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  Vimes sat down, staring at the sketch, willing it to yield its secret.

  Everyone will know the secret in a few weeks, Mr. Shine had said. Why?

  “Sir Reynold, was anything going to happen to the painting in the next couple of weeks?” he said.

  “Oh, yes,” said the curator. “Hwe hwould have installed it in its new room.”

  “Anything special about that?”

  “I did tell your sergeant, Commander,” said the curator a little reproachfully. “It is circular. Rascal always intended it to be seen in the round, as it hwere. So that the viewer could be there.”

  And I’m nearly there, too, Vimes thought.

  “I think the cube told the dwarfs something about Koom Valley,” he said, in a faraway voice, because he felt as though he was already in the valley. “It told them that the place where it was found was important. Even Rascal thought it was important. They needed a map, and Rascal painted one, even if he didn’t know it. Fred?”

  “Yessir?”

  “The dwarfs weren’t bothered about damaging the bottom of the painting because it doesn’t contain anything important. It’s just people. People move around.”

  “But, hwith respect, Commander, so do all those boulders,” said Sir Reynold.

  “They don’t matter. No matter how much the valley has changed, this picture will work,” said Vimes. The glow of understanding lit his brain.

  “But even the rivers moved over the years, and any amount of boulders have rolled down from the mountains,” said Sir Reynold. “I’m told the area looks nothing like that now.”

  “Even so,” said Vimes, in the same dreamy voice, “this map will work for thousands of years. It doesn’t mark a rock or a hollow or a cave, it just marks a spot. I can pinpoint it. That is, if I had a pin.”

  “I have one!” Sir Reynold said triumphantly, reaching to his lapel. “I spotted it in the street yesterday, and of course hwe all know the old saying: ‘See a pin and pick it up, and all day long—’ ”

  “Yes, thank you,” said Vimes, taking it. He walked to the end of the table and picked up one end of the painting, and dragged it back down the length of the table, the heavy paper flapping after him.

  He pinned the two ends together, held up the circle he had made, and lowered it over his head.

  “The truth is in the mountains,” he said. “For years you’ve been looking at a line of mountains. It’s really a circle of mountains.”

  “But I knew that!” said Sir Reynold.

  “In a way, sir, but you probably didn’t understand it until now, yes? Rascal was standing somewhere important.”

  “hWell, yes. But it hwas a cave, Commander. He specifically mentions a cave. That’s hwhy people have searched along the valley hwalls. The painting’s set right in the middle, near the river.”

  “Then there’s something we still don’t know!” said Vimes, annoyed that a big moment had so quickly become a small one. “I’ll find out what it is when I get there!”

  There. He’d said it. But he’d known that he was going to go, known for…how long? It seemed like forever, but had it seemed like forever yesterday? This afternoon? He could see the place in his mind’s eye. Vimes at Koom Valley! He could practically taste the air! He could hear the roaring of the river, which ran as cold as ice!

  “Sam—” Sybil began.

  “No, this has got to be sorted out,” Vimes said quickly. “I don’t care about the stupid secret! Those deep-downers murdered our dwarfs, remember? They think the painting is a map they can use, and that’s why they’re going there. I’ve got to go after them.”

  “Look, Sam, if—” Sybil tried.

  “We can’t afford a war between the trolls and the dwarfs, dear. That business the other night was just a dumb gang fight. A real war in Ankh-Morpork would wreck the place! And somehow it’s all tied up with this!”

  “I agree! I want to come, too!” Sybil screamed.

  “Besides, I’ll be perfectly safe if—what?” Vimes gaped at his wife while his mental gears ripped into reverse. “No, it’s too dangerous!”

  “Sam Vimes, I’ve dreamed of visiting Koom Valley all my life, so don’t you think for one moment you’re gallivanting off to see it and leave me at home!”

  “I don’t gallivant! I’ve never gallivanted. I don’t know how to vant! I don’t even have a galli! But there’s going to be a war there soon!”

  “Then I shall tell them we’re not involved!” said Sybil calmly.

  “That won’t work!”

  “Then it won’t work in Ankh-Morpork, either,” said Sybil, with the air of some player cunningly knocking out four dwarfs in one go. “Sam, you know you’re going to lose this. There’s no point in arguing. Besides, I speak dwarfish. We’ll take Young Sam, too.”

  “No!”

  “So that’s all sorted, then,” said Sybil, apparently struck by sudden deafness. “If you want to catch up with the dwarfs, I suggest we leave as soon as possible.”

  Sir Reynold turned to her with his mouth open.

  “But, Ladeah Sybil, armies are already massing there. It’s no place for a ladeah!”

  Vimes winced. Sybil had made up her mind. This was going to be like watching that dwarf being flamed by dragons, all over again.

  Lady Sybil’s bosom, which she was allowed to have, expanded as she took a deep breath; it seemed to lift her slightly off the ground.

  “Sir Reynold,” she said, with a side order of ice. “In the Year of the Lice, my great-grandmother once cooked, personally, a full dinner for eighteen in a military redoubt that was entirely surrounded by bloodthirsty Klatchians, and she felt able to include sorbet and nuts. My grandmother, in the Year of the Quiet Monkey, defended our embassy in Pseudopolis against a mob, with no assistance but that offered by a gardener, a trained parrot, and a pan of hot cooking fat. My late aunt, when our coach was once held up at bowpoint by two desperate highwaymen, gave them such a talking-to that they actually ran away crying for their mothers, Sir Reynold, their mothers. We are no strangers to danger, Sir Reynold. May I also remind you that quite probably half the dwarfs who fought at Koom Valley were ladies? No one told them to stay at home!”

  So that’s settled, then, thought Vimes. We—damn!

  “Captain?” he said. “Send someone to find that dwarf Grag Bashfullsson, will you? Tell him Commander Vimes presents his compliments and will indeed be leaving first thing in the morning.”

  “Er…right, sir. Will do,” said Carrot.

  How did he know I’d be going? Vimes wondered. I suppose it was inevitable? But he could have hung us out to dry if he’d said we’ve mistreated that dwarf. And he’s one of Mr. Shine’s pupils, I’ll bet on it. Good idea to keep an eye on him, perhaps…

  When did Lord Vetinari sleep? Presumably, the man must get his head down at some point, Vimes had reasoned. Everyone slept. Catnaps could get you by for a while, but sooner or later you need a solid eight hours, right?

  It was almost midnight, and there was Vetinari at his desk, fresh as a daisy and chilly as morning dew.

  “Are you sure about this, Vimes?”

  “Carrot can look after things. They’ve quietened down, anyway. I think most of the serious troublemakers have headed for Koom Valley.”

  “A good reason, one might say, for you not to go. Vimes, I have…agents for this sort of thing.”

  “But you wanted me to hunt them down, sir!” Vimes protested.

  “In Koom Valley? At this time? Taking a force there now could have far-reaching consequences, Vimes!”

  “Good! You told me to drag them into the light! As far as they’re concerned, I am far-reaching consequences!”

  “Well, certainly,” said Vetinari, after staring at Vimes for longer than was comfortable. “And when you have boldly reached so far, you will need friends. I shall make sure the Low King is at least aware of your presence.”

  “Don’t worry, he’ll find out soon enough,” growled Vimes. “Oh, yes.”

  �
�I have no doubt he will. He has his agents in our city, just as I have in his. So I will do him the courtesy of telling him formally what he will in any case know. That is called politics, Vimes. It is a thing we try to do in the government.”

  “But…spies? I thought we were chums with the Low King!”

  “Of course we are,” said Vetinari. “And the more we know about each other, the friendlier we shall remain. We’d hardly bother to spy on our enemies. What would be the point? Is Lady Sybil happy to let you go?”

  “She’s coming with me. She insists.”

  “Is that safe?”

  “Is here safe?” said Vimes, shrugging. “We had dwarfs coming up through the damn floor! Don’t worry, she and Young Sam will be kept out of harm’s way. I’ll take Fred and Nobby. And I want to take Angua, Sally, Detritus, and Cheery, too. Multi-species, sir. That always helps the politics.”

  “And the Summoning Dark? What about that, Vimes? Oh, don’t look at me like that. It’s common talk among the dwarfs. One of the dying dwarfs put a curse on everyone who was in the mine, I’m told.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that, sir,” said Vimes, resorting to the wooden expression that so often saw him through. “It’s mystic. We don’t do mystic in the Watch.”

  “It’s not a joke, Vimes. It’s very old magic, I understand. So old, indeed, that most dwarfs have forgotten that it is magic. And it’s powerful. It will be tracking them.”

  “I’ll just look out for a big floaty eye with a tail, then, shall I?” said Vimes. “That should make it easy.”

  “Vimes, I know you must be aware that the symbol is not the thing itself,” said the Patrician.

  “Yessir. I know. But magic has no place in coppering. We don’t use it to find culprits. We don’t use it to get confessions. Because you can’t trust the bloody stuff, sir. It’s got a mind of its own. If there’s a curse chasing these bastards, well, that’s its business. But if I reach ’em first, sir, then they’ll be my prisoners and it’ll have to get past me.”

  “Vimes, Archchancellor Ridcully tells me he believes it may be a quasidemonic entity that is untold millions of years old!”

  “I’ve said my piece, sir,” said Vimes, staring at a point just above Lord Vetinari’s head. “And it is my duty to catch up with these people. I believe they may be able to help me with my inquiries.”

  “But you have no evidence, Vimes. And you are going to need very solid evidence.”

  “Right. So I want to bring them back here, eyeballs on a string or not. Them and their damn guards. So’s I can inquire. Someone will tell me something.”

  “And it’ll also be to your personal satisfaction?” said Vetinari sharply.

  “Is this a trick question, sir?”

  “Well done, well done,” said Vetinari softly. “Lady Sybil is a remarkable woman, Vimes.”

  “Yessir. She is.”

  Vimes left.

  After a while, Vetinari’s chief clerk, Drumknott, entered the room on velvet feet and placed a cup of tea in front of Vetinari.

  “Thank you, Drumknott. You were listening?”

  “Yes, sir. The Commander seemed very forthright.”

  “They invaded his home, Drumknott.”

  “Quite, sir.”

  Vetinari leaned back, and stared at the ceiling.

  “Tell me, Drumknott, are you a betting man at all?”

  “I have been known to have the occasional ‘little flutter,’ sir.”

  “Given, then, a contest between an invisible and very powerful quasidemonic thing of pure vengeance on the one hand, and the commander on the other, where would you wager, say…one dollar?”

  “I wouldn’t, sir. That looks like one that would go to the judges.”

  “Yes,” said Vetinari, staring thoughtfully at the closed door. “Yes, indeed.”

  I don’t use magic, thought Vimes, walking through the rain toward Unseen University. But, sometimes, I tell lies.

  He avoided the main entrance and headed as circumspectly as possible for Wizards’ Passage, where, halfway down, university access for all was available via several loose bricks. Generations of rascally drunk student wizards had used them to get back in late at night. Later on, they’d become very important and powerful wizards, with full beards and fuller stomachs, but had never lifted a finger to have the wall repaired. It was, after all, Traditional. Nor was it usually patrolled by the Lobsters,* who believed in Tradition even more than the wizards.

  On this occasion, though, one was lurking in the shadows, and jumped when Vimes tapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, it’s you Commander Vimes, sir. It’s me, sir, Wiggleigh, sir. The archchancellor is waiting for you in the gardener’s hut, sir. Follow me, sir. Mum’s the word, eh, sir?”

  Vimes trailed after Wiggleigh across the dark, squelchy lawns. Oddly, though, he didn’t feel so tired now. Days and days of bad sleep and he felt quite fresh, in a fuzzy sort of way. It was the smell of the chase, that’s what it was. He’d pay for it later.

  Wiggleigh, looking both ways with a conspiratorial air that would have attracted instant attention had anyone been watching, opened the door of the garden shed.

  There was a large figure waiting inside.

  “Commander!” it bellowed happily. “What larks, eh? Very cloak-and-dagger!”

  Only heavy rain could possibly muffle the voice of Archchancellor Ridcully when he was feeling cheerful.

  “Could you keep it down a bit, Archchancellor?” said Vimes, shutting the door quickly.

  “Sorry! I mean, sorry,” said the wizard. “Do take a seat. The compost sacks are quite acceptable. Well, er…how may I help you, Sam?”

  “Can we agree for now that you can’t?” said Vimes.

  “Intriguing. Do continue,” said Ridcully, leaning closer.

  “You know I won’t have magic used in the Watch,” Vimes went on. As he sat down in the semidarkness, a coiled-up hosepipe ambushed him from above, as they do, and he had to wrestle it to the shed floor.

  “I do, sir, and I respect you for it, although there are those that think you are a damn silly fool.”

  “Well…” Vimes said, trying to put “damn silly fool” behind him, “the fact is, I must get to Koom Valley very fast. Er…very fast indeed.”

  “One might say—magically fast?” said Ridcully.

  “As it were,” said Vimes, fidgeting. He really hated having to do this. And what had he sat on?

  “Mmm,” said Ridcully. “But without, I imagine, any significant hocus-pocus? You appear uncomfortable, sir!”

  Vimes triumphantly held up a large onion. “Sorry,” he said, tossing it aside. “No, definitely no pocus. Possibly a little hocus. I just need an edge. They’ve got a day’s start on me.”

  “I see. You will be traveling alone?”

  “No, there will have to be eleven of us. Two coaches.”

  “My word! And disappearing in a puff of smoke to reappear elsewhere is—”

  “Out of the question. I just need—”

  “An edge,” said the wizard. “Yes. Something magical in its cause but not in its effect. Nothing too obvious.”

  “And no chance of anyone being turned into a frog or anything like that,” said Vimes quickly.

  “Of course,” said Ridcully. He clapped his hands together. “Well, Commander, I’m afraid we can’t help you. Meddling in things like this is not what wizarding is all about!” He lowered his voice and went on: “We will particularly not be able to help you if you have the coaches, empty, around the back in, oh, call it about an hour?”

  “Oh? Er…right,” said Vimes, trying to catch up. “You’re not going to make them fly or anything, are you?”

  “We’re not going to do anything, Commander!” said Ridcully jovially, slapping him on the back. “I thought that was agreed! And I think also that you should leave now, although, of course, you have, in fact, not been here. And neither have I. I say, this spying business is pretty clever, eh?”

  When Vimes was gone, Mustru
m Ridcully sat back, lit his pipe, and, as an afterthought, used the last of the match to light the candle lantern on the potting table. The gardener could get pretty acerbic if people messed about with his shed, so perhaps he ought to tidy up a bit—

  He stared at the floor, where a tumbled hosepipe and a fallen onion made what looked, at a casual glance, like a large eyeball with a tail.

  The rain cooled Vimes down. It had cooled down the streets, too. You have to be really keen to riot in the rain. Besides, news of last night had got around. No one was sure, of course, and such were the effects of Fluff and Big Hammer that a large if elementary school of thought had been left uncertain about what really happened. They woke up feeling bad, right? Something must have happened. And tonight the rain was setting in, so maybe it was better to stay in the pub.

  He walked through the wet, whispering darkness, mind ablaze.

  How fast could those dwarfs travel? Some of them sounded pretty old. But they’d be tough and old. Even so, the roads in that direction were none too good, and a body could only stand so much shaking.

  And Sybil was taking Young Sam. That was stupid, except that it…wasn’t stupid, not after dwarfs had broken into your home. Home was where you had to feel safe. If you didn’t feel safe, it wasn’t home. Against all common sense, he agreed with Sybil. Home was where they were together. She’d already sent off an urgent clacks to some old chum of hers who lived near the valley; she seemed to think it was going to be some kind of family outing.

  There was a group of dwarfs hanging around on a corner, heavily armed. Maybe the bars were all full, or maybe they needed cooling down, too. No law against hanging around, right?

  Wrong, growled Vimes as he drew nearer. Come along, boys. Say something wrong. Lay hold of a weapon. Move slightly. Breathe loudly. Give me something that could be stretched to “in self-defense.” It’d be my word against yours, and believe me, lads, I’m unlikely to leave you capable of saying a single damn thing.

  The dwarfs took one clear look at the approaching vision, haloed in torchlight and mist, and took to their heels.