Chapter Text
Alchemy: the science of understanding, deconstructing, and reconstructing matter. However, it is not an all-powerful art. It is impossible to create something out of nothing. If one wishes to obtain something, something of equal value must be given. This is the Law of Equivalent Exchange; the basis of all alchemy. In accordance with this law, there is a taboo among alchemists. Human transmutation is strictly forbidden, for what could equal the value of a human soul?
Far off in the distant reaches of the cosmos, or perhaps even in a separate universe entirely, the great space turtle, A'tuin, soars across the emptiness of space. Atop her shell stand four great elephants, balancing upon their backs the weight of the Discworld. It is a vast and glorious world* that has baffled its own cartographers since the very beginning of the profession.
[*If a bit tongue-in-cheek at times.]
But if you managed to get all of them together and asked them the correct question, they would all be forced to admit that the greatest of all the cities upon its surface would have to be Ankh-Morpork. This is not, in fact, a testament to its historical significance, even though it had, at one point, been the capital of a vast empire. It was simply a matter of fact, given that it was the largest multicultural melting pot on the Disc, hosting over a million people of various nations, species, and even states of life and unlife.
To any visitor who visited, hoping to see great, white towers and vast gardens, it would be rather disappointing. Rather than standing proudly, the city seemed to skulk, as if afraid that the very loam upon which it stood could and would be stolen out from under it. For indeed, the Citie of One Thousand Surprises, as it was advertised in the Merchants' Guild pamphlets, was one riddled with garbage* and crime. In fact, a certain amount of crime was encouraged by the law, given the fact that the Thieves' Guild was not only a well known organization, but a legitimate one to boot.**
[*The river Ankh, upon which the city rested, was well known for being almost possible to cross on foot, without the use of bridges or ice.]
[**The Patrician, undisputed ruler of the city, had taken it upon himself to legalize many guilds which had simply been ignored by previous administrations. This not only included the Thieves' Guild, but that of the Assassins, as well as the Seamstresses. Any confusion you hold towards the last guild may be quelled by the fact that you wouldn't expect them to stitch up your coat or darn your socks.]
And, despite its many flaws, odors, and people of varying degrees of nasty, Sir Samuel Vimes, Duke of Ankh and Commander of the City Watch, loved the city.
Vimes, despite his array of titles, rather considered himself to be a Man of the People. He'd been born in the city's gutters in Cockbill Street, and raised amongst a collection of boys who took to gang violence as naturally as breathing. When he was old enough, he'd joined the Watch during the Bad Old Days of Lord Winder.
And now, after years of service to the city, here he lay, in a very comfortable bed next to his wife, the Lady Sybil Ramkin. She was an odd character, one that he loved more than almost anything else. And to his shock, she did the same to him. They'd met during an unfortunate case where a dragon had been summoned from... Wherever they went, and fallen in love in short order.
Vimes took a moment to consider this chain of events. He still couldn't quite put his finger on when it had begun, or even why. He'd been an unclean, uncertain drunk of a copper, visiting the most celebrated breeder of swamp dragons in Ankh-Morpork, trying to make sense of a world that suddenly contained much larger, more dangerous beasts. And here had been a wonderful, lovely woman who could've been Queen of the Valkyries, had she even bothered to apply for the job. And Sybil, a city of a woman, had embraced him whole-heartedly. She worshipped Vimes, for no discernable reason he could think of, but his own heart had the common decency to return that worship in kind.
And now, they had a child of their own. A rambunctious kid that Sybil had insisted on naming Sam, who combined the Vimes investigative drive and the Ramkin certainty of purpose in one overactive package. Neither had really expected this development, both being of a certain age, but they had embraced the lad as well, while at the same time agreeing that one child was more than enough.
Vimes could hear the soft patter of feet out in the hall, and knew that they would both be receiving a rude awakening. It was Hogswatch, after all, and there was bound to be something in the lad's stocking that made some dreadful noise. After all, he said to himself, What else is four o'clock on Hogswatch for? He rolled over, swallowed by the mounds of pillows around him, determined to take for himself just a few more moments of sleep.
His life was rather confusing, this much was true. But damn, if it wasn't a good one.
Every city, without fail, has a pub much like this one. It's not even a pub, just a nameless spot where people tend to congregate whilst preparing for or simply arranging events of dubious legality. It had once been host to an assassin, a couple of thieves, a locksmith, and an incognito wizard. No one asked what they had been up to, but everything had turned out more or less the same in the following days, so no one had bothered to ask. Not that they would, anyways. Not if they weren't particularly suicidal, that is.
The Watch had yet to take notice of this establishment, along with a few others here and there, and for this reason, Willinus von Rotgut had chosen it for a meeting of his own. This is not to say that he was entirely fond of the place, or Ankh-Morpork in general. He was from Uberwald, a much cleaner and, in his own mind, more right country.
Still, he was not here for the city itself, but for what it offered.
So, Willinus grimaced his way through his latest purchase, watching as a man made his way to the corner table he had secluded himself at.
With a touch of dramatics, and a little too much volume, Willinus set his mug down with a sigh. "I must say," he grumbled, not bothering to greet the now seated arrival, "I do not believe this pub has ever seen real beer. This piss surely could not qualify."
The man known as Foul Ron* frowned at Willinus. "Really, mister," he growled, as quietly as he dared. "I come back, after riskin' my life in the University; on Hogswatch, mind you; and you just start complainin'? No how'd ya do, no you got the goods, nuffin?"
[*Not to be confused with Foul Old Ron, one of the better known members of the Beggars' Guild.]
Willinus narrowed his eyes, regarding Ron with not insignificant distaste. "That is hardly covert, Foul Ron. I expected secrecy for this... operation."
"Oh, please," Ron said, shrugging off the warning. "Not even the Thieves' Guild comes 'round here these days. And everyone who does bother showin' up here's got their own, erm, illicit dealings, if you catch my meanin'. Too busy makin' sure no one's eavesdroppin' to bother droppin' any eaves themselves." He produced a rectangular object wrapped in rags, setting it on the table. "And I did get it, in case you was wonderin'."
Willinus sighed heavily, reaching out for the object.
Ron pointedly slid it back to himself. "No, you don't, mister," he growled in warning. "Pay first, then you get it."
"I have already parted with half of your fee," Willinus pointed out. "Do you really think I would cheat you?"
Ron snorted. "You fink I was born yesterday? Or did I wake up somewhere other than bloody Ankh-Morpork? I know you's a foreigner, but I ain't about to go easy on ya."
Willinus closed his eyes, a small smile crossing his lips. This worried Ron more than the annoyance.
"I am glad," Willinus said calmly, "To find another soul who believes in Equivalent Exchange, Ron, Truly, I am." The black eyes opened, fixing Ron to his seat. "However, I must insist upon, at the very least, examining the goods. After all, I am, as you so rightly put it, in bloody Ankh-Morpork."
Foul Ron took a moment to read the expression of his employer. He was, at the very least, functionally literate, as well as intelligent enough to avoid the Guild and its particular brand of justice. It was why his services had been sought out, after all. But even he had trouble following this man's logic.
Slowly, he slid the rag bound item in Willinus' direction. "No runnin' off, you understand?"
"My dear Ron," Willinus said, taking the book in his hands. "I promise you, if you have retrieved the correct book with no fuss, you shall receive every dollar promised."
The rags fell away, revealing a thick, leather bound volume. The title, etched in gold upon the cover, read, Alchemie, the Science of Understanding, Deconstructing, and Reconstructing Matter. No author was displayed.
Ron shrugged. "I don't fink that's real gold," he said, motioning to the lettering. "Someone would've nicked it long ago, if it were." He eyed his employer carefully, adding, "And I don't know what you want with some old book about alchemy the wizards had. We do have an Alchemists' Guild, after all. Why not rob them?"
Willinus chuckled, stroking the book's spine with reverence. "You know everything you need to," he answered, opening it up and browsing through the pages. "If I were to answer that question, I dare say you would be paying me." The black eyes rose once again to meet Ron's gaze. "Equivalent Exchange, remember?"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Ron grumbled, waving it off. "I get the message, mister. Now, you gonna pay me, or what?"
With a nod, Willinus shut the book, reaching into his dark cloak. "As promised," he said, carefully handing him a bag of jingling coins, "Our business is concluded."
Ron snatched it, stuffing the bag into his satchel. It was an art, dealing with large amounts of cash without attracting the attention of other ne'er-do-wells, and it was clear Willinus had not mastered it. "Good," he grumbled, getting to his feet. "Now, if you'll excuse me, mister, it is Hogswatch, and I got a home to get to."
"I'm sure you do," Willinus answered. He was perusing the book yet again. "Give my regards to Tilly."
Ron froze midstep. "I never told you her name-"
"No," Willinus said, looking up with that half-smile Ron was beginning to despise. "You did not."
Ron swallowed. He did not have to have grown up on the grimy streets of Ankh-Morpork to understand the message. Or, perhaps, that was the only reason he understood it in the first place.
Without another word, the unaffiliated thief strolled off into the night, broadcasting to one and all that everything was business as usual.
With a nod to himself, Willinus turned his attention back to the book. The pages before him displayed two sketches; one of a gate, the other of a shining stone.
He stroked the image of the stone, allowing himself another chuckle. After all these years of rumors and hearsay, he held in his hands the real thing. The secrets of true alchemy, not that minor, highly explosive meddling the Alchemists' Guild was famous for. The true thing, the whole of the thing.
And the daft bastards who called themselves wizards had been keeping it all this time.
Willinus finished his beer, not minding the taste and weakness of the substance anymore. He had work to do.
Sam Vimes was never much for paperwork. In fact, his desk had, at one point, been known as the place paperwork went to die. Of course, if anyone bothered to yell at him about it, he'd be quick to resurrect it, if only for the purpose of finding the payroll chitty.
But all this was before the arrival of A.E. Pessimal, an accountant who'd always dreamed of being a watchman. He didn't look very impressive; a small man with clean shoes and the demeanor of a born clerk. But he'd distinguished himself on his first day by attacking a troll with his teeth. The ineffectiveness of the act* was offset by the fact that it had not only occurred to him, but been acted on at all.
[*A very small man attacking what was, for all intents and purposes, a brick wall, is far more impressive in theory than it is in real life. He and Vimes were the only ones wounded in this encounter, and would've met an untimely demise if not for the presence of Sergeant Detritus, another troll.]
These days, Pessimal's experiences in the Watch were nowhere near as exciting. Sure, he went on a weekly night patrol with another of the Watch, but most of his time was spent in an office set aside for him. Not that he saw any cause to complain. After all, he'd made it. Even if he was a just a clerk Watchman, he was a Watchman. The very thought caused him to puff out his chest as far as it would go with sheer pride.
At this moment, in the wee hours of the morning, he found himself working the front desk. Everyone else was out on their nightly patrols or home for Hogswatch, and he'd brought some of the paperwork with him. After all, paperwork stood still for no man, and his job was important.
He glanced up as the door opened with a frown. He had his pocketwatch on his desk; one of those with little gears that did not require little imps to turn the mechanisms; and no one was scheduled to come in just yet.
What stood in the doorway was neither guard nor civilian. In fact, it was red, covered in fur, and could only be marginally described as man-like. It was wrapped in a few layers of Hogswatch coats, and its face, while exceedingly inhuman, just managed to convey its displeasure with the cold, winter morning. Pessimal also noticed a string wrapped around its neck, proudly displaying what he immediately recognized as a Special Constable's badge. This could only be the Librarian of Unseen University.
"Special Constable?" Pessimal asked. "Were you called out for service? I ask because I haven't seen any reports..."
The ape sneezed, miserably loping to the desk. "Eeek," was its only response.
"Erm..." Pessimal frowned, considering the communication problem before him. "I'm afraid I can't speak orangutan, but perhaps you write in Ankh-Morporkian?"
"Oook."
"I'll take that as a yes, then." Pessimal dug in his pockets, producing a pencil and an empty notebook. He always had a few spares; one never knew when notes would need to be taken. "Here you are," he said, handing it over.
The Librarian accepted both, scribbling something down before holding out the notebook for inspection.
Pessimal peered at the words. "A book has been stolen from the Unseen University's Library," he read aloud. "I request the assistance of Captain Carrot and Sergeant Angua."
"Oook," said the Librarian, nodding just to get the point across.
Pessimal shook his head. "I'm afraid both are out on patrol at the moment. They should be in shortly, however. In the meantime, perhaps you could wait in the canteen? There's still some hot cocoa in there, I think. Right that way."
"Oook." And with that, the Librarian wandered off, leaving Pessimal alone once more.
Pessimal sighed heavily, returning his attention to the paperwork. He'd heard of the Librarian, of course; a human wizard who'd gotten caught in some spell that turned him into the ape he now was. He'd also heard that the Librarian was quite happy with the results, but he couldn't help but disagree. Certainly, there were several physical advantages to the form, but communication with other sapient beings tended to be his weakness. Not a good quality for a Watchman, in Pessimal's book. After all, most of the job was walking and talking.
The door opened once again, and Pessimal found himself standing at attention, giving both of the new arrivals a smart salute. "Captain. Sergeant."
"Good morning, Lance-Constable," answered the werewolf, Angua, brushing snow out of her mane of blonde hair.
"And a happy Hogswatch to you," added Carrot, beaming at the small man with his bright, innocent smile.
Pessimal nodded, dropping the salute. "Happy Hogswatch, sir. Sergeant. The Librarian was just here, asked for you two personally."
Angua frowned. "Really? That's rather odd, don't you think?"
"Oh, yes," Carrot confirmed with a nod. "Orangutans are beasts of the jungle. I imagine winters are quite hard on him. Why did he ask for us, Pessimal?"
Pessimal handed over the notebook. "Apparently someone's stolen a book, sir."
"Really? Oh no," Carrot said, ignoring the book entirely. "Where is he now?"
"Sent him to the canteen for some hot cocoa, sir. He looked like he could use some."
"Good man," Carrot said, making his way towards the canteen. "It looks like we're still on-duty, Angua."
Angua sighed, following him. "And on Hogswatch, of all days."
"I know, it's quite exciting, isn't it?"
Angua frowned at him. "But a stolen book? Really, Carrot. How bad could that be?"
"You'd be surprised," he answered. "The last time someone stole a book from the Unseen University, they used it to summon a Noble Dragon into the city."
She winced. "Right. Unseen University. I should have guessed."
Carrot patted her shoulder. "Don't worry. I didn't take it seriously either. Not at first."
As they entered the canteen, they spotted the Librarian nursing a mug of cocoa. He managed it by forming his bottom lip into a funnel, and making a sound much like rushing rapids. He glanced up at them, raising the mug in greeting. "Oook."
"It's good to see you, too," Carrot answered. "I heard about your problem from Pessimal. A very serious crime, and on Hogswatch night, too."
"Oook," said the Librarian.
"Can you tell us which book was stolen this time around?"
"Oook." The Librarian turned a page in the notepad and started to scribble away.
"Ah," Carrot said with a nod, turning to Angua. "No need for charades this time."
"I see," Angua muttered, watching as the Librarian continued to write.
The orangutan finally set the pencil down, taking another sip of his cocoa as he slid the notepad over to Carrot.
The young man peered down at it with a frown. Angua couldn't resist joining him.
"Alchemy?" Angua asked with a frown. "Why would the wizards have a book on alchemy?"
The Librarian shrugged, taking another loud sip of the cocoa.
"Well, it appears they did," Carrot noted. "And now they don't. Er, once you're finished, sir, would you mind showing us the scene of the crime?"
The Librarian nodded. He had to hand it to Pessimal and Carrot, they were making his constant communication issue much more navigable.
Angua sighed, marching over to the mugs. "Well, before we go anywhere, I'm having some cocoa myself."
Some would describe the library at Unseen University to be impossibly large and dangerous. Which it most certainly was, but this was only the case because most libraries are.* In fact, the matter of these books being magical in nature only compounded the issue. There were tribes of lost students deep within, still searching for whatever obscure reading materials they were after in the first place.
[*In fact, any space with an abundance of books is bound to be larger on the inside than without. This is due to containing so many words. The relevant equation goes as follows: Books = Knowledge = Power = Energy = Matter = Mass; or, alternatively, Books = Knowledge = Power = (Force x Distance / Time). A good library or bookshop is merely a genteel black hole that knows how to read.]
And the Librarian knew exactly how to navigate this treacherous place. He gripped Carrot's hand, guiding him and Angua through the vast network of bookshelves. Books rattled within, sparks of errant magic getting caught in the copper wiring that kept the place grounded.
The Librarian was uncertain about the werewolf, as were most animals. However, there was another book thief on the loose, and he wanted the whole thing sorted out poste-haste. She had a much better nose than he or the rest of the City Watch combined.
He stopped, pointing out the most dreadful sight any librarian could gaze upon; an empty spot where a book should be.
"Right, then," Carrot said, letting go of the Librarian's hand. "I suppose we'd better start searching."
Angua sighed, undoing the straps of her breastplate. "Well, someone other than you was definitely here," she said to the Librarian. "But that's all I can tell in this shape. If you'd both kindly turn around?"
Both Carrot and the orangutan politely turned away. There was the sound of falling metal and cloth, soon followed by a snuffling noise. Carrot collected Angua's things, and both man and Librarian followed a blonde wolf back through the shelves.
Angua kept sniffing the air, following an unseen trail back to the library doors. Carrot surreptitiously set her belongings behind one of the shelves, and Angua disappeared once more. He and the Librarian gave her privacy once more.
Angua reappeared in human shape, buckling her armor back into place. "Well, it wasn't one of the wizards, I can tell you that much."
Carrot gazed at her in amazement. "You can tell that? Just from the smell?"
She shrugged. "I don't know why, but magic has a certain... Scent, I suppose. And this book was taken by one of the least magical people I've ever trailed. I might be able to trace him out in the street, but I wouldn't keep my hopes up. His scent is all over the hall, along with..." She took another sniff. "Cleaning supplies, I think. A staff member, if I were to guess. But it's... strange."
Carrot tilted his head. "Strange, how?"
Angua screwed up her face in consideration. "Like I said, the trail mixes with the others he's left, but... Half the time he's bringing along cleaning supplies, and the other half, he's covered in false stenches. Cow manure, rat poison, sewer stink. We're lucky only one bit of his trail leads into the Library."
"But he's definitely a man?"
She pointed to her face. "Has this nose ever led you wrong, Carrot?"
"Fair point," he said with a nod, turning to the Librarian. "Can you think of any members of staff that would have any reason to enter the library?"
The Librarian scratched his head in thought. "Eeek," was his eventual answer.
"Perhaps you could provide us with names and addresses?"
"Eeek."
Carrot sighed. "Right. That would probably be the Archchancellor's domain. Do you think he's still awake?"
The Librarian shrugged. While the Hogwatch night feast could go on all night, there really was no telling when it would end. And it was generally not an event the Librarian attended personally, although he tended to go for the organ* afterwards.
[A massive instrument designed by a man referred to only as Bloody Stupid Johnson.]
"Could you take us to him, then?" Carrot pressed. "We don't want this book used to nefarious ends, no matter what's in it."
"Oook!"
Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully sighed as he lay in his bed. This had been a damn good Hogswatch night, if he said so himself. The food was as plentiful as always, the presents weren't too disappointing, and no creatures of superstition had suddenly popped into existence.
Earlier, he'd even briefly considered reopening that bathroom Bloody Stupid Johnson had made, just as a treat for himself. Then he'd reconsidered it just as quickly. While it hadn't been the source of the troubles that one year Death's granddaughter had turned up with the Oh God of Hangovers, it certainly hadn't helped the situation. Especially when the Librarian got on that sodding organ.
Why hadn't the Librarian played it yet, anyways? He should be kept up by the noise at this point, not his own musings.
Ridcully jumped as someone knocked at his bedchamber door. Grumbling to himself, he stuffed a hat onto his head, wrapping his pajamas in a bathrobe and getting to his feet.
There was another knock.
"Yes, yes, I'm coming," he called out grumpily, stamping his way to the door. He undid every lock and bolt he'd set up, still grumbling. Certainly, the days of wizards advancing through the ranks via murder were long gone, but one did not remain Archchancellor by losing his paranoia.
He was rather surprised to find on the other side not only the Librarian, but two City Watchmen. He believed he saw the werewolf, Sergeant Angua von Uberwald, and this giant of a man with a clean shaven, innocent look about his face that could only be Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson.
"Ah," he said, glancing between the three just to be sure. "Greetings, Captain. Sergeant. Librarian. What brings the lot of you here, at this time of night? On Hogswatch night, of all nights?"
Carrot gave him a smart salute. "I do beg your pardon, sir," he apologized, "But the Librarian has reported an unlicensed theft on University grounds."
Ridcully snorted. "It would certainly have to be unlicensed," he remarked. "We're all paid up with the Thieves' Guild." Then, he blinked. "I-I beg your pardon, did you just say an thief managed to break into the University?"
"Afraid so, sir," Carrot answered with a nod. "Only one item is currently unaccounted for; one book, leatherbound, bearing the title of Alchemie, colon, the Science of Understanding, comma, Deconstructing, comma, and Reconstructing Matter, author unknown."
Ridcully blinked again, turning to the Librarian. "Why would we have a book on alchemy, dear ape? That dangerous drivel belongs with the Alchemists Guild, doesn't it?"
The Librarian shrugged and said, "Oook."
"Erm, right," Ridcully muttered with a nod. He didn't truly understand a bit of Orangutan, but he'd be damned if he showed a bit of academic ignorance in front of the watch.
Angua cleared her throat. "Sir, we suspect that this was someone with access, although we don't think it was one of your wizards. A member of staff, perhaps."
"Yes, and we were rather hoping," said Carrot, pulling out another notebook and pencil, "That you could provide us with names, descriptions, and addresses for us to continue with our inquiries."
Ridcully stroked his beard, thinking. "Well, Modo lives on the grounds, and we sent the maids, housekeepers, and other such staff members off home for Hogswatch. Well, except for the cooks, of course," he finished with a chuckle, patting his stomach with satisfaction.
Carrot nodded, taking a few notes. "We'll be sure to interview mister Modo before we leave for the night." He glanced at Angua with a frown. "Could the culprit be one of the cooks?"
Angua shook her head. "I'd have smelled it if he was. And he most certainly wasn't the dwarf, Modo. He smells too much like gardening for me to get that confused."
"Right, then," Carrot nodded, jotting down some more. "I believe we can remove the maids and cooks from our inquiries, as well as Modo, Archchancellor. But I'll still require the names and addresses for the rest."
"Right," Ridcully nodded, turning away from them. "If we had that book instead of the alchemists, who knows what sort of trouble people could get up to with it. I'll see if the Dean's still awake. He'll have all the records you need."
Angua flashed him a brittle smile. "The Watch thanks you for your cooperation, Archchancellor."
There was an art to avoiding the attention of the Thieves Guild. One that Foul Ron had mastered over the years.
For one thing, Foul Ron wasn't even his real name. He was actually Liam Barnes, a husband and father who lived on Short Street*.
{*The longest street in the city, and a fine example of the Ankh-Morpork sense of humor.}
Another thing was to have a day job, especially one that gave people the impression that you were the opposite of what you truly were. He'd had a few in his career, but he was always a housekeeper. He kept himself and wherever he worked nice and clean, more so than the maids themselves, only to dirty himself up whenever he took up the role of unlicensed thief.
While he was a great housekeeper, illegal acquisitioning was his true passion. Of course, he rarely indulged himself. Last night had been one such indiscretion; another addition to his private retirement fund. And his ultimate goal was simple; to become a doting husband and grandfather, able to treat his entire family to little luxuries whenever he was in the mood.
And there would be no working when he was an elderly grandpapa, oh, no. He'd seen his own father work himself to death for the same ends. While he still mourned and respected the man, he suspected that his father hadn't exactly been the sharpest knife in the cupboard.
Oh, he'd considered joining up with the Thieves Guild before, but the thought of licensed thieving and leaving a receipt behind felt like an insult to the entire profession. No, thievery was an art, and the legitimization of the Guild had poisoned the art throughout the city.
Then again, the threat of the Guild's version of "justice" for unlicensed thievery lent the entire profession more... adventurous thrill. Let them have their receipts and licenses, let them have the Patrician's permission and their budgets. Liam, or rather, Foul Ron would have the dark alleys, the lockpicking, adrenaline rushes of unknowing residents wandering around their homes while he lurked in the dark.
And then there was the Watch and its werewolf. Thanks to her presence in the city, he'd always kept himself surrounded by pungent soaps while cleaning, and engulfed in the strangest and most disgusting perfumes* when out thieving. And if that wasn't enough, he'd make a quick stop in the butchery shops and warehouses. When it came to a nose like a werewolf's, blood trumped everything. Or, so he'd been told. Besides, if they caught him, it would be much better all around than if the Guild did.
{Not like a rather distracting scent of lilacs or roses, but things like dog vomit, odeur d'excrements equins, or just plain sewer rat. There was a market for all things in Ankh-Morpork.}
His wife, Tilly, would not approve of his little pleasures, he knew that much. She was a good, law abiding citizen who disapproved of all thieves, licensed or not. In fact, this was the reason he operated so rarely, and under his slightly confusing alias.
Well, one of the reasons.
The other was to avoid others involving his loved ones. Which Willinus von Rotgut had come dangerously close to last night.
How had the man known? Liam had constructed Foul Ron with great care. The poor grammar, the lack of solid information, an extra apartment for his tools of the trade. Even the spots of dirt on his clothes and self were plotted out with precision. As Liam, he never tolerated muck and grime on his person, and it was a far more efficient disguise than he'd dared to dream when he thought it out. People saw what they wished to see, even the wizards who were his current employers.
So, how had Willinus cracked the mask of Foul Ron? How had he discovered the family? How had he even thought to look?
These thoughts were plaguing Liam even as he and the family sat in their own apartment, opening their Hogswatch presents.
He'd gotten the kids some interesting toys from Crumley's, and normally, their excitement would have brightened up his day.
Tilly hugged him as they sat on the couch, leaning in to whisper, "What's the matter, dear?"
"Hmm?" He blinked, turning to look at his wife. "Oh, nothing, dear. Just... A rather late night, I'm afraid."
"Really? I thought they gave you and most of the staff the night off?"
"Oh, there was a bit of an emergency," he answered quickly. "The Bursar had too many dried frog pills, I'm afraid."
"Ah," Tilly muttered. "I suppose that would explain it. Did you at least get paid for your time?"
"Er, yes, they were quite generous," he said, hoping she wouldn't notice the sweat building on his brow. "It being Hogswatch and all."
There was a knock at the front door, and everyone turned to gaze at it.
"Were we expecting anyone," Liam asked, getting to his feet.
"Not just yet," Tilly answered. "Maybe mum's early?"
"Maybe," he muttered, strolling over and opening the door.
He was met with the black eyes and pinched features of Willinus von Rotgut, who gave him a small, worrying smile. "Ah, mister Barnes," he said, removing his hood. "Do you have a moment to spare? In private?"
Liam froze, staring at the man before him. "I-I, er..."
"Who is it?" Tilly asked, now on her feet.
Willinus glanced past Liam, his smile widening. "Just a man who's impressed with his housekeeping skills, madam. Could you spare him for just a moment? I wish to speak of business."
Tilly frowned. "On Hogswatch? Of all days?"
Liam's brain worked on overtime as he watched the black eyes flash dangerously. "Er, he's written me about it, Tilly. And I, er, responded back."
"Indeed," Willinus said, stepping forward and placing a hand on Liam's shoulder. "Unfortunately, I will not be within your fair city for long, and I wished to speak with him in person. Thus, today is my only opportunity to do so. I do apologize for the inconvenience, and will not be taking too much of mister Barnes' time with such a lovely family."
Her brow knitted as she considered this, then she nodded. "Alright, but not too long, you hear me?"
"Of course, dear," Liam answered quickly, stepping out into the hall and closing the door.
Willinus' grin seemed to grow points as the door shut. "A truly beautiful family you have, mister Barnes. A shame you can't share your true passion with them."
Liam rounded on the man, waving a finger under his nose. "Our business was concluded," he hissed. "You have your book, I have my money. So bugger off, will you?"
Willinus stared down at the finger, his smile only growing.
Slowly, Liam lowered it, clearing his throat. "Respectfully, of course. Sir."
"My dear Liam," Willinus said, his eyes rising to meet the thief's. "Or, should I say, Foul Ron, our business is concluded when I say so. After all, you wouldn't want anything to happen to you and yours, would you?"
Liam grit his teeth, his hands clenching into fists. "You ever been in an Ankh-Morpork pub brawl, mister Rotgut?"
Willinus chuckled darkly. "Oh, I imagine them to be most uncivilized events, where using one's fists is but a luxury, and the rules of the Marquis of Fantailier are but another method of suicide."
Liam frowned. "Who's the bloody Marquis of Fantailier?"
Willinus waved it off. "Not important. What is important is this-"
Liam Barnes was not exactly a fighter. He, along with a select few within the city, had avoided several massacres by simply not being there. But he knew how to throw a punch. And he'd kept one hand within his pocket. The pocket holding spiked knuckledusters.
In one quick movement, the weapon was free. In another, he'd bashed the man's head in. Soon, he and his family were off to another city, where his ill-gotten gains paved the way for a quiet, peaceful life. Sure, there was some difficulty explaining the entire thing to Tilly, but she took it in stride, and turned out to be quite the capable pickpocket herself.
At least, this was true down one leg of the trousers of time. Down that leg, this was a very short story indeed.
But in this one, Liam was only able to produce the weapon. Willinus was upon him in an instant, a blur of black cloth and crazed, white grin. Before Liam knew it, he was being choked out from behind, Willinus catching the deadly instrument before it fell to the ground.
"Your wife will be opening that door any second now," Willinus hissed gleefully in his ear. "I'll be letting go now, and you will have a choice to make: reveal the true nature of your work to your family, or simply act as if I just gave you a most ludicrous offer. I hope we understand each other now."
True to his word, Willinus released Liam, the knuckleduster disappearing within the cloak. And, suddenly, the man was all business.
Liam heard him discussing the logistics of a castle's maintenance, as if he was in the middle of a lecture. But the words themselves went in one ear and out the other.
He barely managed to turn away from the door just as Tilly opened it. "Is anything the matter?" she asked, glancing between the men.
Liam turned towards her with a smile he didn't feel. "Oh, nothing, Tilly, dear. Just got a bit excited, is all."
She frowned, nodding slowly as she closed the door.
Willinus chuckled, handing the knuckleduster back to its owner. "I am nobility, Liam Barnes. Do you know how many assassinations I have survived? Both professional and... Amateur? Because, quite frankly, I've lost count, ha ha."
Liam sighed in defeat, pocketing the weapon. "What is it you want?"
"It may surprise you to hear this, mister Barnes, but I already possessed a copy of the book you fetched for me." The man smirked, watching Liam's face. "By your silence, I take it you've surmised why I hired you to procure the wizards' copy."
"Something was missing?" Liam asked. "Something you wanted?"
Willinus nodded in approval. "Very good, mister Barnes. This is why I hired you. I needed someone intelligent and bold enough to steal from the wizards without their noticing. Someone who has been selling off the valuables of all his employers, but nothing they would miss." He spread his arms wide. "And I now come before you with another task. One that, I'm certain you realize by now, you cannot afford to decline."
Liam nodded, not daring to meet that black-eyed gaze now. "And what is that, sir?"
Willinus tutted, shaking his head. "Not here. Not now. But you shall meet me back in that dump they call a tavern, where we shall be joined by... your team." He chuckled, turning away and marching down the hall. "Eleven of the clock, mister Barnes. Do not be late."
Liam watched him go, cursing himself silently. He cursed his career as a thief, cursed his need for that blood-rushing thrill. And he cursed the name of Willinus von Rotgut.
But he could not do anything. By his own design, Liam Barnes had doomed himself to whatever dastardly task Willinus had in store for him. And, if he was a betting man, he'd stake his entire savings fund on this being something he'd never agree to otherwise.
With another sigh, he entered the apartment once more, all smiles and celebration. For tonight, he dined in hell.
Vimes happily munched away at his breakfast, watching his son do the same. Despite them having a staff, Sybil still insisted on cooking their meals. She wasn't a gifted cook, but did it anyways, because, if one believed her words, it was just what wives were supposed to do.
Her husband, himself, wasn't entirely certain of that perspective. Then again, he and Young Sam had appetites to match her cooking. They loved greasy, black bits in the eggs, and bacon burned almost to charcoal. And, since it was Hogswatch morning, she hadn't bothered to add in all the green stuff she insisted Vimes eat for his health. Forget big, soft beds and a bath every night, this was luxury.
At the moment, Sybil and Young Sam were prattling on about the latest of Felicity Beedle's books, one of which had been sent as a Hogswatch gift for the boy. Signed, even, by the woman herself. They'd met two years back, while the family was "on vacation".
Oh, the things Vimes had discovered there... It almost made him lose his appetite. Then again, if he were to follow that logic, he would have had to leave Ankh-Morpork long ago. And that thought just didn't sit right with him, no matter how much it made sense.
As Young Sam paused to eat some more, Vimes cleared his throat. "So, Sybil. How are Miss Beedle and Tears of the Mushroom?*"
{*A goblin maid who lived with the author, and was being tutored by her. She was also a master with a harp.}
"Oh, they're doing fine, dear," Sybil answered with a smile. "Apparently, Tears is composing another piece."
"That's good to hear, dear," Vimes said, nodding. "And Captain Feeney's getting along alright. According to him, the goblins are shaping up to be fine watchmen."
"Splendid." Sybil turned her gaze to Young Sam and frowned. "Chew with your mouth closed, young man," she ordered, and the boy quickly closed his lips.
They heard the doorbell ring, and Vimes frowned. "Willikins is on holiday, right?"
"Today and yesterday," Sybil answered, a disappointed and worried look on her face. "Go on, Sam. I know you want to."
Vimes nodded, pushing himself to his feet and marching to the door. He had to look down when he opened it, and was surprised to find a clean shaven face. "Officer Pessimal," he greeted.
Pessimal nodded. "Commander. Sorry to interrupt your Hogswatch morning, sir, but Captain Carrot was insistent that I report this to you before heading home."
"Carrot, right," Vimes said. "What's up?"
"The sky, sir," Pessimal answered, without a hint of mirth in his voice.
Vimes sighed. "I meant, what do you have to report, Pessimal?"
"Ah," the officer intoned. "Well, you should have just said, sir."
Vimes narrowed his eyes. "And?"
Pessimal cleared his throat. "Well, sir, he and Sergeant Angua have returned from Unseen University. It appears that someone has stolen a book."
Vimes stared at Pessimal. But he didn't see the small man. Instead, he saw a gaping, black maw, with a tiny light in the center. He cleared his throat, shaking the phantom image away. "What kind of book was it?"
"That was the strange thing, sir. A book on alchemy."
"Right," Vimes muttered with a grimacing smile. "And if the wizards had it, that must mean it's worse than anything the Guild could cook up. Get yourself home, Pessimal. I'll be up at Pseudopolis Yard straight away."
"Of course, sir," Pessimal answered with a smart salute.
Before rushing upstairs to get dressed in uniform, Vimes made sure he made a stop at the dining room. "Sorry, dear, but I'm needed at the Yard. The wizards have been robbed."
"Oh, dear," Sybil said with a sigh. "What was taken?"
"A book on alchemy," Vimes answered. "And seeing as the last book that disappeared from their library summoned a noble dragon, I'd rather not take chances." He was quick to add, "I'm terribly sorry, dear."
Sybil sighed again, this time in marital defeat. "Oh, very well, Sam. But be sure to get back here as soon as you can."
"Of course, Sybil, dear," Sam said, heading for the stairs.