brain thief

[holli]

Sam could remember, back when he was a boy, that the river had been thick and green and nearly solid enough to run across, if you were quick and had exceptionally large feet. It was still fairly green, and extremely scummy, but there was fast-moving water visible under the frothy skin of foam, and rumors of fish pulled alive from it. Not that anyone would eat a fish from the River Ankh-- Morporkians prided themselves on their toughness, but they mostly weren't actually suicidal-- but there hadn't been fish in the river when Sam was young. Not live ones, anyway.

The difference was the water treatment plant, which had been built fifteen years ago to separate Ankh-Morpork's sewage into its component parts. It produced the gas the lit the city, astonishingly potent fertilizer for the farmers of the plains, and water that wasn't actively dangerous. Harry King, who'd been rich before he bankrolled the plant and was a lot richer now, said that he was a forward-thinking man, and that was true. He'd looked into the river, and seen a future where your reflection could be visible in the water.

Now Sam stood in the shadow of the Brass Bridge, right down by the water, and watched the River Patrol boat dragging its net across the surface. Beside him, Meg scanned the water anxiously. “They’re not going to find her alive, are they?” she asked sadly.

“The odds aren’t good,” Sam said. “It’s a long fall, and the current’s pretty swift here.” They were still dressed for the theater. Meg drew a few odd looks from the other Watchmen, in her pretty dress, but everyone knew Sam.

“You ought to turn in, Sam,” Hettie told him; she’d been on night duty at the Yard all week. “Your friend must be tired; you ought to take her home.”

“Thanks, but I’m all right,” Meg said. “And if there’s any chance she’s still alive, I want to be here. I know rescue breathing, if that’s any help.”

Hettie shrugged, “It might be,” she said. “But it probably won’t, I’m sorry to say. You’re welcome to stay if you like, just stick close to Sam or someone will want to know what you’re doing here.”

A shout went up from the boat in the river. “Have they found her?” Sam asked, craning his neck to see.”

“They’ve found something, anyway.” Hettie looked grim. Jumpers always made her uneasy.

The boat seemed to make it's way back to shore at half speed. Sam glanced up at the bridge, where a crowd of onlookers had gathered to watch the Watch at work. "Can we clear those gawkers off the bridge?" he asked Hettie.

"I'll send a couple of lance-constables up, and we'll see what they can do," Hettie promised.

The River Patrol boat pulled up to the dock with a heavy wooden clunk. Two Watchmen climbed over the side, maneuvering a stretcher between them. The shape in the stretcher had a blanket pulled over its face, hiding it from view. Sam reached out to twitch the blanket back, but one of the coppers stopped him.

"Not here, Corporal," he said. The man looked pale and a little shaky, as if he'd just had a fright. "Trust me. Wait 'til we get her back to the morgue at the Yard."

Sam looked at him, surprised, and the man nodded at the limp white hand that had come loose from its wrappings, now hanging off the edge of the stretcher.

It had a neat ring of stitches round the wrist. Sam’s eyes widened, and he nodded at the other Watchman. "Right," he said, understanding. "At the Yard."

“What’s wrong?” Meg asked.

“Can I tell you when we get to the Yard?” Sam asked. “I’ve got to get a proper witness statement from you, anyway.”

“Well, all right,” said Meg. “But you’re being very mysterious about this, Sam. It’s worrying.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’m quite worried too,” Sam said.

Back at the Yard, Sam left Meg in the squadroom and followed the body down to the morgue. Uncovering her made every Watchman in the room recoil. She was wearing a high-necked dress and long sleeves, but the face was enough for a pretty good recoil all on its own. It had the same jigsaw look as the other Rag-and-Bone Man bodies, but there was something ineffably different about this one, something Sam couldn’t quite put his finger on... and then it clicked.

The Rag-and-Bone Man hadn’t been trying to make his other creatures look nice. They’d been slapdash, thrown together, with no eye for aesthetics, but with this one the Rag-and-Bone Man had aimed for beauty, and missed. The stitching was even more delicate and fine than it had been on the last body, the pieces more carefully matched, but that only made the general effect more uncanny. In death, the face was eerie, near-perfect in form but very, very wrong in all the details. And what was oddest of all, thought Sam, was that it almost looked familiar...

“Sam? I gave my statement to your friend Hettie; she says I ought to go home, but I wanted to say good-night--” Meg stopped mid-sentence and mid-step, just inside the doorway to the morgue. “Oh, no. The poor thing,” she said. “This is the case you were asking about, wasn’t it, Sam?”

“‘Fraid so,” Sam croaked, his throat dry. “Good deduction. You’d make a good copper.*”

“Have there been more of these, then?” Meg asked. Sam nodded. “And you think whoever’s doing it might work at the hospital?” Another nod. “Right,” said Meg. “You’re going to catch this bastard, aren’t you?”

“I’m certainly going to try,” Sam said.

“Good,” Meg said. “That’s-- good.”

Sam pulled the blanket back over the patchwork girl’s face, and that seemed to break the spell. “I think I’d like to go home now, Sam,” Meg said, her voice sounding suddenly small.

“I’ll walk you,” Sam said quickly. “I’m sorry the evening turned out like this.”

“Not your fault,” Meg said, shaking her head. “It was a lovely evening, until-- well. Until.”

Sam put his arm around her as they walked back across the Brass Bridge to Meg’s flat, and she leaned into his side the whole way.

*Sam’s highest compliment.

Comments

[petra]

I officially love this, and Meg, and Sam, and the details as we're getting them. <3 <3 <3