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 defence". 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.
Right!
The entity known as the Summoning Dark sped through streets of eternal night, past misty buildings of memory that wavered at its passage. It was getting there, it was getting there. It was having to change the habits of millennia, but it was finding ways in, even if they were no bigger than keyholes. It had never had to work this hard before, never had to move this fast. It was ... exhilarating.
But always, when it paused by some grating or unguarded chimney, it heard the pursuit. It was slow, but it never stopped following. Sooner or later, it would catch up.
Grag Bashfullsson lodged in a subdivided cellar in Cheap Street. The rent wasn"t much, but he had to admit that neither was the accommodation: he could lie on his very narrow bed and touch all four walls or, rather, three walls and a heavy curtain that separated his little space from that of the family of nineteen dwarfs that occupied the rest of the cellar. But meals were included and they respected his privacy. It was something to have a grag as a lodger, even if this one seemed rather young and showed his face. It still impressed the neighbours.
On the other side of the curtain children were squabbling, a baby was crying, and there was the smell of rat-and-cabbage casserole. Someone was sharpening an axe. And someone else was snoring. For a dwarf in Ankh-Morpork, solitude was something that you had to cultivate on the inside.
Books and papers filled the space that wasn"t bed. Bashfullsson"s desk was a board laid across his knees. He was reading a battered book, its cover cracked and mouldy, and the runes passing under his eye were: "It has no strength in this world. To fulfil any purpose, the Dark must find a champion, a living creature it can bend to its will ..."
Bashfullsson sighed. He"d read the phrase a dozen times, hoping he could make it mean something other than the obvious. He copied the words into his notebook anyway. Then he put the notebook in his satchel, swung the satchel on to his back, went and paid Toin Footstamper two weeks" rent in advance, and stepped out into the rain.
Vimes didn"t remember going to sleep. He didn"t remember sleeping. He surfaced from darkness when Carrot shook him awake. "The coaches are in the yard, Mister Vimes!" "Fwisup?" murmured Vimes, blinking in the light. "I"ve told people to load them up, sir, but-" "But what?" Vimes sat up.
"I think you"d better come and see, sir:
When Vimes stepped out into the damp dawn, two coaches were indeed standing in the yard. Detritus was idly watching the loading, while leaning on the Piecemaker.
Carrot hurried over when he saw the commander. "It"s the
wizards, sir," he said. "They"ve done something."
The coaches looked normal enough to Vimes, and he said so. "Oh, they look fine," said Carrot. He reached down and put his
hand on the door sill, and added: "But they do this." He lifted the laden coach over his head.
"You shouldn"t be able to do that," said Vimes.
"That"s right, sir," said Carrot, lowering the coach gently on to the
cobbles. "It doesn"t get any heavier with people inside, either. And if
you come over here, sir, they"ve done something to the horses, too." "Any idea what they"ve done, captain?"
"None whatsoever, sir. The coaches were just outside the university. Haddock and I drove them down here. Very light, of course. It"s the harnesses that are worrying me. See here, sir:
"I see the leather"s very thick," said Vimes. "And what"re all these copper knobs? Something magical?
"Could be, sir. Something happens at thirteen miles an hour. I don"t know what." Carrot patted the side of the coach, which slid
away. "The thing is, sir, I don"t know how much of an edge this gives you.
"What? Surely a weightless coach would-"