A/N: Again this chapter is stupidly late. What with family problems and being in my final year of university, I've generally felt too drained to have any creativity at all. Still, I'm sorry to anyone who has been waiting for this, and I won't give up on the story even if the updates are not always regular. Thank you to all those who reviewed even in the hiatus…your encouragement gave me the spark to keep going.

Chapter 4

Carrot scraped the razor methodically down his cheek, his face a solid mask of concentration. A faint line of worry creased between his eyebrows when he thought of Commander Vimes. It always concerned Carrot when the Commander was out alone; the man tended to take on more than her could handle at the best of times, and the crawling feeling between his shoulder blades warned Carrot that there was trouble brewing in the city. A faint noise from downstairs, the snick of a latch coming down, made Carrot pause as he reached for his threadbare towel. For an instance his hand hovered over the hilt of his sword, propped up next to the table, then he picked up the towel anyway and cleaned the remnants of the soap off his face. Buckling on the sword-belt and straightening his armour, he strode down the Watch house stairs to find the guardroom empty apart from an apologetic chairful of worried Sybil. She stood as he entered; her expression that of a woman who was upset but too well bred to show it.

"Oh Captain, I hope I didn't disturb you; letting myself in before the rest of the men even arrive."

She paused, her hands clasped in front of her, and took a deep breath.

"It's only…Sam didn't come home at all yesterday and his bed hasn't been slept in. I know that is hardly unusual, but nothing seems to have changed in the city. Sam usually causes more of a fuss when he's been out all night."

An almost imperceptible tightening around the mouth was the only sign of Carrot's unease. When the Commander hadn't been in the Watch house this morning Carrot had hoped he had gone straight home to rest, as unlikely as that was. He was about to reply when the front door burst open with such force it smacked into the wall behind, flying back to almost catch the person running in.

"Commander Vimes is needed at the Palace immediately," gasped the wild-eyed messenger, resting his hands on his knees as his chest heaved with the effort of breathing.

"I'm afraid the Commander is currently away on Watch business and cannot be reached," Carrot replied, his voice slipping smoothly into calm, reassuring tones.

"He can't be!" the man cried, standing up straight and staring frantically around; as if Vimes would climb sheepishly out of one of the lockers with his hands up. "He has to be here, he can't not be here!"

He looked down at his shoes, mumbling his earlier phrase as if it were a charm.

"Commander Vimes is needed at the Palace immediately. I have to bring him…it's urgent."

Carrot moved to place a hand on the messenger's shoulder. The man started and looked up at Carrot as if he had forgotten there was anyone else in the room. Carrot drew the man to one side, noticing as he did so that the room was beginning to fill with watchmen arriving for their shifts; who were definitely not paying any attention to what was happening.

"This is Captain Carrot, who is acting Commander whilst His Grace is away," Sybil said softly, drawing close to the dazed man's other side. "I'm sure he can be of help, whatever the nature of your problem."

The messenger looked at Carrot as if seeing him for the first time, then snapped out of his panicked trance.

"Captain, thank Gods," he said briskly, throwing out his chest and bringing his heels together smartly. "You must come with me to the palace immediately; everything will be explained once you arrive."

He moved to stand by the door, relief pouring off him in waves now he was no longer responsible for events. Carrot shot a concerned glance at Sybil but she only shook her head.

"You had better go Captain," she sighed with a ghost of a weary smile. "I imagine it's urgent."

Carrot nodded and turned to go, scanning the rows of suddenly bustling watchmen as he did so. Angua appeared at his elbow, her worried frown showing she had heard all that had been said.

"Angua, you had better join us. I doubt there is much more to find at the Opera House, and I might need you."

Carrot's arrival at the palace was a stone thrown into a pool of uneasy silence. Ripples of anxious whispers spread from his vicinity, growing and widening as he neared Vetinari's office. Angua stalked in his wake, watching the looks and gestures following Carrot's back as he strode down the corridors. The closer they got to their destination the more animated people became; some fearful, some with a strange, brittle hope.

The office itself was a scene of disarray, with books and papers flung into headless heaps with the occasional overturned chair. Angua stared in angry horror; not at the room but at the familiar green scent that hung thickly on the air. Drumknott sat rigidly upright behind his skewed desk, white-knuckled hands gripping the arms of his chair as one of the palace physicians finished tying a splint to his wrist. His eyes widened as Carrot entered the room, his lips thinning as he tersely waved the doctor from the room. When the three of them were alone, the secretary stood unsteadily and moved closer to the watchmen.

"Captain Carrot this is unexpected. I do not wish you to think that I doubt your considerable talents, but I had hoped my messenger would have been clearer. As you can see…," he said, breaking off to indicate his bandage-swathed head, "there has been something of a problem here, to put it mildly, and I thought the Commander might be best to handle it. We need to move quickly…I sealed the palace as quickly as I could, but I doubt it will be long before rumours make their way out onto the streets; if they have not already done so."

"Rumours of what?" asked Carrot, as beside him a horrible feeling of certainty began to creep over Angua. Drumknott gave him an appraising look before sighing and rubbing between his eyes tiredly.

"I suppose if I can't trust Vimes' chosen Watchmen the city is already lost. Last night someone broke into the palace and made their way up here. Now Vetinari is missing and has left none of the usual signs to indicate that he is about his own business. As you can see Captain, I really was hoping that Vimes might lend some of his own time to this case."

"The Commander left the city on the trail of a murderer yesterday," Angua broke in heavily, "And from what I smell in this room we have to think of him as missing as well. I can't tell what the game is this time, but one of them is being forced to run."

As they filled Drumknott in about the previous events, his face grew more and more pensive. Finally he sat forward, gingerly rubbing his fingers together as he thought.

"It seems to me," he said finally, "That whoever we are dealing with are intelligent enough to know how to make this city vulnerable. Without the Patrician and the Commander it will be easy for the Council to tear themselves apart and the resulting chaos can easily be take advantage of. We can trust that the two of them will be able to handle their situation, we might need extra help."

"What are you trying to suggest?" Angua asked suspiciously, noticing how the clerk's eyes flicked to Carrot and back nervously.

"Ankh-Morpork needs united leadership to avoid whatever trap is lying in wait. I think the Captain knows how this could be provided."

Angua followed his deliberate gaze to Carrot, her eyes widening in shock as the tall man began to nod slowly. As he opened his mouth to speak it seemed almost as if time was slowing, reality paused ready to flow one way or the other.

"Yes," Carrot replied decisively. "I would be honoured to take the Commander's place on the Council in his absence. Hopefully the two of us together will be able to make some difference."

Drumknott looked at Carrot appraisingly, then gave a slight quirk of his lips in what was almost an approving smile.

"Yes, that might be best. I will convene a Council meeting as soon as possible to confirm the rumours they will doubtless have heard. As the other members will have to leave enough time to seem importantly busy I suggest you use the delay to brief your men. We will need you all to be prepared if we are to weather this storm."

Vetinari awoke to his head rhythmically knocking against a wall that had obviously been padded more for artistic effect than actual comfort. He kept his body limp and his eyes closed, not even trying to swallow away the clicking dryness in his throat. He began to catalogue the information his senses had been forming an orderly queue to present. The rough burlap that chafed against his cheek had a sour, musty smell of old soil - a potato sack had been placed over his head. He could here the creaking of a leather harness and the rapid drumming of hooves; as well as the occasional snort of an exhausted horse and the crack of a whip. Filtering over all of this however, was the atmosphere of the coach…a stretched, glittering tension, like the space linking two dogs' eyes the moment before they spring. The smells of sweat, and old blood.

An impatient sigh that was half growl split the moment, followed by the sound of a large body changing position in a small space.

"Who gave those three control of this?" said someone with a disgruntled whine.

"You know who," replied a deeper voice, brittle with strained patience.

"But they aren't pack, they aren't even worthy to lick his muzzle!"

"And you are the one to decide that? They owe their allegiance to her; as do we all, she sent them to help us. Even the Baroness knows that."

"But now there are only two left, against all of us. There could be an accident…"

"Not one the Baroness would accept. All she cares is that they give us our revenge on the bitch's whelp who thinks himself a wolf."

At that moment the coach ground to a halt and the door Vetinari was slumped against was wrenched open. He allowed himself to tumble limply to the ground, but was snatched up again by a cruel grip that dug into his shoulder.

"You stupid mongrels," a female voice snarled. "Even a human could spot someone pretending to be unconscious if they were sitting less than a foot away!"

There was a snap of teeth, then yelps from the coach that swiftly receded. The grip on his shoulder loosened as Vetinari was pushed against the coach's step, which he negotiated with grace that was unaffected by his inability to see. The coach rocked as two more bodies entered, then an impatient rap on the roof started the horses moving once again.

"You are almost as bad Fenrin," the voice continued more softly, the sound getting louder as the speaker leaned towards Vetinari.

The hood was pulled away, and he found himself facing the occupants of the coach. A slight woman with a hard edge to her features sat back holding the sack. Her white hair almost seemed to glow, her pallor contrasting with the dark hair and eyes of the tall man folded into the seat next to her. Vetinari inclined his head in recognition of his captor, as composed as if this were a meeting of Guild leaders in the Palace.

"I am Skuld, and I apologise for the actions of my brother," the woman began. "He was meant to see you wake, but found the lure of the trail too much to pass up. Rest assured you will be guarded more closely now…we have been warned not to underestimate you."

She leant back with the casual arrogance of a predator, talking to her brother but keeping her eyes fixed on Vetinari.

"I met with our mongrel," she said, a cruel amusement animating her features, "And we'll soon see whether the blood bred true. It was such a shame that dam burst with him still in the river, I was enjoying our chat."

Skuld's eyes narrowed sullenly when she realised her words would not get a reaction. She nodded to Fenrin, who threw back his head and howled. The pack outside took up the chorus, swelling the sound until it filled the night with savagery. Skuld drew her lips back from her teeth, a mad light in her eyes.

"Now we wait. We get to have so much fun if he fails."