Acting on Instinct

by tupti

Summary:

Havelock Vetinari is guided by emotions.

Samuel Vimes defies the law.

A long way away from Ankh-Morpork, tempers fray.

Chapter 1

Vimes raced across the station, dodging people left and right. Where were all these buggers going? At that time of morning no less? The sun had barely even risen.

The howl of the engine echoed over the platform, signalling its imminent departure. Vimes' pace doubled. Terrier, was it? The allegations were getting harder and harder to beat. He jumped onto the carriage at the front, right after the engine and the supply car. A man in black guarded the entrance and had drawn his dagger before Vimes had even found proper footing. But upon recognizing him, the man put the weapon down, nodded, and stepped aside.

Vimes took a moment to catch his breath before he entered.

The private carriage of the Patrician had nothing of the garish luxury of the first class, no red velvet, no golden décor. It was panelled in dark wood and furnished with a desk, a cabinet, a sitting nook, and actual bookshelves from floor to ceiling.

Vetinari was seated at his desk. When Vimes stepped through the door, he looked up and furrowed his brow, then calmly shoved some documents under another pile of papers and folded his hands over it.

'Commander Vimes.' His voice had a testy edge to it. 'How can I help you?'

Vimes blinked in confusion. 'What do you mean? You summoned me.'

'I most certainly did not.'

'But… Your Dark Clerk let me in.'

'He would. You're you. But I didn't summon you.'

'Yeah, you…' Vimes searched his pockets for the clacks message he had received about twenty minutes ago, stooped, half-awake, over a cup of coffee. He found it, crumpled, in the back pocket of his trousers, approached the desk and held it out for Vetinari to take. 'You did. You said to meet you here immediately.'

The Patrician had barely glanced at the paper, before pressing his lips together in disdain.

'I did not write that.'

Vimes took another look at the message himself. 'It must have been you. It's in the code,' he said. 'We only use that with your office specifically.'

'Then it seems to have been decoded.'

'You said that was impossible.'

'So I was assured by the man who devised it. I shall have a word with him.'

Vimes hesitated. That didn't sound right. 'So someone cracked the code… and they proceeded to write me a message to get me to you? What for?'

'Use your imagination, Vimes! They might be eager to get you away from the city for some reason. Or they want us both on the same train and then cause an accident. I could think of a plethora of reasons, and they all lead to the same conclusion: You should not be here. So please, get off this train as quickly as possible.'

Vetinari was right, perhaps. It simply hadn't occurred to Vimes that bringing the two of them together could in any way be an advantage to someone harbouring ill intentions. As long as he was with the Patrician, the harm that could be done was negligible. So as reasonable as Vetinari's concerns were, he hesitated.

'Dunno, sir,' he mumbled. 'Call it a copper's instincts, but…'

'Instincts are primal.' Vetinari's voice was sharp now, impatient. 'I much prefer to base my actions on rational thought. Leave this train, Vimes. That's an order.'

'Sir…'

'I will not argue with you!'

It was the closest Vetinari had ever come to actually yelling at Vimes. So he raised his gaze and aimed it slightly to the left, stared into the middle distance, and saluted snappily.

'Sir!'

And then the engine whistled once more and, huffing and puffing, it pulled itself into motion.

'Ah.' Vimes took his hand down. 'Maybe at the next station, then.'

Vetinari steepled his fingers and leaned his forehead against them. He breathed in deeply as if he needed to calm himself before speaking. When he looked up, his face was devoid of any expression at all, but his voice was full of spikes.

'This is the express line to Genua, Vimes. No stops. I suggest you settle in.'

'Oh. Right.'

Vimes looked about the carriage, which suddenly felt very small.

'How long to Genua, then?'

Vetinari didn't look up. 'Nine hours and forty-three minutes.'

'Ah.'

'Feel free to borrow a book.'

A book. Hah. Vimes would be less bored not reading.

Since there was nothing at all he could think of to do other than to settle in, he took off his breast plate, helmet, sword, and truncheon, then sat down on the armchair in the sitting nook. Vetinari, meanwhile, focused on his papers. Well, this was going to be fun…

'What are we doing in Genua, anyway?'

'We are not doing anyhing, Vimes. I will attend the funeral of Lady Meserole.'

Vimes was already on the verge of asking who that was, when he remembered Madam. It had been years since he had met her in the past, but she had definitely made a lasting impression. It took him another second to remember that she was… had been Vetinari's aunt.

'I'm sorry, sir.'

'Thank you.'

'I didn't know.'

'I realize that.'

'She was an impressive woman.'

'I'm aware.'

How did…'

'Vimes.' Vetinari looked up with tired eyes. 'I would appreciate some silence.'

'Right.'

Vimes leaned back in the armchair, tapping his fingers on the armrest. The repetitive motion entertained him for about five minutes.

'Nine hours and…?'

'Forty-three minutes. Though we might have valiantly braved the first ten by now.'

Vimes sighed and got up from his seat to take a look at the bookshelves. Not that he had any intention of actually reading, but he did wonder how nine hours would pass otherwise.

He entertained himself for quite a while by picking books at random and leafing through them, partly interested in the ones with pictures. There were a few about fighting and weaponry, some about healing and alchemy, and surprisingly many about lacemaking. But most books seemed to cover different countries, some far away or long lost, some even entirely unknown to Vimes. Many had been written in foreign languages, a few in completely foreign signs.

'You read all of those?'

'Most. Though I fear I may die next to a stack of books I've been meaning to get to.'

Vimes tried to estimate how many books were on those shelves, well aware that the Palace had a library a hundred times bigger.

'When do you find the time?'

'When I am not being distracted by people inquiring after my reading habits.'

Vimes turned around and was greeted by a wry smile from the Patrician. He was leaning back in chair, his usually erect posture given up on. In his hand he held a silver brooch with an amethyst. His fingers rubbed over the stone incessantly.

'Was that hers?' Vimes asked.

'Yes. She gave it to me as a parting gift when I was still a child and she moved to Genua to be married. I missed her a great deal. The marriage didn't last but Genua became her home anyway. I got to live with her for a while there, after my parents had died and before she enrolled me at the Assassins' Guild. It was a time I would describe as... happy.'

'She was your only family, then?'

'Yes.'

'Sorry.'

'So you said.' Vetinari cast his eyes down at the amethyst. To Vimes, he suddenly looked very forlorn. 'Did you know that she played a key role in facilitating the Glorious Twenty-Fifth of May?'

Ah. That explained a lot.

'It doesn’t surprise me, sir.'

He watched Vetinari, seemingly lost in thought, stroking his fingertips across the amethyst. His face, usually an impervious mask, showed his grief clearly. They had never shared a moment like this before. This felt private, personal even. Somewhere at the back of Vimes' mind, worry stirred. Vetinari didn't usually give up his aura of strict professionalism.

'Let me come to the funeral with you,' he said. 'I'd like to pay my respects.'

Vetinari looked at him with searching eyes as if he were seeking for a hidden motive. Then he put the brooch aside and got up. When he opened the cabinet behind his desk, it revealed a bar. Vetinari chose a bottle, poured himself a whisky, and took a sip.

'No, commander, you have work to do. Find out who sent you that message and to what end. Keep Ankh-Morpork safe for me.'

'And who'll keep you safe?'

Vetinari smiled, if barely and without any humour. 'I do manage to stay alive most days without your constant supervision. I think I might be able scrape by on my own.'

He's right, Vimes' brain said. That message is suspicious and he's a trained assassin, after all.

He's full of shit, another voice, that was also him, replied. He's grieving and he's being… weird about it. How often have you seen him drink?

But he hadn't even taken a breath to object yet, when Vetinari held up his hand to stop him.

'Do not even think about arguing, Vimes. In my current state I do not feel inclined to indulge you.'

'Indulge me?' Vimes asked. 'Is that what you usually do, sir?'

Vetinari sat down at his desk again, placed the brooch in a drawer, and turned his attention to his papers.

'I suggest you refrain from finding out exactly how unindulging I can be, commander, if the mood takes me.'

Well. The remaining eight and a half hours would surely fly by… Vimes decided that, seeing as there was nothing he could actually do until they arrived in Genua and the Patrician appeared to be in a rather testy mood, a nap was the best course of action. Couldn't tread wrong if you didn't tread at all, and frankly, sleep had not been abundant lately. When was it ever? The sofa in the sitting nook seemed cosy enough. He could easily stretch out on it with room to spare. Hell, he had gotten good naps in far worse places. And the steady rattling of the train quickly lulled him into sleep…

 

The train station in Genua was no less crowded than the one in Ankh-Morpork. Seriously, where were these people all going? That couldn't be normal. Why would anyone want to travel, and by train no less, if you could simply choose to stay at home?

The Patrician had slipped away into the crowd as soon as he had stepped out of the carriage. Vimes eyes searched for him, but to no avail. It didn't feel good to let him wander about all on his own, especially in the state he was in. Even the Dark Clerk, who had guarded his carriage, had been left behind. It felt, therefore, absolutely wrong to approach the service counter to inquire after the next train back to Ankh-Morpork, but those had been his orders. You had to ask yourself why the Patrician was so adamant on being left alone. Was it the grief? Unconsciously, Vimes felt for the crumpled clacks message in his pocket. Something about all of this wasn't right…

A cheery girl in a snappy uniform informed him that he'd have to wait for another hour for the next express train to Ankh-Morpork. Or he could take a train in twenty minutes, but it would take twice the time the later train took, so it would be sensible to wait. Or he could… Vimes stopped listening, when the Dark Clerk approached him with another clacks message.

'This was waiting for you when I inquired for any messages before returning home.'

‘You’re leaving Genua, too?’

‘His lordship's orders.’

‘Hm.’

Reluctantly, Vimes took the paper. Who could possibly know that he was here? Who, except perhaps the writer of the original summons?

The message used the same code as the one this morning, the code for communications with the Oblong Office, and it took Vimes only a moment to decipher it. Then he cursed, loudly. He looked around. Vetinari remained as vanished as he had been fifteen minutes ago.

He turned to the girl at the counter, who hadn't noticed that he wasn't listening to her listing further connections, one of which, he was sure, included a trip around the entire Disc.

'Where's the police?'

She stopped.

'The police?'

'I need to talk to the Watch over here, dammit. Where do I find them?'

Luckily, Genua had followed Ankh-Morpork's example and had set up a Watch House right next to the train station. There were always criminals to apprehend before they boarded a train or to be welcomed when leaving one. Von Lipwig had really outfitted anyone with a reason to flee the law with the perfect device to escape quickly. At least, it was a predictable device. If you knew which train someone was on, you knew where they would turn up an hour or two later. So the verdict on Lipwig’s latest abomination was, as far as Sam Vimes was concerned, a solid fifty-fifty.

Since the Genua City Watch worked closely with the one in Ankh-Morpork, Vimes' name carried weight. It opened doors. The young corporal he first spoke to fell over his own feet in trying to get him to the commander as quickly as possible. It hadn't even taken half an hour until Vimes had been guided into an office that reminded him a lot of his own. Lots of disregarded paperwork.

Commander Company of the Genua City Watch was leaning against her desk now, as Vimes studied a bunch of newspaper clippings and other papers she had assembled on it.

'I do appreciate the help, Commander Vimes.'

She was a stocky woman in her fifties, not tall, but muscly, sporting quite a few visible scars – someone you didn't want to be on the wrong side of in a bar fight, Vimes was sure.

'I don't understand how you learned about it, though. We did our best to keep it out of the papers while we investigate.'

'And that’s probably for the best,' he said. 'But I have my ways of knowing things.'

'Of course.'

Lady Meserole hadn’t just died, she had been murdered.

Vimes, upon learning it, had barely managed to contain his anger. A proper thump against the wall would have done him good right now. But instead, he focused on the newspaper clippings and letters.

'Suspects?'

'Well.' Commander Company sighed. 'We have a difficult situation over here, politically speaking. There's folks on the rise who demand everyone to live after their ideas. They call themselves Genua First and their ideas mostly revolve around what women can and cannot do.'

She pointedly looked at Vimes, who nodded. He knew those kinds of people. Luckily, they never gained much traction in Ankh-Morpork, partly because Vetinari made them vanish as soon as they piped up.

'Lady Meserole spoke out against them, loudly and publicly. Was featured in the Genua Reporter pretty frequently, with columns that tore them to shreds. Got a lot of approval from the public. But you won’t be surprised to learn that she became enemy number one of Genua First very quickly. So we are fairly certain where to look, but as of now, we have no evidence. It likely was a contracted murder, so that makes it even more difficult to trace back to them. And, as you well know, we can't just arrest a whole group of people on suspicion alone.’

‘You can take them in for questioning.’

Commander Company smiled grimly. ‘They refuse. The Committee – that is the five big shots, the ones who rile everyone up – won’t cooperate. Each of them has a well-trained bodyguard shadowing them at all times. I won't send my officers in there unless absolutely necessary to retrieve an actual suspect.'

'In there? In where?'

'Their headquarters.'

'You know where they are?'

'Everyone does. They aren't a gang or some clandestine organisation. In case that wasn't clear, commander: They are a political party, operating in broad daylight and with full protection of the law.'

‘Murder is not covered by the law.’

‘No. But we still have no evidence.’

‘Hm. And this Committee… They are clever, I suppose? Well connected? Have friends in high places?'

‘All of the above.'

'Which makes this difficult to pursue for any lawful officer. Perhaps impossible.'

‘That’s what I’m trying to say. I won’t give up, but I don’t have much hope either, to be honest.'

'Right. Good work anyway, commander, proper police work. You keep doing it by the book.' Vimes pointed at a newspaper clipping that showed a group of people in front of a building. 'The headquarters?'

Company nodded. ‘I have filed for a search warrant, of course, but, as you might have guessed by now, this whole situation is so dicey, it might take a while till I get it. If I get it at all.'

‘And by then, no evidence will be left.’

She sighed. ‘Not likely.’

‘Commander…’ Vimes eyed the picture of the headquarters. ‘Do you have an address for me?'

 

Vimes hurried through the streets.

He had to stop him. He was a copper and a crime was a crime. But then again, Genua was not his jurisdiction. Perhaps you could argue that he was withholding knowledge from the police, but he wasn't even a citizen. And he didn't actually know anything. He suspected. The question was anyway: How on the Disc was he supposed to stop him? After what he had learned today, there was no way he could. But he could at least try to keep him safe. That, as Commander of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch and as his personal guard, was Vimes' first and foremost duty, after all.

He recognised the headquarters immediately from the picture, a squad, two-storey building. He looked around as if Vetinari would just be standing somewhere, waiting for him. Unsurprisingly, he wasn't.

What now?

The sun had only started to set. Surely, nothing would happen before darkness, would it? So Vimes drew back against into a corner, into the shadows, lit himself a cigar, and observed. He recited the clacks message he had received at the station quietly to himself, because its contents had seared themselves into his brain, every single word.

Commander Vimes, I sincerely hope you will pardon my deception this morning, but time was of the utmost essence. The untimely death of Lady Meserole has affected his lordship deeply. I cannot profess to knowing his mind in the matter, but I suspect that he might do something dangerous. Please keep him safe. Yours respectfully, R.D.

R.D. – Rufus Drumknott. Drumknott had sent the message that morning from the Palace and Vimes was deeply thankful. If Drumknott was worried enough that he forged a summons from the Patrician, things were dire. All the questioning about what the right thing to do was became inconsequential. This was where is loyalties lay, for better or worse, whether he liked it or not. He was his terrier, after all.

Night was falling quickly now, and there was still no sign of him.

Well, the bastard knows how not be seen, doesn't he? It's not like he'll be using the bleeding front door, you oaf. Vimes winced as a realisation dawned on him. Damn, and he's probably made you already.

It was embarrassing that the thought had occurred to him only know. Vimes was so used to being able to conceal himself from prying eyes and being the one who observed that he had forgotten for a moment who he was dealing with.

A thud made him look up, just in time to see a face pressed against a window on the second floor from the inside. It slowly slid down the pane and vanished from view.

Fuck.

Vimes did away with all the thinking and agonising and ran.

Inside the building it was dark and eerily quiet. There was no sign of anyone.

Except for the scream that came from upstairs.

Vimes took two steps at once as he rushed up to second floor, where he had seen the face bump against the window. And sure enough, there the man was, lying on the ground in a puddle of blood. Since there was very evidently nothing at all Vimes could do for him anymore, he stepped over his body and followed a red trace down the hall. He wouldn't have needed it as a guide, though, because of all the shouting and screaming ahead.

On his way, he had to step over three more bodies. Each of them he gave a quick glance to see if there was anything that might be done. But they had all been killed by someone who knew exactly what they were doing. Their wounds had been cut in such a way that they could not have been saved, even by a skilled hand. Yet they had still bled out slowly enough for them to realise that they were dying. And it had probably hurt every second along the way.

You really don't want him on your bad side, do you?

Vimes was closing in on the shouting now. He pushed a double door open, quickly noticed the label on it that stated that The Committee apparently assembled here, and found himself in a small conference room. It had used to be a conference room at least. Now the furniture was shattered and covered in blood. Bodies lay about, hindering the men who were still fighting. There were three of them against a single man draped in a black robe with a hood drawn deep into his face. They were coming at him from all sides, unafraid, in spite of their dead companions. One of them slashed at him and paid for it with his life. The other two finally decided it wasn't worth it and turned to the door. When they saw it occupied by a grim policeman, they froze – which was their last mistake. The left one dropped first, then the right, freeing the view on their killer.

Vetinari pulled down his hood. His pale face was sprayed with blood. It seemed as if he tried to say something, but instead he fell to his knees, his dagger clattering to the floor. Vimes rushed over and crouched down just in time to catch him as he collapsed forward. Vetinari leaned heavily on him and dropped his head on his shoulder.

'Ah, Vimes,' he rasped

His breath was laboured. Vimes could feel his ribcage rising and falling against his own in an unsteady rhythm. He put his arm around him to keep him from slipping further down to the floor.

'You alright, sir?'

'Are you here to arrest me?'

Ah, I probably should, shouldn't I?

'First things first, sir: Is that all their blood on you?'

Vetinari braced himself on Vimes' thigh and tried sit up, but he winced and stopped.

'Not all, I'm afraid. But most of my wounds are superficial.'

'Superficial is…' Good, Vimes had wanted to say, but didn't. 'Most of your wounds?'

'There is…' Vetinari's breath hitched, his grip around Vimes’ thigh grew tighter. 'There is a knife lodged quite firmly between my lower right ribs.'

'Ah. Next time maybe lead with that, sir.'

'Not to worry, Vimes.' He swallowed. 'It has been in there for a while, I have no reason to assume that it has impaled anything of great importance.'

'Right. Okay. Good.’ Vimes tried to calm himself down as he felt the panic rise. ‘Can you walk? We need to get you to a hospital.'

'Ah, commander…' Vetinari ventured a smile that showed bloodied teeth. 'I understand that you stand firmly on the side of the law. But I would prefer not to actively create any more witnesses to what I just did, if you don't mind.'

'You need medical attention!'

'And medical attention I shall get.' He tried to move his legs, but quickly stopped and screwed his eyes shut as if in pain. 'But I do require your assistance first.'

Vimes draped his arms around him to very carefully hoist him up, but even so, Vetinari bit back a groan. He leaned heavily on Vimes, grabbing at him with both hands to keep himself standing. Only then it occurred to Vimes that they couldn't leave the dagger. With some difficulty, he bowed down to retrieve it from where it had clattered to the floor, while still holding Vetinari upright.

The weapon was slick with blood from hilt to tip. Quickly, Vimes stowed it away in his belt, then walked the Patrician out of the room. For a getaway, they were excruciatingly slow, but he didn’t rush him, because he knew all too well that the knife between his ribs was cutting into him again and again every step of the way.

When they had reached the street, Vimes quickly drew the hood back over Vetinari's head to hide him from unfriendly eyes. As they stumbled through backstreets and dark alleys, he gave him short, strained commands about where to turn next, that Vimes followed blindly.

I'm aiding and abetting, Vimes thought. He’s bloody killed people.

He's always killed people in the shadows, Vimes replied. You've just always looked away.

 

Finally, after rounding a corner, Vetinari put a hand on Vimes’ chest to stop him. 'This is it, commander.'

They had arrived in front of a nice town house in a wide, quiet street. Vetinari carefully threaded out of Vimes’ arms to lean against the wall. With shaking hands, he pawed at the buttons of his coat, but gave up after several unsuccessful tries.

'Vimes, if you reach into the left inside pocket of my coat, you will find a key.'

To his own surprise, Vimes didn't hesitate before deftly opening the buttons, but he needed to feel around a bit to find the pocket Vetinari had talked about. It was located right over his heart, that beat rapidly against his chest.

With the key, Vimes' opened the door, then picked Vetinari up from the wall and helped him inside.

'It belongs… It used to belong to my aunt,' he explained. 'Straight ahead you will find the living room.'

They stumbled on, Vimes almost supporting Vetinari's full weight. He lay him down on the sofa gently, but he still winced.

'Capital, commander. Very good. Light up that lamp, will you?'

In the light of the gas lamp, Vimes saw him properly for the first time tonight and he wished that he hadn't. His skin was blood-splattered and ashen, his robes cut and torn. He had taken on ten people, and if Vimes remembered Commander Company's description correctly, five of them had been well-trained bodyguards. That he was still alive was a miracle.

'Has nobody ever told you that staring is impolite, commander?’ Vetinari scolded, though unconvincingly. ‘Please stay focused. In the kitchen cupboards you will find medical supplies.'

'Medical supplies in the kitchen cupboard,' Vimes repeated as he turned on his heels. Then he stopped. 'Wait. I am your medical assistance?'

'Please keep your arguing brief, Vimes. I’d like this knife to be removed sooner rather than later.'

So Vimes gnashed his teeth in silence and went to the kitchen to find the medical supplies as well as a bowl of water. He had a good grasp of first aid, as any copper did, thanks to the nurses of the Lady Sybil's who trained the Watch once a year, but he still wished for Mossy Lawn more than anything.

When he returned to the living room, Vetinari had closed his eyes. His breath was shallow and erratic, a sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.

'Sir.'

His eyes flew open.

'Yes, Vimes?'

'The knife.'

'The knife, of course. Yes. Take it out, stop the bleeding. It's simple.'

Vimes produced a pair of scissors that he brought. 'The doc taught me to remove the fabric as much as possible. The robe's tattered anyway, so…'

'Go ahead, Vimes, I brought spare clothes. They are much easier to replace than blood.'

So he cut the robe open as well as the shirt underneath it to free Vetinari's torso. It sported quite a few slashes, but at least Vetinari had been right about them: They weren't deep. They could be dealt with later. Vimes took a good look at the knife that stuck out from Vetinari's lower ribcage. It had been lodged in up to the handle, but the blade was narrow, at least.

Right. Here it goes.

There was no use in stalling. So Vimes took hold of the knife and yanked it out, then immediately pressed a bunch of gauze down on the wound. Vetinari didn't make a sound, but his whole body tensed as he closed his eyes and went even whiter than he had already been. His raven black hair, ruffled and spilling over his forehead, created a terrifyingly stark contrast, making him look like a black and white iconograph. It made for a beautiful picture, in a way, like you saw on the covers of those romance novels all the young ladies lately went mad about.

‘Alright, sir?'

Vetinari opened his eyes and furrowed his brow. 'Anything in the way of pain medication in those supplies, Vimes?'

'I'm afraid not.'

'Ah.’ He took some ragged breaths. ‘Some whisky must be available, surely.'

Vimes looked around and discovered a cabinet that was filled with assorted bottles. He took Vetinari's hand and placed it on the wound.

'Press down on this, sir.'

He quickly grabbed a bottle at random, then returned to the sofa. Holding Vetinari's head up with one hand, he carefully poured the whisky into his mouth with the other, until Vetinari signalled him to stop.

‘That must suffice. Now then…’ He collected himself for a second, then raised the gauze to look at the wound underneath. It only oozed slightly. ‘Three stitches, I think.’

‘Stitches?’ Vimes gaped. ‘I can’t do stitches!’

‘But I can. If you would pass me needle and thread?’

Vimes rummaged around in the supplies, but still hesitated when he found what he was looking for.

‘You’re sure about this?’

‘It’s not the first time I do something like this, Vimes.’

‘Of course it isn’t.’

‘Your sarcasm is entirely inappropriate.’ Vetinari took the needle and thread from him. ‘Madam taught me,’ he added quietly. ‘She was adamant on making me self-sufficient.’

Vimes really didn’t want to look, but watched anyway as Vetinari stabbed the needle into his own flesh. He winced with him as it pierced through. The pain he was in had to be tremendous, and still he worked quickly and precisely.

When Vetinari was done, he let his head fall back in relief, breathing heavily.

‘Do me a favour, Vimes, and pour some alcohol on the wound, will you?’

Before he did as he was asked, Vimes grabbed Vetinari’s hand, so he had something to squeeze through the next bout of intense pain. He made thorough use of it, very nearly breaking Vimes' fingers.

Then, slowly, Vetinari's eyes fluttered shut, and he lay still. Vimes used the water he had brought to clean his other wounds and wash away the splatters of blood on his face. His patient winced a few times, but apart from that, showed no reaction.

 When he was done with him, Vimes washed off the dagger, too, as well as his own hands.

Exhausted, he sat down on the floor beside the sofa, leaned his head back against the armrest and turned the clean weapon in his hands, this way and that. The blade was immaculate and the handle exquisite, both simple but expertly made. It was bloody sharp, too.

‘Sir?’

There was a long silence before Vimes heard a soft: ‘Hm?’

'Have you gone mad?'

Vetinari made a sound that might have been an attempt at laughter.

'Perhaps. Though asking the madman whether he might be mad may not get you an answer to your question.' He hesitated. 'I suppose you could say that I… did not entirely think this through. That I acted on instinct.'

'Really? You?'

'We all have our primal side, Vimes. Some merely hide it better than others.'

'You could have gotten yourself killed.'

'But I didn't.'

'If I hadn't found you…'

'I would have been fine on my own. I always am.'

Vimes turned his head so he could look at him. In spite of his condition, Vetinari’s gaze was clear.

'You knew it was Drumknott, then?’ Vimes asked. ‘The summons this morning.'

'Right away.'

Bloody bastard.

'Why didn't you ask for my help?'

'How could I challenge your loyalties like that? Even I would have found it cruel.'

Vimes furrowed his brow. 'I have no loyalties to Genua. Or to the people who murdered your aunt.'

'No. But to the law in and of itself.'

Ah. Vimes swallowed, leaned his head back again, and went silent. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him – Vetinari had been all he'd been concerned with. He closed his eyes and tried not to panic. Not only had he helped a murderer escape, he had destroyed evidence. With shaking hands, he put the dagger back into his belt.

And what now? he wondered.

Wait. Let him rest. And see what the morning brings.