"Samuel Thomas Vimes, you have forced me to give you a middle name just so I can tell you off properly!"
Vimes jerked guiltily awake in time to be pulled up into a strong-armed hug that would have done Detritus proud. He barely had time to register the eyeful of sequins and mouthful of feathers before he was released, trying manfully not to stagger as Sybil looked him up and down.
"You look less battered than usual Sam; I never thought that would worry me."
Vimes fought the urge to curl away and hide from Sybil's penetrating stare, for the first time fully aware of the roil of worry, fear and love that was bottled under a veneer of breeding and time.
"I'm sorry Sybil."
He tried to continue but words deserted him. The realisation that less than two days separated his last talk with Sybil did nothing to help – there was no way to start, nothing to lead her into things gently or at all.
"I shouldn't be staying here," he muttered, half to himself as he turned towards the door. "I shouldn't…"
Vimes was shocked out of himself by the iron grasp on his wrist.
"Don't you dare Sam," came the horrified whisper. "Whatever has happened I am neck-deep in it with you and I would never change that. I love you Sam; I may not want to jump you on that couch, but you are the only true family I have left and I will tear this city apart to find you if you make me.
"But what if I'm not myself anymore?"
"Then I would suggest very rapid explanations from whoever came to my house, otherwise I'm afraid Wilikins and I have no option but wreaking bloody vengeance with broadsword and kitchen cleaver."
Vimes gaped, winced then surprised himself with a snort of laughter. Sybil took his other hand and squeezed them gently.
"I'm really not worried about that Sam, only you can come back without a scratch and make me feel as though I nearly lost you."
Vimes gently disentangled a hand and pulled up the hem of his shirt, revealing the twisted scar, still slightly pinker than the surrounding skin. Sybil raised a puzzled eyebrow.
"I don't remember that one, when did you…"
"Last night."
Sybil smiled tentatively, stroking a hesitant finger over the ridge.
"You're teasing me, surely? Even Igor couldn't heal a wound like that, not in a day."
Vimes turned away from her concern, speaking to the far wall, words that felt like the knife all over again.
"They said I was dying. They said I'd lost too much blood before the wound was closed, that they needed one of Igor's miracles. They gave me Angua's blood to save my life."
With the silence stretching out between them, he couldn't help but flinch away from the soft touch on his arm. An exasperated breath was his only warning before a solid punch to the shoulder spun him round and he was captured in his second hug of the night.
"Intelligent men have the worst kind of stupid," she muttered in his ear. "Another time I'd be offended that you think so little of me but under the circumstances…"
Bombarded with scents of (warm safe home) Vimes finally relaxed, strength running out of his legs as he leant into Sybil, refusing to consider why he had allowed Vetinari anonymity.
"I really should stop being surprised by you," he sighed, kissing her on the cheek as he straightened.
"Someone has to keep you sharp."
With a practiced motion she straightened her opera wig and swept Vimes out of the room with her.
"No point in you trying to sleep at night so kitchen it is, we'll see how long it takes Wilikins to think I've set it on fire this time."
The next night Vimes paused with his hand on the watch house door, not wanting to admit it but dreading going in. Whatever story Angua had concocted, his absence would still have been noted and remarked on; for that matter, he had no idea what story Angua had come up with, leaving him in an awkward situation if asked for specifics.
He had decided it would be a bad idea to tell the whole watch…in fact the fewer people that knew the better. If the change became common knowledge, Vimes knew his position would be compromised. The rich and powerful in Ankh-Morpork were happy (or at least not vocally unhappy) to have a werewolf represented in the Watch, it allowed them to hold up their head in society and explain how forward thinking the city was, yes indeed. Those same people would react very differently to a werewolf in their midst and Vimes couldn't afford to have his job made even more difficult than it already was, or put Vetinari in the position of supporting him or bowing to the majority - a choice where no one really won.
Carrot, Colon and Nobby were the best and only choice.
There was only one other person in the Watch house, Vimes having timed his arrival deliberately earlier than most of the Watch. Constable Ping looked up from the desk as Vimes approached and smiled in greeting. Vimes nodded in acknowledgement, trying to appear outwardly normal whilst at the same time furiously analysing an odd overtone to the bluish-white cloud that was Ping. Vimes was halfway up the stairs to his office when it hit him. Ping smelt…female? Shaking his head, Vimes put it down as simply being unused to the new senses at his disposal, but made a mental note to question Angua later.
Vimes slipped into his office and sat behind his desk, groaning at the sight of the paper pile which seemed to have grown even larger in his absence. A moment later he heard the creak on the floor outside that signalled Carrot was about to knock.
"Come in" Vimes said, not bothering to wait.
"Good to see you back sir," Carrot enthused. "Was the Patrician's assignment successful?"
"Yes," Vimes said, trying to look as though he knew exactly what had happened on said mission and hoping Angua had been vague. "But I'll need to see you and Igor, as well as Angua, Colon and Nobby as soon as they arrive."
Thankfully, Carrot seemed to pick up on Vimes' silent plea that no further questions be asked, and smoothly carried on.
"Now you're back, I need you to sign the wages chitty sir. I put it on your desk."
At Vimes' despairing look Carrot added wearily, "Second pile from the left, by the half buried coffee mug."
After Vimes had found the chitty and signed it by resting on one of the more stable piles, Carrot continued.
"There's also a new recruit to be signed in today, he should be arriving soon. Shall I send him straight up?"
Vimes personally thought this was the last thing he wanted to deal with now, but then the job always did come before personal preferences. He nodded his assent and waited until Carrot's tread receded, letting his head sink down to rest on the tallest stack of paperwork. At times like this his hand still twitched towards the desk drawer, even though he knew all it now contained was that damn inspirational paperweight Carrot had got him in the days the man…dwarf didn't know any better.
The next minute Vimes raised his head quickly, not just because the pile was showing suspicions of sliding. Something had entered his watch house, something that buzzed and throbbed on the edge of his senses yet still managed to dominate everything. The sickening locus, tinged red in his mind, moved up the stairs to his office and Vimes tightened his jaw against the snarl that wanted to bubble free, clinging to the semblance of humanity.
As Carrot ushered someone into the office Vimes finally recognised what he felt, identical to the fragmented recollections before his first change, the jarring taint of silver around the neck of his newest recruit. He steadied himself with the rote of giving the shilling and the oath, seething with rage for Angua rather than on his own behalf; a seasoned and loyal watchman would have suffered for the irrational prejudice of a frightened boy. The problem was how to reveal the truth, without explaining just how he could feel the taint of silver in the air.
Luckily, the problem was solved for him. As the recruit leant forward to sign his name a chain slipped from his shirt, leaving the silver coin to swing obscenely in the lamplight. Carrot sucked in a breath, his normal expression of open friendliness becoming ominously hard. Vimes reached out before he could change his mind, thinking of Rust, a lump of coal and a fire long burnt out. As his fingers closed round the coin the pain spiked up his arm, the reflexive jerk neatly snapping the chain from the boy's neck.
"What is this?" Vimes said with exaggerated calm. "You would wear bloody silver in the watch."
"B-but sir," stammered the now terrified youth, "There's a werewolf in the watch…"
"Who is now your superior officer," Vimes cut him off icily. "Don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to re-educate yourself before I'll even think of letting you out on patrol. Get out of my sight."
For a moment it looked as though the young man might try to further his case, before one look at Vimes' face persuaded him suicide was not a good way to further his career.
Carrot pressed the wages city into an unsteady hand and almost shoved the boy towards the door. He turned back just as Vimes opened his hand and let the coin fall back to the desk, the angry red burn clearly visible in the centre of his palm. Mercifully, as he met Carrot's carefully blank expression, the creaking stairs heralded the arrival of the others he needed to tell.
Drumknott was worried. The Patrician was…well he was fine, but not the sort of fine where everything is ok. Outwardly there was no sign of anything wrong, but then mountains can look fine until half of them slips sideways to bury a small, picturesque village (complete with blonde, pigtailed goat-girls).
Vetinari was not the sort of man to be caught staring gloomily into space in an unguarded moment, an artistic tear gathering in the corner of one eye, but Drumknott was definitely worried. He wondered if Vetinari realised the importance of having one man he could completely trust; the difference between deducing someone wouldn't be involved in a particular plot versus knowing, beyond all shadow of doubt, that whatever the situation said person was beyond reproach. He wondered if Vimes would ever recognise the dubious comfort of a leader who would betray you for a higher goal, rather than to line their own pocket. Working through another piece of paperwork, he sighed quietly. If he didn't find a way to fix things then the city would be lucky if it only descended into chaos.
He looked up as someone entered the room, a nervous young man in a watch uniform with a crumpled wage chitty held in shaking hand. Waving him to take a seat Drumknott idly wondered what the boy had done to annoy Vimes, resulting in a trip to the Patrician on what was obviously his first day. Usually new recruits were fully prepared by senior officers before allowing them anywhere near Vetinari.
A few minutes later, when he was back from informing Vetinari of his visitor, he sneaked a quick look at the lad. The sound of the clock was obviously getting to him. He kept flinching whenever a tick was too early and you could visibly see him straining to hear a tock half moment too late. Drumknott almost pitied him.
Vimes sat back as the senior watchmen began to file out of his office. Their reactions had been all he hoped and expected from them - shock and anger at the situation and choices made, but no reservations about what he now was. Nodding at Angua to stay behind he stood before anyone was out of earshot.
"If anyone breaths a word of this to Reg…" Vimes paused and gave a predatory grin, "I will be very unhappy."
This got some answering grins from the squad as they left. Igor had hung back with Angua and now approached the desk, talking in a conspiratorial whisper.
"Ath you know thur, Igors have exthperience working for thuch kinds of mathter. If you ever have any little jobth for me, even the odd body to remove, I'm happy to thurve."
Vimes didn't dare look at Angua, whose shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. Ye Gods, you could take the Igor out of Uberwald but you couldn't take the Uberwald out of Igor.
"That won't be necessary," Vimes managed.
Igor shrugged, an interesting manoeuvre for an Igor. As he left Angua closed the door after him, leaning back casually against it.
"I was wondering when he'd get round to making that offer."
"You knew?"
"Of course; he made me the same offer soon after he arrived."
Vimes shook his head wearily, gratefully changing the subject.
"About Constable Ping…" he began, and then tailed off.
Angua grinned broadly.
"Yes, she is very happy in the watch. Guess the Borogravians aren't the only ones to try a bit of cross-dressing to get ahead."
The smile left her face as she moved to more serious matters.
"I heard what happened earlier, Carrot told me as the others left."
"I'm sorry I never noticed before."
"How could you have done," she replied wearily. "Besides, he isn't the only one, there are one or two spread round the different Watch-houses."
Vimes made to speak but Angua cut him off.
"It's fine. Once they get to know me most stop wearing whatever it was, those that don't usually go to another job as soon as one is offered. People will always have prejudices; however much well meaning Commanders try to intimidate it out of them."
She paused, crossing her arms in front of her in an almost vulnerable gesture.
"Thanks for trying though."
