangerous, cornered animal.
"Hello," Vetinari said, trying to affect a soothing voice, "are you alright?"
The man shuddered, and his eyes darted about the room quickly before coming back to rest on Vetinari.
Vetinari slowly stretched out a non-threatening hand. "Can I get you a towel to dry off? Or some clothes, perhaps?"
From the man's open mouth came a deep, moaning yowl, more animal than human. It was a pained sound, one that contained fear and desperation, but also a very definite warning.
Vetinari took a step forward, and suddenly the man leaped to the side, changing direction in a single swift, fluid motion so that he was facing Vetinari. His back hunched a bit more, and his lips curled back from his sharp teeth in a grimace.
Maybe it was the way he moved, or something in the intensity of his eyes. Maybe it was simply something in the sensuous, liquid aura that flowed from the man in palpable waves. Or maybe it was just something about him that seemed familiar.
Whatever it was, Vetinari suddenly understood completely.
He raised an eyebrow. A curious situation indeed. "Would you like some milk?"
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