Night Watch - Terry Pratchett [26]
“You’re a policeman, Mister Vimes,” he said eventually. “Well, I’d like you to believe for a while that I’m a sort of policeman too, all right? Me and my colleagues, we see that…things happen. Or don’t happen. Don’t ask questions right now. Just nod.”
Vimes shrugged instead.
“Good. And let’s say on our patrol we’ve found you, as it might be, in a metaphorical kind of way, lying in the gutter on a Saturday night singing a rude song about wheelbarrows—”
“I don’t know a rude song about wheelbarrows!”
Sweeper sighed. “Hedgehogs? Custard? One-string fiddles? It really doesn’t matter. Now, we’ve found you a long way from where you should be, and we’d like to get you home, but it’s not as easy as you might think.”
“I’ve gone back in time, haven’t I? It was that bloody Library! Everyone knows the magic in there makes strange things happen!”
“Well, yes. It was mainly that, yes. It’s more true to say that you, er, got caught up in a major event.”
“Can anyone get me back? Can you get me back?”
“We-ll…” said Sweeper, looking awkward.
“Wizards can if you can’t,” said Vimes. “I’ll go and see them in the morning!”
“Oh, you will, will you? I’d like to be there when you do,” said Sweeper. “These ain’t the wizards under decent old Ridcully, you know. And you’re not His Grace Commander Sir Samuel Vimes, neither. You’re a rough-looking devil who’ll be burbling a story about thunderstorms and flying through time, to a bunch of rather devious and unpleasant men. You’ll be lucky if they only laugh at you. Anyway, even if they wanted to be helpful, they’d hit the same problem.”
“And what’s that?”
“It can’t be done. Not yet.” For the first time in the conversation, Sweeper looked ill at ease. “The big problem I’m facing, Mister Vimes, is that I ought to tell you a few things that I’m not, in any circumstances, allowed to tell you. But you’re a man who isn’t happy until he knows the facts. I respect that. Unless you’re satisfied, you won’t help us. I know I can’t expect you to believe me—”
The noise of the big cylinders changed for a moment, and Vimes felt a very slight shock, a suggestion that his whole body had just gone plib.
“So here’s someone you might believe—”
“Hold it,” said Vimes, still staring at him. “What happened to your cigarette?”
“Hmm?”
“You were holding half a roll-up and now it’s gone!”
“I finished it ten minutes ago,” said the Sweeper. “Roll ’em, boys.”
The tone of the spinning cylinders changed slightly.
Sam Vimes saw himself standing in the middle of the room.
“That’s me!”
“Yeah, right,” said Sweeper. “Now listen to the man.”
“Hello, Sam,” said the other Vimes, staring not quite at him. “I can’t see you but they say you can see me. Remember the smell of lilac? You thought about those who died. And then you told Willikins to hose down that kid. And, uh…you’ve got a pain in your chest you’re a bit worried about but you haven’t told anyone…That’s about enough, I think. You know I’m you. Now, there’s some things I can’t tell you. I can know ’em because I’m in a—” the speaker stopped and looked away, as if he was taking instruction from someone offstage “—a closed loop. Er…you could say I’m twenty minutes of your life you don’t recall. Remember when you had…”
…a sensation that his whole body had just gone plib.
Sweeper stood up. “I hate to do this,” he said, “but we’re in the temple and we can pretty much dampen out the paradoxes. On your feet, Mister Vimes. I’m going to tell you everything.”
“You just said you couldn’t!”
Sweeper smiled. “Need any help with those handcuffs?”
“What, these old Capstick Mk. Ones? No, just give me a nail and a couple of minutes. How come I’m in a temple?”
“I brought you here.”
“You carried me?”
“No. You walked with me. Blindfolded, of course. And then, when you were here, I gave you a little drink…”
“I don’t remember that!”
“Of course not. That was the purpose of the drink. Not very mystical, but it does the job. We don’t want you coming back here, now, do we? This place is supposed to be a secret—”
“You messed up my memory? Now you