Night Watch - Terry Pratchett [90]
Vimes sighed. The anger had drained, leaving only a hopeless, leaden feeling. He stared blankly at the strange rockery that occupied most of the garden. It looked oddly familiar. He blinked.
“I’ve been talking to people today who are going to die,” he said. “How do you think that makes me feel? Do you know what that feels like?”
The monks gave him a puzzled look.
“Er…yes,” said Qu.
“We do,” said Sweeper. “Everyone we talk to is going to die. Everyone you talk to is going to die. Everyone dies.”
“I’ve been changing things,” said Vimes. “Why shouldn’t I? Carcer is! I have no idea how things are going to turn out! I mean, doesn’t it change history even if you just tread on an ant?”
“For the ant, certainly,” said Qu.
Sweeper waved a hand. “I told you, Mister Vimes. History finds a way. It’s like a shipwreck. You’re swimming to the shore. The waves will break whatever you do. Is it not written, ‘The big sea does not care which way the little fishes swim’? People die in their due time—”
“Keel didn’t! Carcer mugged the poor devil!”
“His due time in this present, Commander,” said Qu. “But he will play his part in the other, Mister Vimes. Eventually. You’ll reach the shore. You must. Otherwise—”
“—there’s no shore,” said Sweeper.
“No,” said Vimes. “There’s got to be more. I’m not swimming, I’m drowning. It was fun, d’you know? At first? Like a boys’ night out. Feeling the street under my boots again? But now…what about Sybil? Are my memories real? What I know is she’s a girl living with her dad. Is there somewhere where she is my wife, having my child? I mean, really? Is it all in my mind? Can you prove it? Is it happening? Will it happen? What is real?”
The monks were silent. Sweeper glanced at Qu, who shrugged. He glanced rather more meaningfully, and, this time, Qu made that dismissive little wave of the hand, which is someone meaning “all right, all right, against my better judgment…”
Then Sweeper said: “Ye-es,” very slowly. “Yes, I think we can help, Commander. You want to know there’s a future waiting. You want to hold it in your hand. You want to feel the weight of it. You want one point to navigate by, one point to steer for. Yes. I think we can help you there…but…”
“Yes?”
“But you climb back over that wall and Sergeant Keel plays his part. He sees it through to the end. He gives the orders he feels are right, and they will be the right orders. He holds the line. He does the job.”
“He’s not the only one,” said Vimes.
“Yes, Commander Vimes has a job in hand, too.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not leaving Carcer behind,” growled Vimes.
“Good. We’ll be in touch.”
Vimes tossed the stump of his cigar aside, and looked up at the wall.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll see it through. But when the time comes—”
“We will be ready,” said Sweeper. “Just so long as you—”
He stopped. There was another subtle sound, scaly in its way, a sort of silicon slither.
“My goodness,” said Qu.
Vimes looked down.
The cigar butt still smoldered. But around it, the Garden of Inner-City Tranquility was moving, pebble sliding over tiny pebble. A large, water-rounded rock floated gently around, spinning. And then Vimes became aware that the whole garden was spinning, turning on the little wisp of smoke. A spent match sailed past, rolling from stone to stone like a scrap of food passed from ant to ant.
“Is it meant to do that?” he said.
“In theory, yes,” said Sweeper. “I should leave right now, Mister Vimes.”
Vimes took one last look at the moving garden, shrugged, and then heaved himself over the wall.
The two monks stared. The tide of little stones was gently pushing the stub into the center.
“Astonishing,” said Qu. “I don’t know how you manage it.”
“I’m not doing it,” said Sweeper. “Qu, can we—”
“No more time shifting,” said Qu. “It’s caused enough trouble.”
“Fair enough,” said Sweeper. “Then I’ll need to send out search parties. The fences, the bent jewelers, the pawnshops…we’ll find it. I understand our friend. The job’s not enough. He needs one real thing. And I know what it is.”
They looked again at the