more discworld!
Jul. 12th, 2011 10:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
holliSo now Sam had a case, but not, as such, a crime. Certainly the grave-robbing was illegal, but the monster-maker, whoever he was (or she; Sam did not discount the possibility), hadn’t done anything worse than theft in the eyes of the law. There was no law against making horrible patchwork creatures out of stolen body parts, probably because no one had ever though there’d be a need for one. Which only went to show how creative criminals could be, Sam thought to himself.
He finished his reports (the Thieves Guild had, in fact, sent someone round to complain), stood and stretched, his shoulders stiff from hunching over the desk. It was funny how fast he’d gotten out of the habit of sitting at a desk, once he was out of school, but then one of the things he liked best about being a copper was that it got you out in the fresh air. Well, and the pouring rain, and the bitter cold, and the stinking heat, but that was all right. Sam was a street copper in his bones and in his blood, generations of Vimeses ensuring that he actually didn’t much mind being out on patrol at 3 AM in a downpour.
Sam went home. He lived not far from the Watch House, in a walk-up off Ettercap Street, where he presided in happy bachelor squalor with his mate Gordon. As he walked, Sam wondered if he’d won the ongoing game of Sink Chicken yet; Gordon was naturally a tidy person, and usually did the washing up himself if Sam left it long enough. Sam’s one small rebellion against his upbringing* was to be messy: he’d grown up in a house where anything left out got tidied away by either Mum or a servant, though he’d managed to enforce a boundary at the door to his own bedroom.
Hettie was already there when Sam got home. She and Gordon were fixing dinner, talking in low voices. Hettie laughed at something Gordon said as Sam let himself in.
Sam quite liked his flat. It was mostly furnished with hand-me-downs from his parents’ attic, and therefore was quite a bit nicer than most bachelor flats. Gordon had somehow acquired a stack of Underground maps, and they’d wallpapered one whole wall of the main room with them, which Sam though lent the place some interest. And they had quite an impressive pyramid of beer bottles going. It was no wonder that Hettie spent so much time there.
Granted, Hettie still lived with her family, and Sam supposed most places would be more fun to hang out in than the Colon family residence. But he was biased, there: Hettie was the only Colon granddaughter who wasn’t determined to marry him. She was also his best friend, after Gordon, so he liked having her around.
“Hi, Sam,” Hettie said. “We made enough for three. You hungry?”
“Ravenous,” said Sam. “The canteen only had egg salad, and I didn’t stop to eat on patrol.”
“Don’t know what you’ve got against egg salad, Sam,” said Gordon. “It’s not that bad.”
“It’s vile,” Sam said, making a face. “And you’ll eat anything, anyway.”
Gordon only shrugged. He had slowed down a bit once they left their teens, but Gordon still had a near-magical ability to vacuum down any and all available food, while maintaining the physique of a stick insect in spectacles. And he wasn’t at all particular about what kind of food it was. “Any news on your grave-robber?”
“Not yet. Have your lot got anything useful from that last body?”
“No such luck. Whoever he is, he’s good at covering his tracks. He must dump them in the dead of night, when no one’s around, and he doesn’t leave much in the way of forensic evidence.”
“You’ll catch him, Sam,” said Hettie. “Although if I have to spend another night staking out a cemetary, I can’t say I’ll be pleased. Not that it’s a bad idea,” she added hurriedly, “but it’s, well, dead boring.”
Gordon and Hettie were both coppers, though Gordon was Forensic and Hettie was Street. They’d been at school together, and been friends since they were kids. For Sam, they were practically family.
Which made it a bit weird, for Sam, that Gordon and Hettie were dating. They’d snuck around behind his back with it for nearly a month, too, before they’d finally told him, and while he hadn’t been upset, exactly (well, he’d been upset about the sneaking around) he still found it rather strange.
It seemed to work well for them, though. Physically, they were almost a couple out of a pantomime: Gordon tall and thin, Hettie short and curvy; Gordon with his hair cropped almost to the scalp, Hettie with her long, long hair braided up into a crown; Gordon dark, Hettie pale. But they worked, together, and they seemed blissfully happy with each other, and that was all Sam could really ask for his best friends.
He did feel a bit of a third wheel, though. Just sometimes.
Not now, at any rate: the three of them sat down to eat together and it was just like old times, Hettie and Sam ganging up to tease Gordon, Gordon retaliating with a cutting remark, the conversation ranging over how the three of them had spent the day. Sam
told them about meeting Meg, though he didn’t mention that he’d given her the wrong name, and Gordon and Hettie both seemed happy for him.
“She sounds lovely, Sam,” Hettie said. “I hope we get to meet her.”
It was growing dark outside, and Gordon got up to light the gas jets. Sam decided to be the good flatmate for once, and did the washing up. “So how late can you stay, Hettie?” he asked her.
“Er, well,” Hettie said. “I... may have told Mum and Dad I was staying over at a girlfriend’s tonight.”
“Why, Mehitabel Colon!” Sam said, mock-affronted. “You rebel, you.”
“Oh, shut it, Sam,” said Hettie, rolling her eyes.
“What? I am just shocked-- shocked, I say-- that sweet, innocent Mehitabel could conceive of such a deception. Really, it’s not at all like you,” Sam said.
“Hettie’s been running rings round her parents since she was twelve, and you know that perfectly well,” said Gordon. “Besides, they’re too proud of having a copper in the family to complain about her late nights and overnights. Which works out pretty well for us,” he added, looking a little smug.
Hettie was the only one of old Sergeant Colon’s grandchildren who’d become a copper. To say that he was proud of her was the understatement of the millenium: he practically achieved weightlessness when he talked about her.
But that didn’t mean Sam wanted to hear about what Gordon and Hettie got up to in private. “Ugh,” he said, “spare me the details.”
“Oh, all right,” said Gordon.
It was a lovely evening. Sam remembered that, later, when everything went to hell.
*Unlike most young men, Sam had never had a real rebellious phase as a teen. The main reason for this was that the only thing that would have really upset his parents would have been to start acting like a rich, privileged Assassin’s Guild prat, and Sam hated those bastards nearly as much as Dad did.
He finished his reports (the Thieves Guild had, in fact, sent someone round to complain), stood and stretched, his shoulders stiff from hunching over the desk. It was funny how fast he’d gotten out of the habit of sitting at a desk, once he was out of school, but then one of the things he liked best about being a copper was that it got you out in the fresh air. Well, and the pouring rain, and the bitter cold, and the stinking heat, but that was all right. Sam was a street copper in his bones and in his blood, generations of Vimeses ensuring that he actually didn’t much mind being out on patrol at 3 AM in a downpour.
Sam went home. He lived not far from the Watch House, in a walk-up off Ettercap Street, where he presided in happy bachelor squalor with his mate Gordon. As he walked, Sam wondered if he’d won the ongoing game of Sink Chicken yet; Gordon was naturally a tidy person, and usually did the washing up himself if Sam left it long enough. Sam’s one small rebellion against his upbringing* was to be messy: he’d grown up in a house where anything left out got tidied away by either Mum or a servant, though he’d managed to enforce a boundary at the door to his own bedroom.
Hettie was already there when Sam got home. She and Gordon were fixing dinner, talking in low voices. Hettie laughed at something Gordon said as Sam let himself in.
Sam quite liked his flat. It was mostly furnished with hand-me-downs from his parents’ attic, and therefore was quite a bit nicer than most bachelor flats. Gordon had somehow acquired a stack of Underground maps, and they’d wallpapered one whole wall of the main room with them, which Sam though lent the place some interest. And they had quite an impressive pyramid of beer bottles going. It was no wonder that Hettie spent so much time there.
Granted, Hettie still lived with her family, and Sam supposed most places would be more fun to hang out in than the Colon family residence. But he was biased, there: Hettie was the only Colon granddaughter who wasn’t determined to marry him. She was also his best friend, after Gordon, so he liked having her around.
“Hi, Sam,” Hettie said. “We made enough for three. You hungry?”
“Ravenous,” said Sam. “The canteen only had egg salad, and I didn’t stop to eat on patrol.”
“Don’t know what you’ve got against egg salad, Sam,” said Gordon. “It’s not that bad.”
“It’s vile,” Sam said, making a face. “And you’ll eat anything, anyway.”
Gordon only shrugged. He had slowed down a bit once they left their teens, but Gordon still had a near-magical ability to vacuum down any and all available food, while maintaining the physique of a stick insect in spectacles. And he wasn’t at all particular about what kind of food it was. “Any news on your grave-robber?”
“Not yet. Have your lot got anything useful from that last body?”
“No such luck. Whoever he is, he’s good at covering his tracks. He must dump them in the dead of night, when no one’s around, and he doesn’t leave much in the way of forensic evidence.”
“You’ll catch him, Sam,” said Hettie. “Although if I have to spend another night staking out a cemetary, I can’t say I’ll be pleased. Not that it’s a bad idea,” she added hurriedly, “but it’s, well, dead boring.”
Gordon and Hettie were both coppers, though Gordon was Forensic and Hettie was Street. They’d been at school together, and been friends since they were kids. For Sam, they were practically family.
Which made it a bit weird, for Sam, that Gordon and Hettie were dating. They’d snuck around behind his back with it for nearly a month, too, before they’d finally told him, and while he hadn’t been upset, exactly (well, he’d been upset about the sneaking around) he still found it rather strange.
It seemed to work well for them, though. Physically, they were almost a couple out of a pantomime: Gordon tall and thin, Hettie short and curvy; Gordon with his hair cropped almost to the scalp, Hettie with her long, long hair braided up into a crown; Gordon dark, Hettie pale. But they worked, together, and they seemed blissfully happy with each other, and that was all Sam could really ask for his best friends.
He did feel a bit of a third wheel, though. Just sometimes.
Not now, at any rate: the three of them sat down to eat together and it was just like old times, Hettie and Sam ganging up to tease Gordon, Gordon retaliating with a cutting remark, the conversation ranging over how the three of them had spent the day. Sam
told them about meeting Meg, though he didn’t mention that he’d given her the wrong name, and Gordon and Hettie both seemed happy for him.
“She sounds lovely, Sam,” Hettie said. “I hope we get to meet her.”
It was growing dark outside, and Gordon got up to light the gas jets. Sam decided to be the good flatmate for once, and did the washing up. “So how late can you stay, Hettie?” he asked her.
“Er, well,” Hettie said. “I... may have told Mum and Dad I was staying over at a girlfriend’s tonight.”
“Why, Mehitabel Colon!” Sam said, mock-affronted. “You rebel, you.”
“Oh, shut it, Sam,” said Hettie, rolling her eyes.
“What? I am just shocked-- shocked, I say-- that sweet, innocent Mehitabel could conceive of such a deception. Really, it’s not at all like you,” Sam said.
“Hettie’s been running rings round her parents since she was twelve, and you know that perfectly well,” said Gordon. “Besides, they’re too proud of having a copper in the family to complain about her late nights and overnights. Which works out pretty well for us,” he added, looking a little smug.
Hettie was the only one of old Sergeant Colon’s grandchildren who’d become a copper. To say that he was proud of her was the understatement of the millenium: he practically achieved weightlessness when he talked about her.
But that didn’t mean Sam wanted to hear about what Gordon and Hettie got up to in private. “Ugh,” he said, “spare me the details.”
“Oh, all right,” said Gordon.
It was a lovely evening. Sam remembered that, later, when everything went to hell.
*Unlike most young men, Sam had never had a real rebellious phase as a teen. The main reason for this was that the only thing that would have really upset his parents would have been to start acting like a rich, privileged Assassin’s Guild prat, and Sam hated those bastards nearly as much as Dad did.
no subject
Date: 2011-07-12 09:01 pm (UTC)And the Underground maps, ooo.
And Sink Chicken. And Sam not having a good way to rebel. And my heart, it keeps growing when I read this story! \o/