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When it happens Vimes hears a deafening silence. It floods him. He is still. He feels mechanical. One of those weird inventions that captive-non-captive of Vetinari’s created. But left rusting in the corner.
There is a deafening silence. He thinks of his son. He thinks of his men. He thinks of his city.
He says, barely, forced between lips that are draining of colour as everything collapses in and out of focus and he’s wondering How Did Vetinari Let This Happen and where is the bastard anyway and where is Sam and where are my men and how. He says, barely, “long live the king”.
And Angua who is standing in front of him still in her uniform with hair everywhere nods and says, “long live the king”.
Vimes doesn’t ask, Do you want to be queen?
Angua doesn’t ask, What are you going to do?
The city puts together a revelry. There are musicians and dancers and mime artists and Vimes feels drunk on it all. But the nauseous room spinning I need a lie-down drunk.
He leans against a wall and watches as the processions passes. He’s been smoking for forty eight hours straight. He can see fifty six straight in his future. He’s a betting man sometimes, and he’s putting his shirt down on fifty six.
The city didn’t know how to react when it happened. When suddenly the patrician was…not and the king was…is. And it’s Carrot and they’ve seen him as a copper and they’ve chatted with him and they’ve fed him and laughed with him.
The city didn’t know how to react so it crowned him and feted him and is waiting still for that trick.
Because the city doesn’t forget. And the streets don’t forget. And the stones and dirt and earth and water and blood that makes up the foundations of Ankh-Morpork don’t forget.
Vimes resigns his position and Carrot accepts it and Vimes can’t read his face when he does. He’s never been able to read the former captain’s face. But now, the throne is helping. And Angua looks terrified but is hiding it well.
She finds him later, she’s wearing what she wore when he first met her – a grubby lass from the country with a thick Uberwald accent and a keen desire to do something.
‘He’s in the dungeons.’ She says it without preamble.
Vimes realises that he’s always sort of thought of her as a daughter. And he wants to tell her that it’s going to be all right. But knows if he does he’ll be lying.
He blows out smoke and says, Thank you, captain.
It’s the first time he’s seen her smile in a fortnight.
There’s a dog that shows up at his doorstep and young Sam asks if they can keep it. Vimes says yes but it’s the Patrician’s dog so we’ll have to be careful. Someone might come looking, after all.
Young Sam asks, ‘Where is Mr Patrician?’
And Vimes says, ‘He’s in the dungeons. He went quietly. He might have been smiling.’
‘Doesn’t that mean he has a trick?’
Vimes stares at his son. At young Sam who had played knights and castles and dragons when he had been even more of a lad. At the boy who was going to grow up to be the second most powerful man in the city besides the king.
Besides the king.
‘Sometimes. Sometimes even he doesn’t have a trick.’ Vimes pulled his son onto his lap and said that they should read Sam’s favourite book. But young Sam says it’s not his favourite anymore because aren’t kings bad? Does that mean Captain Carrot is bad? Is he bad, daddy? Are you going to arrest him?
And Vimes holds Sam close and replies that you can’t arrest a king. We are in a different world, my son. You can’t arrest a king.
Later, over drinks that Vimes isn’t drinking, Downey says, But you can kill one.
He looks at Vimes. He doesn’t say anything more.
Downey explains that Havelock was the one who inhumed Windor and as for Snapcase. The smile had been snake-like. Serpentine.
Vimes wonders if there was a class at the former guild on how to be as reptilian as humanely possible.
He is sure both men had passed with top marks.
‘He’s in the palace.’ Vimes says. He smoking furiously. Next to him Adora is his twin but with cigarettes.
Downey shrugs, sips his nameless amber drink, and sighs.
‘How long do you think that’s going to last?’ Downey stares pointedly. ‘You of all people should know that, commander.’
‘I’m not the commander anymore.’
Another shrug. Adora copies it. She says, ‘for now. This is Ankh-Morpork, your grace, things are rarely stable.’
None of them says that they had been. Had been for twenty years which is longer than any other ruler of the city, monarchs included.
Angua hands Vimes a pair of keys and explains that she loves Carrot. Loves him with every fibre of her being. Gods above. But this can’t go on.
‘Do what you have to do.’
Vimes looks at her with his copper-blank face. He feels like something in him is bending to near breaking point.
‘Captain-‘
‘It’s your majesty now,’ her voice is shrill. Almost hysterical. ‘Gods, Mister Vimes. Do what you have to do. He’s not being mistreated. He’s just in the cell. Reading.’
‘Lace making,’ Vimes mutters absently. He pockets the keys. He wants to pocket the captain as well, take her somewhere safe along with his son and the patrician and everyone else in the city. He wants to keep the city safe from the city.
‘A book on accountants, actually.’ She’s pulling away now and heading back towards the palace.
When Vimes tells this to Downey the assassin laughs.
The patrician is asleep when Vimes opens the cell door and slips inside. It’s the same one as the dragon incident and he’s feeling a bit of vertigo despite being underground and some déjà vu and some nostalgia because dragons. Dragons were easier than humans.
‘Ah, Vimes,’ Vetinari says when the former commander wakes him. He looks older than before, Vimes notes. I want to take it away and make him as he was six months ago. Has it been six months?
‘Sir, we have to be quick.’
Vetinari is unusually quiet as Vimes leads the way out. They pass a few unconscious guards and as they scale a wall and out a small window onto soggy, muddy streets, Vetinari murmurs that it was all neatly done.
‘I couldn’t have accomplished it better myself,’ he says into Vimes’ neck as they take a carriage back to the former commander’s house. Vetinari is leaning on him, half asleep, and feeling a bit cold through his clothes.
‘Didn’t they give you a blanket?’ Vimes asks. Vetinari’s hands have always been cold, but not so the rest of him.
‘Kinging must be done correctly, I believe. Can’t be showing favouritism to a prisoner.’
Later, after a bath and a meal and a vague explanation to young Sam, Vimes asks, ‘what was he planning to do with you?’
‘Forget about me, I think.’ Vetinari was staring at Vimes and the covers were up against their shoulders before Vimes moves them over their heads. It is easier to talk in the safety of sheets. ‘I would have done the same. My apologies, Vimes, I’m still forcing myself to believe that you are real.’
Vimes nods and doesn’t say anything because he can’t think of anything to say because Vetinari has never said anything like that before and probably never will again. The former patrician kisses him chastely. His cold fingers against Vimes’ cold cheeks.
Winter has arrived early this year and the former commander knows that it is all the king’s fault.
When it starts Vimes isn’t sure who was the initial instigator. First he thinks Downey, but then he thinks no, the man is a natural planner, a natural behind-the-scenes-drinks-at-seven politician. He seeks out Reg Shoe and finds him by his grave. His face is unreadable.
‘Civil war or revolution?’ The zombie asks.
‘Bit of both, sergeant.’
He turns to leave, there is a noise and he stops, Reg is crying. Standing atop his grave and there are things that might be called tears. He doesn’t know what to say. He thinks, I’m always at a loss of what to do lately. I find myself drifting.
After a minute the zombie gets a hold of himself. He asks who will be revolting and Vimes sighs, The city. And Reg says, I think I’ll sit this one out. And Vimes says, Probably a good choice.
When he leaves the cemetery he can feel his sword against his side. It’s a constant rhythm. He wonders how Stoneface had felt all those years ago. He has often wondered this and now finds that he has no desire to ever truly know.
There are barricades on the bridges. Vimes tries not to get drawn in but he has never been one to stand to the side while well trained palace guards slaughter regular civilians.
He thinks, I have to get to the captain. He corrects this thought, I have to get to the king. He is not a bad man. He is, in fact, a Good man. A Merciful man. A Just man. He’s just trod on too many toes. Needs a lesson in Politics. Gods, who am I to say that?
He passes over the barricades and heads towards the palace, taking side streets and going over rooftops and under houses. He finds Downey near the Cham with several former students of the former guild. The assassin is snarling at them to get indoors and what the hell do they think they’re playing at? Revolutions aren’t games.
Downey sees him and gives a grim nod.
‘I hear he hasn’t left yet. You’ll be able to find him.’
The palace is silent inside. The servants are gone and Vimes knows, he won’t be here. He’s a Good King and so he will be with his men.
He turns. Somewhere in the depths of the building an arrhythmic clock ticks.
Carrot says, they are managing a private conversation despite the crowd, that he hadn’t meant for any of it to happen.
Vimes murmurs, None of us ever do. Come, captain, stand up.
The crowd wants blood, Vimes knows. He remembers a song about angels and the smell of lilac. They always want blood but this isn’t Windor. This isn’t Snapcase. This isn’t – he stops. Somewhere in the crowd a pair of blue-like-glaciers eyes watch him. He knows they’re probably very blue because Vetinari would be, has to be, feeling something about all of this.
He wonders what Sybil would have done. Gods. Gods. He can’t think about her right now so he doesn’t.
Carrot gets to his feet, he’s unsteady.
‘We’ll get you home, all right.’ Vimes has his arm. I am not Stoneface, he thinks. I do not have it in my to shed another man’s blood like this. ‘Come, captain.’
Carrot isn’t moving. Off to the side Angua is looking stricken. She is wearing armour. The former commander dimly notes that it’s watch armour. Former watch armour. They’re all wearing it. Himself, Littlebottom, Nobby, Colon, Detritus, Humperdink – they’re all wearing it. Just on different sides.
Carrot’s armour is silver. It is marred with blood and dirt. It does not shine.
‘Come, captain,’ Vimes is still supporting most of his weight. He has to move him quickly but Carrot is mutely shaking his head.
‘I can’t,’ he says. ‘I can’t abandon my post.’
There is a crown on his head. Nothing large or gaudy or ostentatious. But a crown none the less.
‘I’m arresting you,’ Vimes growls. ‘We’ve arrested kings before, come with me.’ He knows Vetinari won’t execute Carrot. He stops that thought, there is no guarantee who will be patrician now. But he can’t think of the post without that man so he settles for him anyway.
‘I can’t,’ Carrot isn’t moving. The crowd is restless. ‘Do your duty, your grace.’ It’s said quietly. Vimes is frozen. His sword is heavy and resting at his side. In the crowd he can see young Sam standing next to Wilkins. ‘Do your duty.’
There are legends about the command of a king.
The movement is sudden as he wretches Carrot down to his knees. He withdraws his sword and places it on the younger man’s shoulders. Carrot is facing the crowd, Vimes is standing behind him.
The former commander says, ‘As the Duke of Ankh and former commander of the city watch and with the sanction of the city, I hereby strip you of your title as king.’
The sound reverberates around the square as he uses the tip of his sword to nudge the crown off Carrot’s head. Or it seems to.
He can feel the weight of the sword. It’s heavy in his hands. Carrot says, one more time, Do your duty. As I did mine.
Vimes wants to ask, Your duty? When was it ever your duty to be king? But he knows he’ll never be able to.
And he is very aware of his voice. Very aware of his son watching him. Very aware of those too blue eyes on him. Waiting.
The sword is moved back, there is a beat, the city is silent, the air is thick, and hot, and what a summer it has been, and his arm is moving. Moving. Moving.
He thinks, We need to learn about blood splatter patterns. It would be beneficial to the force to know about them.
He’s looking at the body, there’s a pair of arms around him, pulling him to the side. He doesn’t want to know what happens now. The arms are still around him and his face is pressed into someone’s neck and he’s standing limp and there’s a dull thunk as the sword hits the ground.
- - - - -
Later, he says, It started and ended with a king. Dragons, both of them.
Vetinari nods, he is silent.
Later still, he says, Was it right?
Vetinari purses his lips, there are papers on the desk in the Oblong Office, Vimes wants them gone. Wants to wipe it all away and gods, gods, how did it come to that?
The patrician finally says, I don’t know.
The commander asks, Would you have done it?
Vetinari smiles a fraction and asks, Would you do it again?
And Vimes says, I don’t know.
That night he tells young Sam that it’s time for bed. What story would you like? The boy says that he can pick.
Vimes sits on the edge of the bed and says, I’m going to tell you a story about a dragon. And a man who appeared in our city one day. A good man. A great man. And he made all those around him better for it.