Story Competition - the Sto Lat team story

One night a lonely policeman was walking on his own down the silent street thinking about...

how he ended up walking along the lonely streets of Morpork in the driving rain. How did he, a fisherman's son, come to find himself a life as a protector of justice, a man of arms. Thinking back, he could remember the day his father sent him packing with nothing more than the clothes on his back and the aching jaw he had given him as a going way present. If only his dad saw him now. His old man, with his neatly combed hair and tucked in shirt, so straight-laced and proper, an honoured member of his community. What would he think of his misfit son, the black sheep of the family, what would he think of him being a police officer, a member of the law?

Little did this policeman know, dwelling in his silent world of remembrance, that he was walking into a trap, in fact an extremely well manouvered trap, one that would make Houdini rattle in his grave.

Absent-minded as a police man, especially on duty, should never be, unless he wanted to be a very dead police man very soon, he kicked a stone around the next corner and followed, throwing his baton in the air as he had been doing for the past 15 minutes. This time, against all odds, it didn't come down again.

It got caught on a washing line crossing from one side of the street to the other,. It slide into the pocket of a trouser that was being left out to dry. He cursed openly, and so didn't notice the men surrounding him,until he looked down again. He tried to cry out, and instinctively went to his truncheon, that, Blind Io and behold, wasn't there anymore. This was where the first mans blunt object connected with the back of his head. He fell with a sigh.

The street was empty, as usually when things like this happen, because of course there is no point in knocking someone out and carrying him away while people are watching you. Chances that this would result in you getting caught are just way too high. Well, at least a sort of empty. Indeed, there were no people around, just a rat scurrying to the other side a bit further down the alley, and a small, brownish dog, that sat almost completely still, seemingly watching the men and occasionally scratching its many flea bites.
When the men carried the unconcious policeman away, it followed them, stopping every now and then to pee at a corner, sniff another corner or some waste.

Awakening to the sound of voices, the policeman slowly managed to peel his eyes away from the back of his head and lift his heavy lids. Light flooded in to be replaced by the sight of an enormous face with the addition of the most putrid stench the policeman had ever smelt. The face grinned and revealed a misshapen, haphazard set of teeth, at least he thought they were. They almost looked like little pieces of rotten wood driven into what could only be called gums due to their position in the mouth.

"He'th comin' round, bothth.", said the face, the lisping tongue demonstrating how loose some of those teeth were.
"Good. Step aside, I want to talk to him. Besides, he's not going to stay conciouss very long if you keep breathing into his face.", answered another voice.
The first man did as he was told, allowing the poor policeman to breath again. But it also meant that the face was replaced by the light again, which didn't do his aching head any good at all. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, a figure was standing before the source of light, so that only a silhouette was visible and not the face.
"What's your name, policeman?", asked the silhouette.
The respondent opened his mouth to answer, but found that he was gagged, which made talking a bit difficult. In addition, the blow on his head seemed to have turned his brain into mush and the throbbing pain turned into a stabbing one when he tried to remember what his name was.
"Bob, you idiot, how is he supposed to answer if he's gagged. Take that thing off.", said the boss, his voice now sounding rather annoyed.
Bob turned out to be the ugly man and now that their victim had had time to breath some fairly fresh air, the stench almost knocked him out again. When the gag had been removed, the boss repeated his question.

"Why should i tell you?" said the policeman,or at least that's what he tried to say,his tongue was still kinda lame due to the earlier drubbing. What actually came out sounded more like "Wah sher aaa tow ooo?"
"What?!" said the silhouette.
"Wah sher aaa TOW oooo?!" the policeman repeated.
"Listen," silhoutte said "if you don't tell me your name now you won't have a mouth to speak out of later"

The Policeman racked his brains for a name that was believeable but false. He wasnt entirely sure about his real name at the moment, what with the amount of circumstance and being knocked out.
'I will count to three, and then bob will rip you a new hole to breath out of.' said the shadow. 'Hur hur' said the shape adressed as bob. 'Shut up' said the shadow.
'Awec pwefer' said the policeman, but he meant Alex Pewter.
'What?' The shadow replied angrily. Bob removed the gag, and The Policeman repeated himself, loudly and clearly.
'Well, we have you here for a very good reason.' the shadow announced, 'but we dont know. We are just grunts, and the higher ups wont bother to see such a lowly copper at the bottom of his luck. Even though, its only a false bottom'
That last line didnt sit well for the copper, and he tried to look around.

He seemed to be in some kind of shabby warehouse. The walls were naked and so was the floor, stamped mud. The only light came from a fairly large window with broken glass, far up the wall behind the silhouette. It was the kind of place were the policeman, who had just made Alex Pewter his temporary name, would never store anything, let alone food. Even Nobby Nobbs' pockets were cleaner than this place. Well, maybe not Nobby Nobbs' pockets, but everybody elses.
Except for him there were only the man called Bob and the one referred to as Boss in the room. Not that it really mattered, because as Alex was tied up and his head was still aching painfully he wouldn't have a chance to escape anyway.
So he tried to move into a slightly more comfortable position, which didn't really work because of the ties, and waited for the man to say something else or, which would be much better, for someone to come and rescue him. He knew of course, that chances for that were one to million. But then again, those always worked. He started to pray to every deity that could spare a minute and listen to him.

It seemed to be his lucky day despite all the bad luck that happened so far, because somewhere at the other end of Ankh-Morpork, in the Pseudopolis Yard Watchhouse, someone noticed that he had been missing for several hours already and they started to send out search parties.

“What's your rank, Alex Pewter?”, asked the Boss, sitting down comfortably on one of the few chairs around that still had all four legs, a seat surface and a backrest and lighting a cigar.
The gods or Fate or whoever's responsibility this was seemed to want Alex to suffer as payment for making a rescue a possibility, so all the smoke got blown directly into his face. As he didn't only come from the country, but also from the coast line and hadn't even been long enough in Ankh-Morpork to get used to the stench of the city, the smoke made him cough uncontrollably until there were tears running down his cheeks and he was sure that he was about to die of suffocation, but still the only reason why he suddenly stopped was the sharp pain in his side where Bob had just kicked him.
“I'm not a patient person, Alex Pewter, and I really hate having to say everything twice. So try to answer the first time.”
Alex nodded, tears still running down his face, now not only from the smoke and coughing but also from the pain.
“Lance-Constable, Sir.”
“Don't think you can suck up to me by siring me, Lance-Constable Pewter.”
The Boss' constant use of his name started to make Alex nervous. It was almost as if he knew that it was fake. He waited for another question, or a remark, anything, but the Boss just sat there, smoking and watching him. Alex settled for watching Bob, who was now sitting on the floor some metres away, drawing lines in the dust. He really was incredibly ugly and the lisp made Alex think “Igor”, but the name was wrong, plus there was nothing artificial about him.

At the same time, the search parties were looking for him all over the city. It was unusual to make such a fuss about a missing Lance-Constable, especially in Ankh-Morpork, where they usually turned up again eventually, usually in the morgue and without any of their belongings, except for, if they were lucky, all their limbs and the clothes. But these were unusual times, because even in the Shades at night watchmen were rarely attacked and Lance-Constable John Tendy (because that was Alex Pewter's real name) had by no means been patrolling in the Shades at night, but in Morpork's safest neighbourhood in the middle of the day. Also there had been some worrying rumours about a many people being unhappy with the current Patrician's rule, and when there are many people who don't like a government they usually end up forming a group and trying to change something, so Commander Vimes wanted to be as ready as you can be for something like that and have his people together, or at least know where they are and why they aren't where they should be (meaning with the other watchmen, helping). And for this he had to find Lance-Constable John Tendy, who was half sitting, half lying tied up somewhere in a warehouse in Morpork, pretending to be Alex Pewter.

Lying in silence, being watched by the Boss, John Tendy noticed that something was wrong. It was quiet. It wasn't only the absence of speech, which was normal, as neither Bob nor the Boss nor John talked. It was the absence of any sound whatsoever. This was Ankh-Morpork, the Discworld's largest city. There should have been sounds from outside, even if it was only screams or a dog barking. But there was nothing. John wasn't used to the constant noises of the city and their sudden absence made him feel very uncomfortable.

In the meantime the search parties where still searching, but Ankh-Morpork was huge and looking for a single person there was like looking for the famous needle in the just as famous haystack. The only one possibly in the right position to find the Lance-Constable was Sergeant Angua, who had unfortunately been sent into the completely wrong direction. And so it was Captain Carrot and his party who suddenly heard a voice from the shadows of a small alley say:
“Wrong way, lads, I'd try the empty warehouses near Merchantstreet.”
Anybody else would have supposed that this was a trap. But not Captain Carrot. Carrot was the personification of law and despite being confronted with the bitter reality every day found it impossible to believe that people could be anything but law-abiding and good. To him the thought that the voice might be leading them into a trap didn't even occur. He simply got his party to change directions and follow the only lead they had.

In the meantime, Commander Samuel Vimes went through reports he got from all over the city. It was alarming. Many neighbourhoods seemed to be almost deserted, only few people were outside and they seemed to be oddly quiet. It had been like that, another reason why Vimes wanted his people together. Which of course he hadn't, as they were out searching for Lance-Constable Tendy. But at least they were out there in groups and thanks to the clacks could be called together fairly easily. He was slightly annoyed that he had to stay in the Watch house, but someone had to. So he spent his time reading reports, listening to other reports, marking things on a map and feeling like a general before a very important battle. He discovered that the strange lack of the usual busyness was stronger in Morpork than in Ankh, but not as much in the lower class neighbourhoods as in the middle class ones.

John Tendy was sure that he would never be able to use his arms and legs again, even if he got out of this alive. The signals he got from there were a strange and unpleasant combination of numbness and pain.
Just when his prayers changed from “Oh, please, you gods, make them find me soon.” to “Oh please you gods, let me die now.” he could hear violent knocks from the other end of the warehouse.
“AMCW! Open up!!!”
The only reaction was that Bob got up, grabbed a crossbow and aimed it at Tendy.
“Open up now or we will have to break the door open!! We warn you, we have got trolls!!!”
Seconds later the door burst open and two trolls came inside, followed by Captain Carrot and a handful of others. Bob demonstrated his lack of intelligence by whirling around to face the attackers and thus taking the crossbow off their hostage. He got hit in the face by the door, thrown by one of the trolls, only seconds later.
On seeing his partner dropping like a sack of potatoes the Boss got up, raising his hands. One of the Watchmen hurried to free Tendy, whereas Carrot faced the Boss, giving him a long look and then slowly but friendly asking:
“Would you mind telling us what this is all about?”

A bit later most of the search parties were back in the Watch houses. Commander Vimes, Captain Carrot and some Sergeants, including Angua and Fred Colon, sat in the rarely used briefing room of the Pseudopolis Yard Watch House, discussing what to do now. It seemed that the “Boss” had lied about all the bits he had told Tendy. He hadn't been able to tell them much, partly because he hadn't known much, but partly also because Colon had been impatient and hit him to get something else than stammered bits, but had knocked him out and he hadn't woken up again yet. What they had found out was that something was going on in Shadyalley 2. They did not, however, know what was going on there, which made it harder to decide on how to proceed.

One hour later they had managed that and were gently forcing their way into the Shadyalley 2. In other words, Sergeant Detritus was unhinging the door. They found the house empty, which was soon explained when Angua found the trapdoor under the table. It was just large enough for Detritus to squeeze through and let to the predecessor of the current Ankh-Morpork, which was used as cellars in many parts of the city. Again they found no one, but Angua's nose led them down into an even older Ankh-Morpork. This time they found what they were looking for. There was a group of people wearing black hooded cloaks and standing in a circle around chalk drawings on the floor, chanting something. In the middle of the circle was another man who could only be told apart from the other people by the blood red rim on the hood of his cloak. He looked up when they entered and the chanting stopped.
“You're too late, Commander Vimes. The citizens of Ankh-Morpork are under our control. Soon they will overthrow the Patrician and the city will be mine. It doesn't matter that you freed the hostage. You can't stop me.”
“I wouldn't be so sure of that. Sergeant Detritus? Stop him.”
Detritus nodded and stepped forward. His massive stone fist crashed down on the man's head.
“Fine. The rest of you will come with us.”
None of the other men were eager to meet Detritus' fist and so didn't resist when the Watchmen arrested them and lead them away.

When their leader opened his eyes again he found them all gone, except for one tall person in a black hooded cloak standing next to him, looking down. He frowned, there was something odd about this man.
“You're not one of my people, are you?”
NO, replied the figure.
“Thought so, you don't feel familiar.”
I AM NOT SURPRISED. YOU ARE MACAULLY, THE MAN WHO TAUGHT HIMSELF HOW TO CONTROL THE MINDS OF A WHOLE CITY SO HE COULD OVERTHROW THE GOVERNMENT.
“Erm, yes.”, Macaully answered, just to realize that it hadn't been a question but a statement.
He stood up. Looking down he saw that there was no end to the odd things today, because while he was definitely standing here, he also seemed to be lying on the floor with a skull that looked like an overripe apple someone had stepped on. Then it dawned on him.
“I'm dead?”
YES. THAT'S WHAT PEOPLE CALL IT.
“Oh.”

Vetinari looked up.
“So the people planning this are arrested, the leader died, people are acting normal again and the danger is averted?”
“Yessir.”
“Commander Vimes, you should know that the danger is never averted.”
“Of course, sir. But this specific putsch has been prevented.”
“Good work, Commander. You may go.”
“Thank you, sir. And sir?”
“Yes, Commander?”
“We need a new dart board.”

The End