Everywhere you looked, there were teams of trolls and dwarfs surveying, diverting, damming, and drilling. They’d been engaged in this for two days. It would take them forever, because every winter changed the game. Koom Valley was forcing cooperation on them. Dam Koom Valley…
Vimes thought that was a bit too pat, but nature can be like that. Sometimes you got sunsets so pink that they had no style at all.
One thing that had happened fast was the tunnel. Dwarfs had cut down quickly through the soft limestone. You could stroll down into the cavern now, although, In fact, you’d have to queue, because of the long line of trolls and dwarfs.
Those in the line going down eyed one another with uncertainty at best. Those in the line coming up sometimes looked angry, or were close to tears, or just walked along looking at the ground. Once they got past the exit, they tended to form into quiet groups.
Sam, with Young Sam in his arms, didn’t have to queue. News had got around. He went straight in, past the trolls and dwarfs who were painstakingly reassembling the broken stalagmites (it was news to Vimes that you could do that, but apparently if you came back in five hundred years they’d be as good as new) and into what had come to be called the Kings’ Cave.
And there they were. You couldn’t argue with it. There was the dwarf king, slumped forward across the board, glazed by the eternal drip, his beard now rock and at one with the stone, but the diamond troll king had remained upright in death, his skin gone cloudy, and you could still see the game in front of him. It was his move; a healthy little stalagmite hung from his outstretched hand.
They’d broken off small stalagmites to make the pieces, which time had now glued into immobility. The scratched lines on the stone were more or less invisible, but Thud players from both races had already pored over it and a sketch of the Dead Kings’ Game had already appeared in the Times. The troll king was playing the dwarf side. Apparently, it could go either way.
People were saying that when this was all over, they’d seal the cave. Too many people in a living cave killed it in some way, the dwarfs said. And then the kings would be left in the dark to finish their game in, with luck, peace.
Water dripping on a stone, changing the shape of the world one drop at a time, washing away a valley…
Yes, well, Vimes had added to himself. But it’d never be that simple. And for every new generation, you’d have to open it again, so that people could see that it was true.
Today, though, it was open for Sam and Young Sam, who was wearing a fetching wooly hat with a bobble on it.
Brick and Sally were on duty, along with a couple of dwarfs and two more trolls, all watching the stream of visitors and one another. Vurms covered the ceiling. The game gleamed. What would Young Sam remember? Probably just the glitter. But it had to be done.
The players were genuine—on that, at least, both sides agreed. The carvings on Diamond were accurate, the armor and jewelry on Bloodaxe were just as history recorded. Even the long loaf of dwarf bread that he carried into battle, and which could shatter a troll skull, was by his side. Dwarf scholars had, with delicacy and care and the blunting of fifteen saw blades, removed a tiny slice of it. Miraculously, it had turned out still to be as inedible now as the day it was baked.
A minute was about enough for this historic moment, Vimes decided. Young Sam was at the grabbing age, and he’d never hear the end of it if his son ate a historic monument.
“Can I have a word, Lance Constable?” he said to Sally as he turned to go. “The guard changes in a minute.”
“Certainly, sir,” said Sally. Vimes strolled off to a corner of the cavern and waited until Nobby and Fred Colon marched in at the head of the relief.
“Glad you joined, Lance Constable?” he said, as she hurried up.
“Very much, sir!”
“Good. Shall we go up to the daylight?”
She followed him up the slope and into the damp warmth of Koom Valley, where he sat down on a boulder. He looked at her while Young Sam played at his feet.
He said: “Is there anything you’d like to say to me, Lance Constable?”
“Should there be, sir?”
“I can’t prove anything, of course,” said Vimes. “But you are an agent of the Low King, aren’t you? You’ve been spying on me?”
He waited while she considered her options. Swallows swooped overhead in squadrons.
“I, er, wouldn’t put it quite like that, sir,” she said eventually. “I was keeping an eye on Hamcrusher, and I’d heard about the mining, and then, when it all started to heat up—”
“—becoming a watchman seemed a good idea, right? Did the league know?”
“No! Look, sir, I wasn’t spying on you—”
“You told him I was headed for Koom Valley. And the night we arrived, you went for a little fly-around. Just stretching your wings?”
“Look, this isn’t my life!” said Sally. “I’d joined the new force in Bonk. We’re trying to make a difference up there! I did want to come to Ankh-Morpork anyway, because, well, we all want to. To learn, you know? How you manage to do it? Everyone speaks highly of you! And then the Low King summoned me and I thought, where’s the harm? Hamcrusher has caused trouble up there, too. Er…I never actually told you a lie, sir.”
“Rhys already knew about the Secret, right?” said Vimes.
“No, sir, not as such. But I think he had some reason to suspect there was something down there.”
“Then why didn’t he just go and look?”
“Dwarfs digging around in Koom Valley? The trolls would, er, go postal, sir.”
“But not if the dwarfs were merely investigating why a copper from Ankh-Morpork was chasing some fleeing criminals into the caves, right? Not if the copper was good ol’ Sam Vimes, who, everyone knows, is as straight as an arrow even if he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer. You can’t bribe Sam Vimes, but why bother when you can pull the wool over his eyes?”
“Look, sir, I know how you must feel, but…well, there’s your litle boy there, playing in Koom Valley, with trolls and dwarfs all ’round, and they’re not fighting. Right? I didn’t lie, I just…liaised a little. Wasn’t it worth it, sir? Hah, you really worried them when you went to the wizards! Shine hadn’t left the city! Rhys had to fly him in by night! All they really did was follow your lead. The only person who fooled you was me, and it turns out I wasn’t very good at it. They needed you, sir. Look around and say it wasn’t worth it…”
A hundred yards away, a house-sized rock rumbled across the stone, pushed and steered by a dozen trolls, dropped into a sinkhole and blocked it like an egg in a cup. There was a cheer.
“Can I mention something else, sir?” said Sally. “I do know Angua is standing behind me.”
“It’s Sergeant Angua to you,” said Angua, by her ear. “You didn’t fool me, either. I told you we didn’t like snitches in the Watch. But for what it’s worth, sir, she smells like she’s telling the truth.”
“Do you still have a route to the Low King?” said Vimes.
“Yes, and I’m sure he’ll—” Sally began quickly.
“These are my demands. The grags and what’s left of their guards are coming back to Ankh-Morpork with me. That includes Ardent, though I’m told it’ll be weeks before he can talk again. They’re going before Vetinari. I’ve got promises to keep, and no one is going to stop me. It’ll be tough to make any big charges stick, but I’m bloody well going to try. And since I’ll bet my dinner that Vetinari is in on all this, I expect he’ll pack ’em off back to Rhys in any case. I imagine he’s got a cell that’s deep enough for comfort. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. And the other demands?”
“The same as that one, repeated in a louder voice,” said Vimes. “Understood?”
“Absolutely, sir. Then I’ll resign, of course,” said Sally.
Vimes’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll resign when I tell you to, Lance Constable! You took the King’s Shilling, remember? And made an oath. Go and liaise!
”
“You’re going to keep her?” said Angua, watching the vampire disappear into the distance.
“You said yourself she’s a good copper. We’ll see. Oh, don’t make that face, Sergeant. It’s all the rage in politics these days, spying on your friends. That’s what I’m told. Like she said: look around.”
“This is a bit unlike you, sir,” said Angua, giving him a look of concern.
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” said Vimes. “I had a nice sleep last night. It’s a nice day. No one is actively trying to kill me, which is nice. Thank you, Sergeant. Have a nice evening.”
Vimes carried Young Sam back in late-afternoon light. Just as well the girl had been working for Rhys. Things might have been a bit tricky otherwise. That was the plain fact of it. Keep her on? Maybe. She’d been very useful, even Angua admitted. Besides, he’d been practically forced to take on a spy, in times of more-orless war! If he played that right, no one would ever again dictate to him who he took on in the Watch. Doreen Winkings could rattle her false canines as much as she liked!
Hmm…was this how Vetinari thought all the time?
He heard his name being called. A coach was coming across the rock, and Sybil was waving from the window. That was another step forward; even wagons could get up here now.
“You haven’t forgotten the dinner tonight, have you?” she said, a hint of suspicion in her voice.
“No, dear.” Vimes hadn’t, but he’d hoped that it might evaporate if he didn’t think about it. It was going to be Official, with both kings and lots of important lesser kings and clan leaders. And the Special Envoy from Ankh-Morpork, unfortunately. That would be Sam Vimes, scrubbed up.
At least there weren’t going to be tights and plumes. Even Sybil hadn’t been that farsighted. Regrettably, though, the town had a decent tailor who’d been very keen to use all that gold braid he’d bought by accident a couple of years ago.
“Willikins will have a bath run by the time we get back,” said Sybil as the coach moved away.
“Yes, dear,” said Vimes.
“Don’t look so glum! You’ll be upholding the honor of Ankh-Morpork, remember!”
“Really, dear? What shall I do with the other hand?” said Vimes, settling back into the seat.
“Oh, Sam! Tonight you’ll walk with kings!”
I’d sooner be walking all by myself along Treacle Mine Road at three in the morning, Vimes thought. In the rain, with the gutters gushing. But it was a wife thing. She took such a…a pride in him. He could never work out why.
He looked down at his arm. He’s sorted that out, at least. Exit wound indeed! It was just the way the burning oil had splashed on his skin. It might look a bit like that damn symbol, enough to put the wind up the dwarfs, but no floaty eyeball was going to get past him. Common sense and facts, that’s what worked!
After a while, it dawned on him that they weren’t going into the town. They’d gone down almost as far as the lakes, but now they were heading back up on the cliff path. He could see the valley below them, opening out.
The kings were working their subjects hard, reasoning that tired warriors are less keen to fight. Teams swarmed over the rock like ants. Maybe there was a plan. There probably was. But the mountains would sneer at it every winter. You’d have to have squads here all the time, you’d need to scout the mountainsides to find and smash the big boulders before they caused trouble. Remember Koom Valley! Because, if you don’t, your history is…history.
And maybe, behind the thunder and in the roar of the waters flowing underground, you’ll hear the laughter of dead kings.
The coach came to a halt. Sybil opened the door.
“Get down, Sam Vimes,” she said. “No arguing. It’s time for your portrait.”
“Out here? But it’s—” Vimes began.
“Good afternoon, Commander,” said Otto Chriek cheerfully, appearing at the doorway. “I haf set up a bench and zer light is just right for color!”
Vimes had to agree that it was. Thunder light made the mountains gleam like gold. In the middle distance, the Tears of the King fell in a line of glittering silver. Brightly colored birds skimmed through the air. And all the way up the valley there were rainbows.
Koom Valley, on Koom Valley Day. He’d had to be there.
“If her ladyship vill be seated viz zer little boy on her lap and you, Commander, standink with your hand on her shoulder…?” He bustled around his big black iconograph.
“He’s up here taking pictures for the Times,” Sybil whispered. “And I thought, well, it’s now or never. Portraiture must move on.”
“How long is this going to take?” said Vimes.
“Oh, about a fraction of a second, Commander,” said Otto.
Vimes brightened up. This was more like it.
Of course, it never is. But it was a warm afternoon, and Vimes still felt good. They sat and stared with those fixed grins people wear when they’re wondering why a fraction of a second takes half an hour, while Otto tried to get the universe sorted out to his satisfaction.
“Havelock will be wondering how to reward you, you know,” murmured Sybil as the vampire fussed around.
“He can go on wondering,” said Vimes. “I’ve everything I want.”
He smiled.
Click!
“Sixty new officers?” said Lord Vetinari.
“The price of peace, sir,” said Captain Carrot earnestly. “I’m sure that Commander Vimes wouldn’t settle for anything less. We are really stretched.”
“Sixty men—and dwarfs and trolls, obviously—is more than a third of your current complement,” said the Patrician, tapping his walking stick on the cobbles. “Peace comes with a rather large bill, Captain.”
“And a few dividends, sir,” Carrot said.
They looked up at the circle-and-bar symbol over the door of the mine, just above the yellow-and-black rope used by the Watch to warn off intruders.
“The mine falls to us by default?” said Vetinari.
“Apparently, sir. I believe the term is ‘eminent domain.’”
“Ah, yes. That means ‘theft by the government,’” said Vetinari.
“But the grags bought the freehold, sir. They’re hardly going to contest it now.”
“Quite. And the dwarfs really can make watertight tunnels?”
“Oh, yes. The trick is almost as old as mining. Would you care to step inside? I’m afraid the elevator is not working at the moment, though.”
Lord Vetinari inspected the rails and the little carts the dwarfs had used to shift spoil. He felt the dry walls. He went back upstairs and frowned as a one-ton slab of iron came through the wall, whirled past his face, passed through the opposite wall, and buried itself in the street outside.
“And was that supposed to happen?” he said, brushing plaster dust off his robe.
An excited voice behind him shouted: “The torque! It’s impossible! Amazing!”
A figure climbed through the wall, holding something in one hand. It rushed up to Captain Carrot, vibrating with excitement.
“It spins once every six point nine seconds, but the torque is immense! It broke the clamp! What powers it?”
“No one seems to know,” said Carrot. “In Uberwald—”
“Excuse me, what is this about?” said Lord Vetinari, holding out a hand imperiously.
The man glanced at him and then turned to Carrot.
“Who’s this?” he said.
“Lord Vetinari, Ruler of the City, may I present Mr. Pony of the Artificers’ Guild?” said Carrot quickly. “Please let his lordship see the Axle, Mr. Pony.”
“Thank you,” said Vetinari. He took the thing, which looked like two cubes, each about six inches on a side, joined together on one face, like a pair of dice joined at the sixes. In relation to the other, one turned—very, very slowly.
“Oh,” he said flatly. “A mechanism. How nice.”
“Nice?” said Pony. “Don’t you understand? It won’t stop turning.”
> Carrot and Pony looked expectantly at the Patrician, who said: “And that’s a good thing, is it?”
Carrot coughed. “Yes, sir. One of these drives one of the biggest mines in Uberwald. All the pumps, the fans that move the air, the trucks that haul the ore, the bellows for the forges, the elevators…everything. Just one of those. It’s another type of Device, like the cubes. We don’t know how they’re made, they’re very rare, but the other three I’ve heard of have not stopped working for hundreds of years. They don’t use fuel, they don’t need anything. They appear to be millions of years old. No one knows what made them. They just turn.”
“How interesting,” said Vetinari. “Hauling trucks? Underground, you say?”
“Oh, yes,” said Carrot. “Even with miners in.”
“I shall give this some thought,” said Vetinari, avoiding Mr. Pony’s outstretched hand. “And what could we make it do in this city?”
He and Carrot turned questioning faces to Mr. Pony, who shrugged and said: “Everything?”
Plink! went a drop of water onto the head of the very, very late King Bloodaxe.
“How long are we going to have to do this, Sarge?” said Nobby as they watched the line of visitors shuffle past the dead kings.
“Mister Vimes has sent for another squad from home,” said Fred Colon, shifting from one foot to the other. It seemed quite warm when you first came into the cave, but after a while, the clamminess could get a man down. He reflected that Nobby wasn’t affected by this, being blessed by Nature with natural clammy.
“It’s starting to give me the creeps, Sarge,” said Nobby, indicating the kings. “If that hand moves, I’m going to scream.”
“Think of it as Being There, Nobby.”
“I’ve always been somewhere, Sarge.”
“Yeah, but when they comes to write the history books, they’ll—” Fred Colon paused for thought. He had to admit, they probably wouldn’t mention him and Nobby. “Well, your Tawneee will be proud of you, anyway.”
“I think that’s not to be, Sarge,” said Nobby sadly. “She’s a nice girl, but I think I’m goin’ to have to let her down lightly.”