YES.
‘So . . . how long have I got?’
Death looked up at the strange stars.
ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD.
‘Yeah . . . well, maybe that’ll –ing do it. Maybe there won’t be no more world to go back to by then.’
I BELIEVE IT DOES NOT WORK LIKE THAT. I UNDERSTAND REINCARNATION CAN TAKE PLACE ANYWHEN. WHO SAYS LIVES ARE SERIAL?
‘You savin’ . . . I could be alive before I was born?’ YES.
‘Maybe I can find me and kill myself,’ said Mr Tulip, staring at the sand.
NO, BECAUSE YOU WILL NEVER KNOW. AND YOU MAY BE LEADING QUITE A DIFFERENT LIFE.
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‘Good . . .’
Death patted Mr Tulip on the shoulder, which flinched under his
touch.
I SHALL LEAVE YOU NOW—-
Th’t’s a good scythe you got there,’ said Mr Tulip, slowly and laboriously. That silverwork’s craftsmanship if ever I saw it.’
THANK YOU, said Death. AND NOW, I REALLY MUST BE GOING. BUT I WILL PASS THROUGH’ HERE SOMETIMES. MY DOOR, he added, is ALWAYS OPEN.
He strode off. The hunched figure fell behind into the darkness, but a new one appeared, running madly across the not-exactly-sand.
It was waving a potato on a string. It stopped when it saw Death and then, to Death’s amazement, turned to look behind it. This had never happened before. Most people, upon coming face to face with Death, ceased worrying about anything behind them.
Is there anyone after me? Can you see anyone?’
ER . . . NO. WERE YOU EXPECTING ANYONE?
‘Oh, right. No one, eh? Right!’ said Mr Pin, squaring his shoulders. ‘Yeah! Hah! Hey, look, I’ve got my potato!’
Death blinked and then took an hourglass out of his robe. . MR PIN? AH. THE OTHER ONE. I HAVE BEEN EXPECTING YOU.
‘That’s me! And I’ve got my potato, look, and I’m very sorry about everything!’ Mr Pin was feeling quite calm now. The mountains of madness have many little plateaux of sanity.
Death stared into the madly smiling face. You ARE VERY SORRY?
‘Oh, yes!’
ABOUT EVERYTHING?
‘Yep!’
AT THIS TIME? IN THIS PLACE? YOU DECLARE YOU ARE SORRY?’
‘That’s right. You got it. You’re bright. So if you’ll just show me how to get back–‘
YOU WOULD NOT LIKE TO RECONSIDER?
‘No arguing, I want what’s due,’ said Mr Pin. ‘I’ve got my potato. Look.’
AND I SEE. Death reached into his robe and pulled out what looked to Mr Pin, at first sight, like a miniature model of himself.
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But there was a rat skull looking out from under the tiny cowl. Death grinned. SAY HELLO TO MY LITTLE FRIEND, he said. The Death of Rats reached out and snatched the string. ‘Hey–‘
DO NOT PUT ALL YOUR TRUST IN ROOT VEGETABLES. WHAT THINGS SEEM MAY NOT BE WHAT THEY ARE, Said Death. YET LET NO ONE SAY I DON’T
HONOUR THE LAW. He snapped his fingers. RETURN, THEN, TO WHERE YOU
SHOULD GO . . .
Blue light flickered for a moment around the astonished Pin, and then he vanished. Death sighed and shook his head.
THE OTHER ONE . . . HAD SOMETHING IN HIM THAT COULD BE BETTER, he
said. BUT THAT ONE . . . He sighed deeply. WHO KNOWS WHAT EVIL LURKS
IN THE HEART OF MEN?
The Death of Rats looked up from the feast of potato.
SQUEAK, he said.
Death waved a hand dismissively. WELL, YES, OBVIOUSLY ME, he
Said. I JUST WONDERED IF THERE WAS ANYONE ELSE.
William, ducking from doorway to doorway, realized that he was taking the long way round. Otto would have said that it was because he didn’t want to arrive.
The storm had abated slightly, although stinging hail still bounced off his hat. The much bigger balls from the initial onslaught filled the gutters and covered the roads. Carts had skidded, pedestrians were hanging on to the walls.
Despite the fire in his head, he took out his notebook and wrote: hlstns bggr than golf blls? and made a mental note to check one against a golf ball, just in case. Part of him was beginning to understand that his readers might have a very relaxed attitude about the guilt of politicians but were red hot on things like the size of the weather.
He stopped on the Brass Bridge and sheltered in the lee of one of the giant hippos. Hail peppered the surface of the river with a thousand tiny sucking noises.
The rage was cooling now.
For most of William’s life Lord de Worde had been a distant
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figure staring out of his study window, in a room lined with books that never got read, while William stood meekly in the middle of acres of good but threadbare carpet and listened to . . . well, viciousness mostly, now that he thought about it, the opinions of Mr Windling dressed up in more expensive words.
The worst part, the worst part, was that Lord de Worde was never wrong. It was not a position he understood in relation to his personal geography. People who took an opposing view were insane, or dangerous, or possibly even not really people. You couldn’t have an argument with Lord de Worde. Not a proper argument. An argument, from arguer, meant to debate and discuss and persuade by reason. What you could have with William’s father was a flaming row.
Icy water dripped off one of the statues and ran down William’s neck.
Lord de Worde used words with a tone and a volume that made them as good as fists, but he’d never used actual violence.
He had people for that.
Another drop of thawed hail coursed down William’s spine.
Surely even his father couldn’t be this stupid?
He wondered if he should turn over everything to the Watch right now. But whatever they said about Vimes, in the end the man had a handful of men and a lot of influential enemies who had families going back a thousand years and the same amount of honour that you’d find in a dog fight.
No. He was a de Worde. The Watch was for other people, who couldn’t sort out their problems their own way. And what was the worst that could happen?
So many things, he thought as he set out again, that it would be hard to decide which one was the worst.
A galaxy of candles burned in the middle of the floor. In the corroded mirrors around the room they looked like the lights of a shoal of deep-sea fishes.
William walked past overturned chairs. There was one upright, though, behind the candles.
He stopped.
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‘Ah . . . William,’ said the chair. Then Lord de Worde slowly unfolded his lanky form from the embracing leather and stood up in the light.
‘Father,’ said William.
‘I thought you’d come here. Your mother always liked the place, too. Of course, it was . . . different in those days.’
William said nothing. It had been.
‘I think this nonsense has got to stop now, don’t you?’ said Lord de Worde.
‘I think it is stopping, father.’
‘But I don’t think you mean what I mean,’ said Lord de Worde.
‘I don’t know what you think you mean,’ said William. ‘I just want to hear the truth from you.’
Lord de Worde sighed. ‘The truth? I had the best interests of the city at heart, you know. You’ll understand, one day. Vetinari is ruining the place.’
‘Yes . . . well . . that’s where it all becomes difficult, doesn’t it?’ said William, amazed that his voice hadn’t even begun to shake yet. ‘I mean, everyone says that sort of thing, don’t they? “I did it for the best”, “the end justifies the means” – the same words, every time.’
‘Don’t you agree, then, that it’s time for a ruler who listens to the people?’
‘Maybe. Which people did you have in mind?’
Lord de Worde’s mild expression changed. William was surprised it had survived this long.
‘You are going to put this in your rag of a newspaper, aren’t you?’
William said nothing.
‘You can’t prove anything. You know that.’
William stepped into the light and Lord de Worde saw the notebook.
‘I can prove enough. That’s all that matters, really. The rest will become a matter of . . . inquiry. Do you know they call Vimes “Vetinari’s terrier”? Terriers dig and dig and don’t let go.’
Lord de Worde put his hand on the hilt of his sword.
And William heard himself think: Thank you. Thank you. Up until now, I couldn ‘t believe it. . .
‘You have no honour, do you?’ said his father, still in the voice
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of infuriating calm. ‘Well, publish and be damned to you. And to the Watch. We gave no order to–‘
‘I expect you didn’t,’ said William. ‘I expect you said “make it so” and left the details to people like Pin and Tulip. Bloody hands at arm’s length.’