Progress Quest

[Sly Fly]

The now non-mobile cafeteria looked as though it may explode at any moment, but Dibbler could only stand there and stare as small pieces of metal still continued to fall off every now and again. Mitch had been in this situation plenty of times, and he was ready to leg-it, but there was a difference this time - he had the money in his hand. Half of him was screaming that he should run, while the other half wanted to give the money back and then run. He knew from past experience that he was safe for a few minutes while reality tried to catch Dibbler's attention, so Mitch gave the situation he was in some quick thought.

If he gave the money back before running off, he'd have to face Brandon empty handed. Again. And he knew that this time there was no way he could rely on Dibbler settling up the bill with a huge payment a month or two later. If he ran off with the money, however, he'd have it on his conscience that he had cheated a customer. Albeit one who's cheated just about everyone else in Ankh-Morpork, but nevertheless it still went against every principle that Brandon had taught him. What would happen when Dibbler came to complain? What would happen when he told Brandon that Mitch had run off with his money after seeing the cart collapse? The dwarf would be disappointed in Mitch to say the least - and that's what would really hurt.

Was it worth the risk?

But then, he suddenly remembered, none of the other customers had returned... had they? He and Brandon had never seen them ever again - it was likely to be the same this time as well. Now Mitch was thinking how happy his boss would be when he returned with the payment. Dibbler blinked, meaning that what had just happened to his cart was beginning to sink in. Mitch would have to decide right now. He looked at the four copper pieces in his hand once again, and came to a decision.

Putting the money in his pocket, Mitch ran back to the forge as fast as he could, leaving Dibbler alone with his cart-thing in the middle of the Town Square.

***

And somewhere very far away in a place made of thought, time, and space, a beautiful woman who was standing next to a perfect scale-model of Ankh-Morpork and its Town Square had just rolled a pair of dice.

"Snake-eyes..." sighed Lady Luck. "Bugger."

[Sly Fly]

"Come in" said Vimes abruptly, hearing the knock on his office door.

Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs walked into the room, shut the door behind them, and shuffled over to the Commanders desk where he was busy writing something. If he'd bothered to look up, Sam would have noticed that both men had a sheepish expression on their face, and also the faint smell of alcohol on their breath. As it was, he didn't look up from his paperwork, and carried on with whatever it was he was writing. Vimes wanted the pair of them to believe he was furious with them. He was already doing a good job.

Several minutes later, he was still writing away, and still hadn't glanced at the two Watchmen. Unable to take it any more, Colon gave a small cough in the hope that Vimes would look up from the desk. Two minutes after that, Nobby coughed a little louder in the hope of getting his attention. After another two minutes, the two men suddenly showed symptoms of Bubonic Plague - sneezing, wheezing, coughing, choking and spluttering around the office for a good twenty seconds. They made an amazing recovery however, but all that was to be heard in the subsequent silence was the scribbling of the Watch Commander's quill pen.

"PLEASE let me explain Sir." begged a now very-worried Fred, "We were..."

"I do not recall giving you permission to speak, Sergeant Colon." interrupted Vimes without so much as looking up.

Both Nobby and Fred now knew they were indeed extremely advance up a certain creek without either a paddle, a boat or even a passing log. After several more minutes of writing, however, Vimes laid the pen down, sat back in his chair, and looked at his men. He'd known them both for decades and was, by now, more than aware of their strengths and weaknesses. Old-school coppers they were, straight from the Nightwatch. They'd all been through some tough times together, and Vimes knew he could trust them one-hundred percent - that is to say, he knew he could trust them to be them. This was exactly what the Commander was relying on...

"It appears," he said slowly, eyeing the pair of them, "that you had a busy day yesterday, gentlemen, despite the fact you were supposed to be under cover."

[Sly Fly]

Vimes picked up a list from the table, and began to read from it. "Let's see... 'Sitting in an alcoholic drinking establishment - namely the Mended Drum - while on duty', 'Drinking alcoholic beverages in said drinking establishment while on duty', and 'Being arrested for lewd behaviour in the Town Square, under the influence of said alcohol, whilst singing a song called...", whereupon Vimes squinted at the notes, "...'A Wizards Staff has a Knob on the End'. And then, to top it all off, this morning I am handed an expenses request for sixteen mugs of beer, six pies, four packets of nuts, four glasses of wine... and half a dollar for something called the 'Snitch Fund'."

Vimes put the paper back on his desk, sat back in his chair once again and glared at the two officers. "You may now commence, if you can, to convince me why I shouldn't have the pair of you kicked out of the Watch right here and now."

There was a few seconds pause, in which Fred Colon thought of the best way to go about telling the truth. He knew that Vimes would immediately spot any kind of lie, and they were already on thin ice as it was.

"Well Sir." began the Sergeant, staring at a spot just above the Commanders head, "Although it's true that we spent the whole day in the 'Drum, we were also working the case at the same time."

"'s Sir." agreed Nobby, who felt he should also contribute something. "We was hon a swervy-lance."

Vimes looked from Nobby to Fred with a questioning look.

"Surveillance, Sir." answered Colon. "We was watching some suspicious movements made by one of the reporters who's name you gave us - Miss Eva Hollow, Sir."

"And what exactly was she doing that warranted the two of you spending over twelve hours in the Mended Drum, may I ask?" asked Vimes

"Er... she was buying pies, Commander." replied the Sergeant.

"PIES? She bought PIES in the 'Drum for over twelve hours?"

"No Sir. She honly purr-chased several pies, hon the hour, hevery hour, from..."

"We are not in a courtroom just yet, Nobby, but we will be soon if you don't stop TALKING IN THAT BLOODY RIDICULOUS POSH ACCENT." shouted Vimes

"'s Sir."

"WELL?" said Vimes, still waiting for an explanation.

"Corporal Nobbs is correct Sir." replied Colon. "We was watching Mrs Miggin's Pie Shop on account of our receiving some information from one of our sources."

"Information from what?" asked Vimes, who was getting the feeling he'd started something which he was now losing control of.

"Er... sources. Our informants." continued the Sergeant, till staring at some invisible object just above Vimes' head. "We figured that we could never keep an eye on all the names you gave us, so we... ah... paid some of the Morphic Street boys tuppence a day to sort of spy on the ones we weren't following, and tell us if anything out-of-the-ordinary happened."

Vimes was impressed, because it sounded like something he would do if he was in their shoes. "You deputised the Morphic Street boys?" said Vimes.

"Only some of 'em Sir!" replied Nobby, who had curiously lost all trace of his previous accent. "An' they came up with some good information 'n' all. It was Miniature Morris wot told us about Miss Hollow and her buyin' pies from Mrs Miggin's Pie Shop."

"The last time I checked, Corporal, the purchasing of pies from a pie shop was not a punishable offence."

[Sly Fly]

"It was what she was doing with the pies that was the odd thing, Sir. She was throwing away the pie but keeping the wrapping paper. Me and Nobby reckon' there must be something on the paper that is of more interest than the pie."

"I see. And the reason you chose the 'Drum as the location for this bit of espionage was...?" asked Vimes.

"Because we wouldn't look out-of-place in the pub you see, 'cos we often go in there for a swiftie during lun... I mean after work." Fred replied.

"An' it's a good place for picking up gossip too." added Nobby.

"Frankly I'm surprised that either of you were able to comprehend the information going into your head after eight beers and two glasses of wine each."

"The wine wasn't for us, Commander." said Fred. "They were for Miss Cherry and Miss Pomfrey."

Vimes frowned for a second or two while he tried to place the names. "Aren't they.... ladies of negotiable affection?"

"Yes Sir, but they sometimes go in the 'Drum for a drink or two before they go and er... go and um... well, you know. Thing."

"Hur-hur-hur." giggled Nobby.

"Something funny Corporal?" asked Vimes with a stone-face.

"No Sir."

"So anyway," continued Colon, "we bought them a couple of glasses of wine each and asked them if they'd seen or heard of anyone visiting the pie shop after-hours like."

"Ah yes. I presume that the shop closes, like most others in Ankh-Morpork, around six o'clock in the evening?"

"Ah... maybe a bit later than..."

"And yet you didn't leave the 'Drum until midnight correct? After which you were arrested for lewd conduct - singing that song about wizards."

"We weren't that drunk Sir!" cried Nobby. "And as for the song, we'd only got as far as verse five, an'..."

"Thank you Corporal."

"...we didn't even get to the bit about the twelve-foot wizards..."

"That's enough."

"...an' their twelve inch..."

"NOBBS!"

"You know it too Sir!" smiled the Corporal.

"And we didn't really get arrested either." Colon added quickly, before Vimes had a chance to shout at the Nobby. "Just a slight misunderstanding with one of the young lieutenants. After we told him who we were and showed him our badges, he let us go on home. I'm sorry Sir - we were just in high spirits after a good day on the case."

[Sly Fly]

Vimes didn't say anything for a while, and just looked at them. He was actually quite impressed with what they had done, but he couldn't let them know that. Fred and Nobby would interpret any praise as meaning they had done enough already. He needed them to continue asking questions - to carry on with their investigation. Vimes had been told earlier that by the end of last night, over half of the Mended Drum knew about the two of them being in some sort of 'elite' watch unit called 'The Specials'.

It was exactly what Vimes had hoped for, and the reason he had set up the Specials in the first place - they were to be a diversion while the real undercover team tried to find out just what was going on. Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs were perfect choices for the decoy unit for a few reasons. Almost all of Ankh-Morpork knew their faces (especially Nobby's), so it would be impossible to go anywhere without being recognised by someone. The secrecy of this special unit wouldn't last long either, mainly because Vimes knew that both Fred and Nobby would be so pleased with their little 'promotion' that they would tell the whole city in under a week.

And, up until a few moments ago, the Watch Commander would have bet a months salary that the two of them would never had made any progress in solving the case. Maybe he had underestimated them. Maybe it was just a lucky break. Either way, he couldn't let them back on normal duty just yet, or else they would notice that Lance Corporals Smidgeon and Groo - newly transferred from Lancre - were absent from duty.

They weren't absent from duty of course - they were the real undercover team trying to figure out how the newspapers had reporters at the crime scenes before the watch arrived. But if Fred and Nobby noticed the new recruits were missing then they would start to ask questions. And whether they discovered the whereabouts of the two new officers or not, you could be sure that they would gossip about it anywhere someone could overhear - and that was a security risk Vimes couldn't afford.

And so 'The Specials' were created, killing two birds with one stone - Fred and Nobby were temporarily out of the way until the real investigation was over, and they were also drawing anyone-who-happened-to-be-watching's attention away from the two Lance Corporals.

[Sly Fly]

"It would seem as though these reports are a bit misleading then. You've done some good detective work there lads. But all we've got at the moment is pie-wrappers and half-truths from the Seamstress' Guild*. No, no, Fred. I don't want to hear what they said. I want you to use the information and get to the bottom of this. However, no more drunken nights and midnight crooning eh? Not very befitting of the 'Specials' now is it?"

"No Sir." said both Fred and Nobby together.

"Good. Well, I don't want to hold you up from your investigations any longer. I know you've got a lot of tough investigating ahead of you."

"Yes Commander!" beamed the Sergeant and Corporal, who were delighted that they weren't going to get in any trouble at all. They saluted, sort of, and turned around to walk out of the office.

Vimes coughed loudly and, waving a small brown envelope in the air, said "Excuse me, but I think you're forgetting something...? Your expenses for last nights work?"

"Thank you Sir!" replied Sergeant Colon, who came forward to collect it. "Thank you very much Sir!"

"I'm sure we can make small allowances for the Specials, Sergeant. Although I do emphasize that it they are small allowances. Good luck gentlemen. Make me proud."

"Yes Commander. We'll try our best." And with that, both Fred and Nobby saluted once again, walked out of the office and shut the door behind them.

Vimes smiled happily at last. Yes lads, thought Vimes, I know you will...

-----

If CMOT Dibbler knew of the word 'surreal' - and what it meant - he would definitely describe this day as being 'very surreal'. Unlike most of his days in Ankh-Morpork which started off bad and became steadily worse, today had started off disastrously and got steadily weird.

The morning had begun badly just ten minutes after he woke up, when he left his room and found that his landlady, Mrs. Grime, was waiting at the foot of the stairs to remind Dibbler he hadn't paid his rent for over three months. She said that if he didn't settle the account by the end of this week he wouldn't have a bed here to sleep in. Great. It didn't get better when he arrived at his regular meat-supplier either, as Dibbler discovered that the price of I-can't-believe-it's-not-rat** had almost doubled.


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*Ladies of that particular profession are somewhat archaically known and referred to as the 'Guild of Seamstresses' - but even in today's Ankh-Morpork there is still a thread of truth in the name. Some years ago, seamstresses' work became patchy and sew the good ladies of the guild extended their services. It didn't take them long to cotton on where the reel money was to be made, because this new service seamed very profitable. Needless to say, the change shook all the religious and holey men, who tried stopping them, but by that time the Guild of Seamstresses were bigger then they were...

**So named because it tasted so foul, the person who had just spat it out could-not-believe-it's-not-rat.

[Sly Fly]

There had been an indication the day was getting better when he saw that his cart had been repaired and was looking as good as new. It was a short-lived moment though, because the lanky kid from the forge insisted on taking the money, and not a couple of pies instead. But nothing could have prepared him for what happened next. His cart, his beloved mobile cafeteria, his only possession in the whole of the Discworld, had disintegrated in front of his very eyes. It was the best friend he'd ever had in the city...

The few minutes just after that was a haze - he couldn't remember a thing, but he did recall looking around for that apprentice kid, but he was nowhere to be seen. He'd run off with his money - and that annoyed Dibbler almost as much as seeing his food trolley fall to bits. Where was the 'honour among businessmen'? What about the rules of conduct? So maybe Dibbler didn't play by those rules, but he expected everybody else to for Gods sake! He had never been so annoyed in his entire life. He was just about to storm off to the forge and cause some trouble when something unusual happened...

A passerby had stopped and asked him for a sausage. Inna bun. This was unusual because hardly anyone ever asked him for food - apart from newcomers to the city or unsuspecting tourists. It was also unusual because it was still only seven o'clock in the morning...

Although the cart was pretty knackered, one of its cooking trays still worked, and so Dibbler, who was never a man to turn down work, fired it up. He took out some of the weeks provisions form the bag he had carried, and started to cook it. By the time he had finished, there were nine people waiting in a queue. Dibbler presumed that, like everyone else who ever bothered to line up to see him, they were here to complain. But they didn't complain. They wanted a sausage inna bun as well, or meat onna stick, or even some rat wivva sauce. CMOT wasn't sure what exactly was going on, as nothing like this had ever happened before, even in his dreams, but he wasn't about to turn them away. It couldn't be a trick because the people were giving him real money; none of them looked like Watchmen; and he knew they couldn't be Health Inspectors*.

So, warily, he finished serving the nine people, and took their money. In just ten minutes he had made almost as much money as he did in two days. Still half-wondering what had brought on this flurry of activity, (but not complaining about it of course) he turned back to his bag and started to re-pack the meat. Time to deal with that blacksmith and his stealing apprentice, Dibbler thought to himself. Except that when he stood up, there were another four people waiting patiently to be served...


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*Health Inspectors operated everywhere on the Discworld except Ankh-Morpork. They tried to open an office there once, but it was condemned by the inspectors themselves on its opening day for failing over 164 hygiene regulations. That night, while celebrating their first 'success', all four officers contracted food poisoning and died three days later.

[Sly Fly]

It was at this point that Dibbler would have said his day had started to become surreal. For the rest of the morning he didn't have a single instance where there wasn't at least one person waiting to be served, and by the time it turned one o'clock in the afternoon, he had already gone through his entire week's supply of meat...

Not wanting to put an abrupt end to such a fantastic day's business, Dibbler somewhat grudgingly decided to spend some of his newly amassed fortune on hiring a security guard - he didn't dare leave the cart unattended for even a second while he went off to stock up on meat and buns. He paid a passing boy one copper piece to go to The Headless Dwarf Inn and very, very politely ask the troll known as Brock if he would very kindly meet Dibbler here at his stall in a few minutes time. He was forced to raise his price considerably after the young lad told Dibbler where he could go and stuff his suicide mission, but, seeing that the businessman was desperate to get back to his supplier, he uncharacteristically agreed to whatever the boy asked for. Brock arrived five minutes after the boy disappeared, and, after a further twenty minutes of getting the troll to understand the orders 'Stand' and 'Guard', Dibber was finally able to leave the square and purchase more meat.

The afternoon carried on in the same fashion as the morning - people seemingly crawling out of Ankh-Morpork's woodwork to buy some of Dibbler's wares. By seven o'clock in the evening, his second lot of supplies had been exhausted, and so was Dibbler. As much as he wanted to carry on, he had no food left to sell, and no energy left to do anything. And yet he was happier than he had ever been in years, making over a few months worth of earnings in just one day. With the stall finally closed for business, he paid Brock some more money to look after the cart until tomorrow morning. It would have been easier for the huge troll to pick the thing up with just one hand and move it somewhere, but Dibbler didn't want to risk damaging it any further.

[Sly Fly]

While relaxing against one of the many statues in the square, he took a moment to think about what had happened today. He may be the most unsuccessful businessman that Ankh-Morpork has ever seen, and he may not be the most intelligent of its citizens, but he did have common sense; and right now it was telling him that the day's events was not down to chance or a sudden improvement in Dibbler's sales technique. No, his common sense was telling him that today's success had something to do with the only thing that had changed since yesterday - the cart. It was falling apart, it looked a mess, and it couldn't be moved... but it was making him a fortune. What the hell did that dwarf do to it?

Dibbler wanted to find out. He must find out. Right now. And so, even though he was knackered, he forced himself to march off to the forge where he would have a nice chat with Brandon to find out what he had done. Some small, distant part of him suddenly asked why he was bothering to go back to the forge again. He already had the cart didn't he? That was all he needed. But Dibbler was listening to another voice that was drowning out the other. The louder voice had an idea, an idea that Dibbler liked very much.

The sun was beginning its journey toward the Ankh-Morpork horizon when Dibbler finally arrived at the c.orner of Celebration Square and Quality Street, where the forge was located - except... it wasn't there. There was nothing there at all. Dibbler blinked. He blinked again, but no matter how many times he closed and opened his eyes the forge did not magically appear. He was sure he had the right place. He walked around the small square just in case he was mistaken, but all the other street c.orners had other buildings on them.

So he went back to where Quality Street met the square, stood near the empty plot of land where the forge should have been, and just stared in disbelief. It was right there he kept on telling himself. I was inside it this morning. And then, as he continued to stare, the forge started to form in front of him. It was as if some fog had been covering it all this time. The harder Dibbler stared and concentrated the more clearer the forge became until, at last, it was standing right in front of him.

"Tiredness. That's what it is." said Dibbler, only half believing what he said.

Now he could see the building, he noticed that there were no lights on. Damn. It was almost half-past seven after all, he thought. So, from within his jacket he took out a pencil and some paper (which he always carried with him in case he had any flashes of inspiration), and scribbled out a note :

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Deer Mr. Longbeerd.

I need to talk to yoo vere urgentlee about the cart witch yoo repeared for me yesterday. I wood like to see you at ate... eat... eit... 8 o'clock in the mornun.

CMOT Dibbler.

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He slipped it underneath the front door, and, yawning loudly, turned around and set off for home to get some much-needed sleep. He strolled across to the other side of the square and was just about to walk down Parsons Alley when, out of curiosity, he stopped and looked back at the forge...

But it was nowhere to be seen...

[Sly Fly]

An hour after CMOT Dibbler had slipped his note underneath the door of the forge, the sun was just finishing its descent beneath the Discworld. As it fell from sight it gradually took all the red, yellow, and golden colours with it, and in their place was left the drab shades of grey and black. There would be no moonlight to cast shadows tonight, for a dense blanket of cloud was arriving rapidly from the east. Faint flashes of light on the distant horizon suggested the city was in for a storm very soon.


Bad news is coming... he thinks.


On the Morpork side of Ankh-Morpork, in a very nice house, located on a very nice street, situated in a very nice area, oil lamps were being lit. It took the servants only a few minutes to light all the lamps inside the mansion, and when they were finished, every room was glowing brightly. Only then can we see a figure, who had been standing by a window looking at the oncoming storm, move away and walk over to an old, but expensive desk. He sits down and rests his head upon the fingertips of his clasped hands, and closed his eyes.


Under the cover of darkness, Vail approaches with ill news... he thinks.


From behind a tree, not a hundred metres from the mansion, a small, slender figure whispers across the garden grounds in the still evening air, and stops behind a very rare gericanathium bush. The figure is a man of average height and build, who has hair the colour of night. As he slips his hood off momentarily to survey the mansion, his features tell us he is a stranger to this city. At first glance he appears to be a young man, but his eyes tell a different story - they tell us that this man has seen more than most people see in two lifetimes. He moves in fluid motions that seem to absorb sound, and wears a hooded cloak which seems to deflect attention. This person is called Vail, and Vail has a problem. He must tell his master that he has failed again. His master does not accept failure. Vail knows he is in trouble.

[Sly Fly]

He will not announce his presence to the guards. He will feel the need to impress me... he thinks.

At the same time the thought had finished, Vail had rendered the eighth and last sentry guard unconscious - not one of them had seen or heard him coming. Upon closer investigation, he noticed that the front door has an alarm. The back door is also booby-trapped, as are all the windows on the first and second floor. This was not good. He must really be mad with me, Vail thought. There was only one possible way left for him to get into the mansion.

After entering the house through the chimney, he will make his way to the staircase in the ballroom... he thinks.

Vail almost failed to spot the fifth trap hidden at the bottom of the chimney flue. The last seven courses of bricks had been lubricated, and the fireplace replaced with an array of deadly spikes. In the pitch black dark - which even Vail had trouble to see much of anything in - he wouldn't have noticed the deadly snare but for the faint smell for grease. He avoided the trap, and crept safely out from the fireplace into the brightly lit - but unoccupied - kitchen, and made his way over to the door.

The two guards on the other side of the door had been given orders to face the kitchen's only exit and kill anyone who came out. However, they did not notice the appearance of a slim tube that poked slightly out of the key hole. Neither did they hear the drugged darts fly through the air. They felt them hit their neck, but by then it was far too late. Vail opened the door, stepped over the two sleeping guards, and knelt by a marble statue of the first Patrician of Ankh-Morpork.

He knew there were three staircases leading to the second floor; one in the library, one in the ballroom, and the other in the music hall. The library would provide excellent cover, and an easy chance to slip by the guards. The ballroom was a vast hall offering no cover whatsoever, and it would be virtually impossible to creep up on the guards stationed there. The music hall was difficult to guard and no doubt there would be numerous traps awaiting him. Vail thought for a moment and decided to take the staircase in the ballroom - it would be the most difficult way and the least expected...

[Sly Fly]

The guard dogs should not cause him too much bother. He will be here momentarily... he thinks.

A couple of seconds later, the sound of barking was heard on the rectangular landing outside... Vail had been able to use his cloak to evade discovery by the men in the ballroom, but his master had used mountain wolves to guard his study. Almost three times the size of normal dogs and immensely more powerful, they had an excellent sense of smell that Vail couldn't hide from. Within seconds of his setting foot on the landing, four of them had bounded out from a small room opposite him. Vail ran in the other direction - but the wolves were not to be fooled so easily. Two of them stalked him on one direction, while the second pair hunted him the other way.

The staircase down to the music hall was just behind Vail now, but he wasn't the type of person to run from anyone - or anything. Backing away from the closest pair of advancing wolves put him halfway along one of the short sides of the rectangular landing. He pulled some slabs of meat out from his cloak that he had thankfully brought in such an event, and threw one to his left, and one to his right; both of them landing in their respective c.orners.

"Sweet dreams, little doggies."

The wolves, however, didn't even glance at the meat and continued to close in on Vail.

"Okay." he said, smile fading away, "So you want to play it rough then eh?"

Both sets of wolves were about ten metres away from him now, and, growling softly, they crouched on the floor one by one. Vail knew what was about to happen, and tensed himself ready for the attack. Then, without any warning, one of the wolves from the left ran towards him with surprising speed.

Vail didn't move.

A fraction of a second later, the wolf leapt into the air, and opened its huge, snarling mouth revealing dozens of razor sharp teeth.

Vail didn't move.

In the next heartbeat, the wolf had sailed through the air and pounced upon... nothing... because Vail has somehow vanished, and appeared behind the other wolves to his right, knocking them out cold before they had even realized he was there.

[Sly Fly]

The animal who made the first attack had now landed on the carpet and carried on running towards Vail's new location. When the wolf was almost upon him once more, he vanished again, reappearing beside it and tying all four of its legs together with such speed the animal did not know what had happened. The last animal, having seen what had befallen the others, turned his tail and fled whimpering down the staircase to the library.

Vail stood up, straightened his cloak that had gotten tangled during the melee, and calmly walked round to where the door to the study lay. Finally, he thought, he will hear what his master would say about the latest developments. Several paces short of the door, Vail stopped dead in his tracks. He leapt into the air, somersaulted at the apex, and brought his fist down hard onto the wolf's neck. The animal, who had quickly and quietly double-backed from the library, slumped onto the landing unconscious.

"Bad dog." whispered Vail as he landed softly, making a mental note not to underestimate a wolf again.

At the entrance to the study, he smartened himself up, and reached for the handle, but just as he did so, the door opened, and his master stood before him.

"Good evening Vail. Please come in and take a seat."

"Yes master."

Vail walked into the study, and seated himself in a chair at the desk opposite to that of his master's. Although he had been here many times before, the study never failed to impress Vail; it was full of antiques, artifacts, books and parchments. Some of the items in this room were extremely valuable, some were extremely dangerous, and others were extremely mysterious.

"I trust," said the other as he seated himself opposite Vail, "that all of my guards - including the ones in the ballroom - have not been harmed and will make a full recovery?"

"Of course, master." replied Vail, inwardly annoyed but not fully surprised that his master knew which route he had taken. "I would never kill anyone in your employ unless you wished it so. Even the wolves are unharmed."

"I'm glad to hear that. Mountain wolves are extremely hard to obtain, and they take a lot of effort to tame."

"You have trained them very well, master. They didn't even sniff once at the laced steaks I gave them."

"I would hope not. They are vegetarian."

"Really?" said Vail. "I am surprised they're so big in that case. What do you feed them?"

"Big vegetables" the other replied.

[Sly Fly]

"Ah." nodded Vail. It was obvious that his master was not interested in idle talk this evening, and that Vail had better get to the point. "Tan Creed is dead, and is currently lying in the Watch-house morgue on Treacle Mine Road.. He failed to carry out the contract, and the blacksmith is still alive."

There was a long silence, while the other man absorbed the news. "I see. This is most... upsetting." he said at last. "And this assassin - he was your choice was he not?"

"Yes, master." Vail replied, looking down at the floor. "He was one of the best assassins in the city, but... but I appear to have underestimated the dwarf yet again. I apologise."

The old man on the other side of the desk sighed deeply, his eyes fixed on those of Vail's. "You have disappointed me Vail. You are my most gifted student and one of the best Thief-Mages I have ever seen. And yet, for all your skills and talents you cannot carry out this one simple task. I have told you how important that land is, and I have told you the importance it plays in my plan."

"Indeed master, but why do you forbid me to inhume the..."

"HAVE YOU LISTENED TO NOTHING I HAVE TOLD YOU?" shouted the other at the top of his voice. "The blacksmith has HER as an ally - even though he is not aware of the fact - and with such a friend, ANY plan, no matter HOW carefully thought out, could backfire with fatal consequences. Exactly as it did for Tan Creed no doubt. You are NOT to go near him, is that understood?"

"Yes master." Vail replied softly. "If you would allow me another chance I vow to..."

"No Vail. I will not give you another chance."

Vail stared at the old man. He knew his master would be upset but surely he wasn't angry enough to kill him. Was he?

"Why is it," said the old man shaking his head, "that people automatically assume I'm going to kill them if they disappoint me? Where is the logic in that? No matter how good my students are, everyone will fail now and again. That, Vail, is human nature, and I must accept it. I give the hardest assignments to the best of my pupils, and if I started killing them each time they failed I wouldn't have anyone left with any talent would I?"

"No master."

"Good. You have had several chances to hire people to kill the dwarf, and they have failed each time - at the cost of their own lives. I know you very well Vail, and if I let you have another chance to kill him you will take it upon yourself to carry out the murder. The last thing I need right now is for you to go after him and end up dead due to some freak accident. You're too valuable a student to waste like that, and so I will send someone else. As I have said before, you are the most gifted young man I have trained - tonight's little exercise has shown me that your skills are improving very quickly. You will be sent on a different, but equally important mission, which I will tell you about later. For the meantime, let us get to the other matter we have not yet discussed. Did you succeed?"

"Well... there was this one small problem." Vail mumbled.

"Surely you are not about to tell me that you failed to steal the..."

"No, no, no - I have it, I have it!" Vail said, whereupon he produced an object wrapped in a heavy black cloth. "It was leaking everywhere so I had to cover it."

"Good thinking. Now, what was this 'one small problem'? asked the master

[Sly Fly]

"The security, as you quite rightly said, was pitiful to say the least. Gaining access to the University was easy, and I made my way over to the library undetected. The protection surrounding the library was, in contrast, quite complex. They employed a variation of Gargamut's Sealing Spell on the locks and a fifth generation Warding Spell from Fillor..."

"Yes, yes, yes, spare me the details Vail. I know exactly what those old fools up at the Unseen University are, or more correctly are not capable of."

"My apologies, master." Vail replied. The old man really was not in a very talkative mood tonight. "After gaining entrance to the library I started to look for the book. It wasn't... uh... in any of the places you mentioned master. After a brief search I managed to find it in the restricted section at the very back of the library, chained up along with the Demonologues tomes."

"Hmm. Interesting." said the old man. "He must also know about the ritual, or else he wouldn't have moved the book to a more secure location. Now, let me guess the rest of your tale. You managed to unchain the book from the other tomes, but in the process you awoke them and they made an enormous amount of noise."

Vail nodded.

"Taking this as your cue to leave, you wrapped up the book and ran to the exit."

Vail nodded.

"Halfway there, however, you slipped on something causing just about every alarm the library had, and even some it didn't know it had to go off."

"Yes... but... but how did you know?"

"The Invisible Banana-Skin trap is one of the librarians favourites. It's almost impossible to detect unless you are specifically looking for it. He knew someone might come for the book. Very interesting. Well, you obviously escaped, and I trust nobody at the University saw you leave." said the old man, turning around.

"Nobody."

"Good."

"Except for a monkey." added Vail.

"What?" said the other turning around again.

"Er... a monkey. I saw one looking out of a window when I was running across the university grounds."

"That 'monkey', you imbecile, is the librarian*. Do you know nothing about the history behind the UU? Have you forgotten everything I have taught you over the years? What is the third rule?"


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*Due to a magical 'accident' of enormous magnitude many years ago, the librarian of the Unseen University was turned from his human form into that of an orang-utan. Early attempts at turning him back into his normal shape failed, and, at the insistence of the librarian himself, no further efforts were made thereafter. This was because he quickly discovered that being a huge muscular 275-pound orang-utan had more advantages than being a small thin bespectacled human. Not least of them being a guaranteed seat in any bar and the first drink on the house.