Chapter 4

There was only darkness, and icy coldness. He could not remember having felt the cold this sharply ever before, but the 'ever before' was getting farer and farer away from him and he had long since grown accustomed to it.

Despite the numbness of his skin, he thought he felt something warm and wet running down his arms but had cased to pay attention ages ago.

Then there was sound penetrating the dark stillness in which all he could hear was his heart struggling for another beat. Footsteps – heavy boots on stone – voices, too low, too far away for him to understand or care, the sound of a door swinging open. Rough fingers touching his cheek, too real to be ignored, and his eyes snapped open, presenting him with the sight of the desk he had been working on. For a moment, all he could hear was his heartbeat, too loud and too fast in his ears. Then he couldn't even hear that.

Vetinari rubbed his eyes, suddenly far from tired. It was hard to tell how much time had passed since he and Vimes had ended up here, but from the number of times Vimes and Death's servant Albert had gone to sleep since then, he guessed it had been at least three days, maybe four.

His eyes fell on the book he had been reading. He had spend quite a lot time in this room full of books the last days, trying to find out as much as he possibly could about these auditors Death had told him about. Maybe it wasn't really helpful, but it was still better than doing nothing. Yet, some of the books had the annoying habit of resisting to be read, or trying to read the reader in return. Not surprising then, that he was having weird dreams when falling asleep over them.

One more reason to try and avoid sleep, if possible.

---

"Show me the way to the library, please."

Sam nearly spit his coffee through the room when Vetinari suddenly appeared behind him without any warning.

"What?"

"The library. I'm sure you know which place I'm talking about."

"Why ask me? I have a hard time finding the kitchen every day."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be very helpful, Sir Samuel," Vetinari said cheerfully in his unique Do-it-or-your-head-will-be-nailed-to-the-nearest-wall kind of way. Sam considered his opportunities.

One minute later he was leading his former boss through the headache-inspiring maze of Death's mansion. He had gotten lost after the first three steps and he just knew that Vetinari had noticed it, but instead of sending him away, the late patrician just trailed behind him in silence.

'Why the hell am I doing what he tells me?' Vimes asked himself as he looked into just another wrong room. 'He's not my boss anymore.' But bad habits die hard, and they die even harder when their death threatens to take you with them.

Literally.

---

Finally, after a dozen wrong turns, they found the room they had been looking for. Vimes shortly explained how to get the wanted book and turned to leave, but Vetinari stopped him for no obvious reason. Sam grinded his teeth; he could very well imagine why Vetinari would come here: He was still pissed that Vimes had read his book and was now going to pry a little into Sam's own private life. Worst of all, he wanted him to be present and watch. The urge to see if ghosts were still able to die got stronger by the second.

So the Duke of Ankh was rather surprised when Vetinari extended his hand and said: "Ankh-Morpork." He barely managed to escape with a quick jump backwards when a rain of books came down where he'd been standing just one second before.

Vimes made a noise. It didn't sound very intelligent but it pretty much summed up his thoughts. He stared. Finally, he said: "I thought only persons had a life-book."

"That's what I heard," Vetinari answered, picking up one of the books. It was pretty thick.

"Ankh-Morpork isn't a person," Vimes tried to make his point a little clearer. Vetinari didn't seem to pay much attention to him.

"Your mind is still as sharp as ever," he said, sounding as if his own mind was, well, elsewhere. "But it was not unlike a person in many aspects. You knew the city better than almost everyone else. I'm sure you noticed."

There was nothing Sam could have said, because the other man was right and facing the choice between telling him that and saying noting at all he chose silence.

Still, suspicion remained. "So…" he asked carefully. "You made me stay just to watch you call for these books?"

"Well, yes, I think I did." Vetinari looked at him, briefly, and tilted his head. "What exactly did you think I was up to?"

A brief silence. 'Will I strangle him?' Sam mused. 'Or will I use a knife?'

"Nothing," he said. "Never mind."

"Very well," Vetinari said and turned to the pile of books. "Since you're here already you can help me carry these to the office." Sam made a decision.

He would definitely strangle him.

---

"Are you not bored with plotting the murder of your ex-boss all day?" Albert asked half an hour later and continued dusting the several seemingly senseless belongings of his master that were standing around on boards and tables everywhere, while Sam paced through the room and ranted about how much Vetinari annoyed him. It was a rhetorical question but he answered it anyway.

"There is no better way to spend the day," he said and then grunted: "Especially here." Albert only gave a snort in reply.

It was nice having someone to complain to all day and Albert had a pleasingly grumpy personality, but he was no replacement for Nobby or Fred. Or Carrot, of course, but pointless rambling in Carrot's presence usually lead to a long and frustrating discussion everyone tried their best to avoid.

"What is he doing with those books?" Albert wanted to know somewhere between a board and a table. Vimes shrugged.

"Read them," he gave the most obvious answer he could think of. But after a moment he added, more helpfully: "He thinks in there he might find something of use in this situation. But I suppose he mostly wants something to busy himself with until we can finally do something about…" He gestured helplessly. "…all this."

The old man looked around the room and then shot him a look saying he didn't think 'all this' needed something to be done about. He had just dusted everything, after all.

At least, he was so kind as not to comment on it. "What about sleeping?" he suggested instead. "I could sleep for days if I had nothing else to do." Sam shook his head.

"He doesn't do that," he explained. "He isn't very much into sleeping."

It was true. When Death had said there was something they could do to save the world, Sam had thought they would just do it, at once. But apparently it wasn't that simple. Days had passed with nothing happening and even Vimes had started to get nervous. He needed something to do. Sitting around all day just wasn't something he was capable of doing. Otherwise he would have given up his work the day he married the wealthiest woman of Ankh-Morpork.

But at least he had been able to kill a lot of hours sleeping at a time he and Albert had agreed on calling 'Night'. Vetinari, he was quite sure, had never done that. Sometimes Sam got up at night and wandered around looking for the kitchen, and every time he had found the patrician sitting in front of a desk, in a room that could be called an office. Perhaps it was the only surrounding the guy was able to survive in, he mused, and grimaced when he remembered that surviving was no longer an option.

It was easy to forget.

Death came and went – Sam hardly ever saw him and didn't want to. The reaper had a job after all, and much to do these days. If they managed to prevent all this from happening, that work would be in vain, Sam suddenly realised. He wondered if Death would be pissed about the wasted time afterwards and asked Albert about it. The old man snorted again.

"Time", he said," is definitely not one of his problems."

He was wrong about that, but not in a way he could possibly think of.

---

That night, sleep wouldn't come, even for Vimes. He lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, and thought. He didn't like thinking very much these days. That way lay madness.

Absently he wondered whether or not Vetinari might have gone to sleep eventually. It was a ridiculous though, he knew, but he couldn't help it. They were dead but still they needed food and rest, and Vetinari had gotten little of the former and nothing of the latter in something Vimes assumed to be a whole week. How he was able to function like that remained a mystery.

He had never needed much sleep, Vimes remembered. There had been rumours that he never slept at all and Sam had been willing to believe them, but now… Now he knew it was nonsense, because Vetinari very obviously needed sleep, and it was beginning to show. To someone who knew him as long as Sam did at least. He was even paler that usual, it was a surprise one couldn't look straight through him. His movements seemed less deliberate and the dark circles under his eyes seemed to have been painted with ink. In other words, he looked like he might drop dead any moment. Not that Sam minded. He wondered if the man was finally tired and slow enough for him to kick his butt. Repeatedly. If he hadn't passed out by himself, that is.

Finally Sam gave up on sleep and left his bed to check it out.

---

The chains were gone. Carefully, he rubbed his acing wrists and couldn't believe it. This couldn't possible have happened, he knew, something was wrong. But his mind was foggy, he couldn't focus. Something was wrong and he couldn't name it. He had to get out of here.

The air was icy, even colder than before, and damp. It smelled foul. Disgusting. He had to get out, quickly. Needed some fresh air.

He stood slowly and some part of him was surprised that he was even able to. Wrong. The sound of footsteps was echoing through the darkness.

Someone was coming. They had made a mistake in leaving him without restraints and now wanted to correct it. But he would not let them. The door opened with a sickening sound. Someone was going to die.

They were careless, probably not expecting him to still be able to move. This was his only chance, he knew, and summoned all the strength he had left. The speed he was able to bring up surprised even him – wrong – as he turned around and threw himself against the man that that had entered, smashing him against the clam stone wall while his hand grabbed the other's throat and squeezed.

---

"Gah! What the heck are you doing?" Vimes shouted as he was thrown against the wall and strangled. At least it was what he wanted to shout – as it was, he couldn't get out anything after the 'Gah'.

When he had entered, Vetinari still sat in the dimly lit room, behind his desk and in front of his books, as Vimes had expected. But just as he stepped into the room, the other man had jumped up and attacked him, before Sam had had any time to react. So much for his increasing lack of speed.

The grip around his throat was iron and suddenly Sam realised that there was a very realistic chance of him losing whatever life he had here. Where the brittle figure in front of him took that strength from he had no idea, but finding that out was not his most urgent concern right now. He grabbed the thin wrist and tried to pry it away – useless. What the hell was going on here?

The eyes that were staring at him from a deadly white face had a feverish gleam to them, and one look into their dark depths told Vimes that Vetinari was not even seeing him right now. If Sam had seen the road to madness earlier this night, Vetinari had definitely taken it.

And now what? Dark spots began to dance in front of Vimes' eyes and reminded him that he needed an idea, and fast. Maybe he could get his foot between them and kick him away? He considered it for a moment, but Vetinari's body didn't exactly look like it could take the force. On the other hand, Vimes' body couldn't take the lack of oxygen much longer. So kicking seemed to be a good idea and Sam didn't understand his own refusal to do it. Whatever world the other man was living in right now, he clearly had his mind set on 'killing'.

In one last, desperate attempt to save his existence, Vimes tore at the strangling hand with everything he had and suddenly the grip relaxed and Vetinari took a step backwards, nearly stumbling. He stared at Vimes through wide eyes, an expression on his pale face Sam had never seen before. Vetinari looked confused, shocked, and definitely back to reality.

"What," Sam finally gasped, "the Hell!"

The patrician took another step backwards, one hand pressed against his face. His breath came in short gasps. He looked sick and Vimes felt a wave of unwanted pity rush over him. For a minute neither of them moved. The Vetinari suddenly straightened, his expression blank.

"I apologize for that", he said, his voice just the slightest bit hoarse. "It seems I wasn't quite awake when you entered. Was there anything you wanted?"

Sam's brain stuttered a little in its attempt to keep up with the conversation.

"Did you notice you just tried to murder me?"

"As I said, that hadn't been my intention. But surely that was not the reason you came."

It wasn't. And Vimes realised that he had no idea why he came here in the first place.

"Go to bed," he suddenly ordered, because he could think of nothing else. "You very obviously need it." It was the wrong tone to use.

Vetinari didn't glare at him – a man like him didn't need to glare. His gaze was calm, almost gentle, as was his voice when he spoke. "You just complained about me trying to murder you," he said. "Do you want me to try again?"

No, Sam did not. And he knew that this battle was lost. Vetinari needed sleep. He would probably go totally nuts and kill everyone around if he didn't get it, but arguing had no sense here. Sam knew him too well not to see that. He wanted to know what that guy had been seeing when he attacked him but knew better than to ask.

"If there is nothing else…" Vetinari sounded perfectly normal as he stepped over to the desk and sat down on the chair again, as if nothing ever happened. "I have work to do," he explained. "Don't let me detain you."

-tbc-

March 13, 2006