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“The Turtle Moves”, Chapter Two

Summary: After his initial introduction to life in Ankh-Morpork, new acting-constable Ron Weasley is hoping to ease himself into things without causing too much of a stir. But where would be the fun in that?

TWs in the tags.

Tagging: @thefandompixie @areweunderscoreweare

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Read on FFN. Read on AO3.

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‘Don’t worry, Ron; first crime scene, always happens.’

Ron wiped his mouth with his arm. He and Cheery had headed over to Hen and Chickens Field. Funnily enough, it was the school where Ginny had been sent to. Although Ron was glad that they hadn’t bumped into Ginny; he very much doubted that she would want to know that one of the teaching staff had been murdered in their office. Hence why the contents of Ron’s stomach were now covering the cobbles of the street two floors below.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered, queasily.

‘No need to apologise. All better now?’ Cheery said, encouragingly. ‘I was much the same on my first day.’

Ron stood up, took a deep breath, and surveyed the crime scene.

It wasn’t especially pleasing to look at. But, then again, what crime scene ever was? The teacher who had previously occupied this office was lying on the floor, face down. Ron tried not to think about the dried red marks on the carpet around her head.

‘Looks like a blunt weapon was involved,’ Ron said, bending down beside the former Ms Smith. ‘Trauma to the back of the head. Presumably, they caught her unawares.’

‘Possibly,’ Cheery replied, nodding. ‘Although we can’t rule out that she tried to stop it from happening until we’ve checked over the body.’

Cheery took out some glass containers and, with Ron’s help, began to take samples of the dried blood from the carpet and from Ms Smiths’ head. Ron was very glad that he now had an empty stomach*. This wasn’t exactly the same as gathering herbs with Mistress Weatherwax, although Cheery was a lot less likely to glare at him. That was a positive.

‘Who’d want to kill a teacher, though?’ Cheery said, absentmindedly**, as she closed the last glass container and slipped it into her bag. ‘The school year was about to begin. By the sounds of it, she was well-liked by both students and staff. Quiet sort of lady but no-one had anything bad to say about her.’

Ron nodded. He had never actually been to a school that much; his mum had taught him how to read, write, add two and two together, and polish his shoes. Mistress Weatherwax tended to look down on what she called “sit down edddycation” and Ron had been in no mind to disagree. You didn’t argue with Mistress Weatherwax unless you wanted to spend the next week terrified about how she’d react***.

‘If she was as quiet as they say,’ Ron mused. ‘Then maybe the reason wasn’t to do with her as a person. Maybe internal politics at the school-’

‘I was just thinking that.’

Ron jumped, turning to the door.

Commander Sir Samuel Vimes, leader of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch, strode into the room.

Despite his rather diminutive size, Vimes had a presence that accounted for several extra feet of height. When he was standing nearby, you couldn’t help but pay attention to him, even if he wasn’t saying anything. Ron wondered if he was overthinking this; it could just as easily be that he was so used to the legend of Vimes that his brain connected dots that didn’t exist.

Stop it; just get on with the things you can do.

‘C-Commander Vimes,’ Ron exclaimed, quickly saluting. ‘We didn’t realise you were-’

‘Oh, relax, lad,’ Vimes said, bending down to inspect the body of the former teacher. ‘I’m not here to embarrass you; good evaluation of the crime scene, actually.’

‘Er… thank you, sir.’

It seemed like Vimes was deliberately not mentioning the things Ron had mentioned during their patrol earlier, which he appreciated.

Ron stared around the office. It was almost the poetic ideal of a teachers office; musty, filled with books and with paper scattered everywhere. And anyone who thinks that isn’t poetic has clearly never been inside a poet’s room.

A withering pot plant was stood on one of the two windowsills (the other of which had been the one Ron had vomited out).

‘Hang on,’ Ron said, walking forward and bending down to inspect the plant. ‘Was this plant here when we arrived?’

Cheery approached.

‘I think so. Why?’

‘Well… it looks like it’s been potted strangely…yes, look; the soil doesn’t reach up to the brim, see? The pot looks a size too big for the plant and soil.’

‘Hmmm,’ Cheery said, rubbing her beard in thought. ‘But that doesn’t automatically mean anything?’

‘Maybe. Unless… hang on…’

Ron bent down further.

‘Soil on the ground,’ he said. ‘Still warm, so it couldn’t have been moved long ago.’

Staring up at them was a small piece of pottery.

‘So… someone smashed the plant pot and repotted it quickly?’ Ron muttered. ‘Why bother?’

‘In a hurry, perhaps?’ Cheery mused.

‘A hurry for what, though?’

‘I’ll take a chunk of this back for testing,’ Ron said, placing it inside a container. ‘Maybe it might shed some light on it.’

‘Good lad,’ Vimes said.

‘Thank you, Commander,’ Ron replied. ‘I know it’s not much of a clue but…’

‘Don’t worry; I don’t believe in clues,’ Vimes said, grimly. ‘Ha! A crime scene might reveal a single tap shoe, a beret and an old beer mug, and people end up thinking the suspect could only be a one-legged alcoholic Quirmian. Nah; always take clues with…’

‘A grain of salt?’ Ron offered.

‘I was gonna say “with the mind of a suspicious bastard”, but that works too.’

Ron nodded, not being sure whether Commander Vimes was being serious. He was starting to get the sense that you never could tell with Old Stoneface, as he seemed to be known in the city.

‘I’m gonna head back to Pseudopolis Yard,’ Vimes said, scratching his right ear with a fingernail. ‘Carrot said he’s got some forms for me to fill out and that he’ll send them to Sybil if I try to sneak out of it. Cheery, write up a report after you finish examining those samples, will you?’

Cheery nodded and Vimes began to walk out of the room.

‘Nice work, Constable,’ Vimes said, pausing at the doorway and turning to look at Ron. ‘Keep it up.’

Ron swallowed nervously and nodded. Vimes flashed a brief grin and departed.

‘Are you feeling fine, Ron?’ Cheery said, as they exited the school a few minutes later. ‘You looked a little on-edge around the Commander.’

‘I think I embarrassed myself in front of him earlier,’ Ron mumbled.

‘On the patrol, you mean? I can’t imagine it was that bad.’

‘It was; I even asked him whether Commander Vimes was tough to work for.’

Cheery chuckled in a good-natured way. Ron tried to ignore his ears turning pink.

‘I don’t think you need to worry,’ she said, brightly. ‘I imagine he appreciated that you didn’t seem flummoxed to be taking a patrol with him. He started out as a street copper, you see. Hates all the pomp and ceremony.’

Ron sighed and followed Cheery through the packed city streets. The two of them arrived back at Pseudopolis Yard about fifteen minutes later, and hurried across the front room of the Watch House. Ron was starting to think that people appeared out of the woodwork in Ankh-Morpork, because they were more people around him everytime he blinked.

‘Not you again?’ groaned the dwarf behind the desk at the person at the front of the queue.

‘I vont to complain!’ exclaimed a vampire, irritably. ‘How can I be expected to vork in a place with running vater everyvere?’

‘Yes,’ replied the dwarf, sighing heavily as he stared down at the complaint form, ‘But you surely realised that when you applied to be a lifeguard at the Ankh-Morpork Swimming Baths-’

Chuckling to himself, Ron followed Cheery up through the staircases towards the Forensics room.

* The road sweeper who would arrive on the road two hours later was not glad of this, and spent the next week complaining of binge-drinking schoolgirls.

** Dwarfs are, by nature, a dutiful and sensible bunch who respect those with knowledge. Especially if that knowledge happens to include “which seam of the mine is going to collapse”.

*** Hence why Lacre has never really had much of a peacekeeping force other than Shaun Ogg, who comprised the kingdoms entire standing army (except when he was slouching, which happened a lot due to how little peacekeeping he actually had to do).

‘How strange.’

Cheery peered into the glass tube. It was a few hours later; the two of them had been experimenting with the blood samples.

‘Blue again,’ Ron muttered, adding that to the table of results they were compiling. ‘Exactly the same shade.’

‘It must be reacting to something,’ Cheery said. ‘Some sort of chemical reaction is taking place, but at a delay.’

‘Hmmm. Could have been mixed in with the blunt object that was used to kill Ms Smith?’

Cheery nodded, mulling this over.

‘Given the situation,’ she said. ‘I think there’s one place that may just help us.’

One walk through the city centre later, Ron found himself following Cheery through the iron gates of the Assassins Guild.

Only to be immediately told that they would need to go to Unseen University instead*. Cheery sighed, nodded and Ron followed her across back towards Sator Square.

‘So… you think Unseen University might help us with this?’ he asked, as they pushed their way through the crowd. Well, Ron pushed; Cheery was too polite to.

Cheery nodded.

‘Generally speaking, we avoid talking to the wizards if we can,’ she said, scratching her long beard. ‘But, on this occasion, we’ll need to.’

Unseen University’s enormous gates loomed in front of them. Ron got the sense that the upper classes liked being hidden behind large gates. This was presumably the origin of the proverbial “gilded cage”.

After the porters had let them through the gates (Cheery showing her badge to help speed them up a little), the two of them crossed the large grassy square inside, heading for the main Octangle. Ron was immediately struck by how old most of the wizards around seemed to be, as well as a plethora of physiques that Mrs Weasley would have referred to as “armchair dependent”.

‘Oook?’

Ron had never heard ‘oook’ used as a question before. But, then again, he had never seen a huge orangutan knuckle across a courtyard before.

Ron stared at them, eyes widening.

‘Er…’

‘Special Constable Librarian,’ Cheery said, smiling as she saluted. ‘How lovely to see you.’

‘Oook.’

‘We’re here to see Mr Ponder Stibbons,’ Cheery continued. ‘Have you seen him?’

The librarian, if that was their name, nodded and pointed towards a building on the far end of the grassy courtyard.

‘Oh, the High Energy Magic Building?’

‘Oook.’

‘Thank you!’

The librarian gave a wide grin and knuckled away over the pebblestones.

Ron turned to Cheery, his mouth falling half open.

‘They’re… they’re with the Watch?’

‘Yes,’ Cheery replied. ‘It was before my time, but Carrot says that it was around the time of the Dragon ruler.’

Ron stared at her in bafflement.

‘He had ait of an accident with the books in the UU library, poor chap,’ Cheery continued, not seeming to notice Ron’s confusion as they began to cross the courtyard in the other direction. ‘But, apparently, he prefers it this way. Far easier to climb up bookcases, you see.’

Ron thought of asking further questions, but decided again. Somethings were best left to themselves.

Upon entering the High Energy Magic Building, Ron could immediately tell why the building had been named such. Unlike the strangely sleepy quality of the rest of the university, this place was alive with excited young wizards, many carrying large stacks of books, running back and forth.

‘Er…’ Cheery said, pulling on a passing wizard by the elbow. ‘We’re from the Watch; is Ponder Stibbons about?’

The (in Ron’s opinion) rather gormless-looking young wizard* nodded and pointed towards a slightly older man. Unlike the other university staff, he was clean-shaven and had the mildly irritated expression of a man who spent most of his time surrounded by people who refused to think logically about anything.

‘Mr Stibbons?’

‘Yes,’ replied the bespectacled man, looking up from a piece of parchment with coffee-cup stains on it. ‘How can I help?’

‘We need some questions answered.’

‘Well, I’m a bit busy at the moment but… ah, just the fellow, Mr Potter…’

A younger man, roughly Ron’s age, happened to have been wandering past. Stibbons reached out and pulled him by the arm towards Ron and Cheery.

‘Whatever it is, I didn’t do it,’ the boy said, quickly, staring at them with bright green eyes through large round spectacles. He was surprisingly skinny, meaning that his wizard hat kept slipping down over his ears. ‘You can’t prove anything.’

‘No, Mr Potter,’ sighed Ponder, rolling his eyes. ‘The Watch are enquiring after some information.’

‘The Assassins Guild recommended we come to UU regarding this matter.’

The young Mr Potter swallowed, and gestured over to a corner. Ponder Stippons swept away, leaving a smell of dusty books and not enough decent baths.

‘Is there a type of substance that could cause a delayed discolouration of blood?’ Cheery asked, as they sat down around a workbench. ‘For example, a blue pigment?’

‘Blue, you say?’ Harry repeated, scratching his head. ‘Well, I’m not surprised the Assassins sent you here; they consider that particular substance to be rather beneath them.’

‘Wait?’ Ron cut in, sitting down on a stool. ‘You know which substance would cause this?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Harry nodded. ‘It’s… well, it’s just a type of pottery. Pretty cheap pottery, at that. It’s meant to give a nice blue shine to paint, although it’s not very fashionable now. My dad’s best mate calls it tacky.’

‘Oh, well; that doesn’t really tell us much,’ Cheery said, looking disheartened for a brief moment. ‘Although… you say it’s not so commonplace nowadays?’

‘Yeah, it went out of style a while back. Usually only bought by old farts now.’

‘Hmmm…’ Cheery muttered, jotting this down in her notepad. ‘Could I have the name, please?’

‘Djelibeybi Blue,’ Harry replied. ‘It’s chemical composition is fairly straightforward but, like I say, barely anyone wants it anymore.’

Cheery nodded, noting the name down.

‘Ron, I’ll handle things here with the UU staff,’ she said, turning to the redhead. ‘You go off shift and get some food. It’s time for you to go on break anyway.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘It’s your first night in the city,’ Cheery said, grinning. ‘Everyone seems time to enjoy themselves. Just make sure you’re at the Watch House in a few hours, okay?’

Ron nodded, saluted quickly, and headed out into the courtyard, followed by the young wizard.

‘So,’ Harry said, walking quickly to catch up to Ron’s long stride. ‘You’re in the Watch, then?’

‘Er… yeah,’ Ron said, staring down at the boy as they walked along. ‘Although I am officially on break now, so don’t worry about me arresting you.’

‘Fancy a drink?’

‘Er…I thought wizards were supposed to avoid habits like that.’

Harry let out a laugh.

‘You’re funny,’ he said, grinning. ‘Some of the wizards in this place are about as cheerful as a chopping axe- oh, evening, Professor Rincewind!’

The professor in question, a spindly-looking wizard with a wispy ginger beard, jumped several inches into the air, sprinted in the opposite direction and disappeared under a bench.

‘Er…’ Ron said, turning to Harry. ‘Is that normal for him?’

‘Bit of a nervous bloke. Anyway, c’mon,’ Harry grinned, slapping an arm on Ron’s shoulder. ‘I know a nice place nearby. For food as well as drink, before you ask.’

Ron grinned and nodded.

‘Alright; you’re on.’

Harry smiled.

* To be fair, Ron didn’t mind this. The Assassins Guild seemed to be filled exclusively with people for whom genetics had forsaken chins.

** Ron based this impression mainly off the vacant stare of the young man. And the fact that he looked as if he pronounced “bath” with three different types of “r”.

‘And then,’ Harry continued, sloshing a large portion of his drink onto the table. ‘This nitwit turns up at my parents’ house -kicks down the door like one of those martial artists- and storms upstairs to my room. I’m… I’m sleeping like a baby, what with -hic- being a baby at the time. He’s standing by the cot, with this stupid twig raised in front of him.

‘And… you know what this twerp does? Trips on the sodding carpet and falls forward. This twig thing of his goes straight against my forehead, gives me this bloody scar. Seriously, what kind of wannabe assassin fails to kill a baby? He could have thrown me out the window, for godssake!’

Ron chuckled, nursing his apple juice. The food had been pretty good, all things considered. And Harry clearly enjoyed the local ale, as the several empty pint glasses cluttered around the table proved. Ron was surprised to learn that no-one had paid any attention to his uniform, possibly due to the fact that another member of the Watch* was sat near the bar.

‘So… what happened to this… Voldemort bloke?’

‘My parents tackle him and tie him up. Call the -hic- local night watch. A wizard, a proper one this one, turns up with the Watchmen. Apologises to my parents, and then -boom- seals up the cut on my forehead.’

‘So, why does he make it look like a lightning bolt?’

‘Sod -hic- if I know,’ Harry hiccupped. ‘Wizards are… wossname… austin-ostertat-er- dramatic for the sake of being dramatic. Miracle I didn’t end up with ‘LABBO IS IMPRESSIVE’ stuck there instead. That was the wizards name, by the way.’

‘Yeah, I gathered.’

‘Anyway,’ Harry continued, slopping what remained of his drink down his robes. ‘A couple of -hic- years later, Unseen University send my parents a letter, saying I’ve been given a scholarship in exchange for being such a good sport about the whole assass… assasso… trying-to-kill-me thing.’

‘Er… what do you wizard students actually do all day? Go to lectures?’

Harry laughed.

‘Nah… the professors are all terrified that the students will actually -hic- turn up to those. Except for Ponder, course. He basically runs the place, but don’t tell anyone I -hic- told you that.’

After a few more drinks (for Harry), Ron eventually decided that the poor wizard needed to get back to UU before he fell asleep on the table. He helped Harry to his feet and the two of them wandered out into the streets, heading in the general direction of Unseen University.

‘You’re my best mate, y’are…’ Harry slurred, dangling off Ron’s enormous height. ‘Wes… we should… have a double act… Potty and his weesle… weaslo… weezy…’

‘I’m not exactly a comedian, mate,’ Ron said, as they rounded the corner of Peach Pie Street and into the backs. ‘Are you sure this is the right way?’

‘Gates… gates get closed,’ Harry mumbled. ‘But there’s a way to get over the -hic- wall…’

Sur enough, there was a line of very wobbly wizards stood nearby, with each of them slowly climbing into the university, using bricks that slid out from the wall itself*.

Harry grinned, clapped Ron clumsily on the shoulder and climbed unsteadily up the wall. He waved at Ron, before disappearing from sight over the top. There was a loud thump.

‘Oy…’ came Harry’s voice, sounding irritated. ‘Whass’ yorgame’… stone pillar… getout me way…’

Ron chuckled to himself. Nice bloke.

He headed back towards Pseudopolis Yard, enjoying the feeling of the city at night. Ron had just entered into the Watch House when-

‘Pssst!’

Ron stopped, and turned to the side.

‘Ginny!’

The younger redhead sprang up from the seat she was seating him.

‘What are you doing away from the school?’ Ron exclaimed, hotly. ‘You can’t just go wandering through Ankh-Morpork by yourself at night!’

‘Oh, and you can?’

Ron stared down at her from his great height.

‘Okay, you’ve got me there, but at least I’ve got armour on-’

‘Constable Weasley, who is this?’

Ron jumped.

Sergeant Angua had appeared next to him. She was looking as serious as ever.

Behind him, Ron heard Ginny let out a low breath.

‘Sergeant!’ Ron said, saluting quickly. ‘This is my sister, Ginny!’

‘And just why is she at the Watch House?’ Angua replied, staring at Ginny, who looked like she was trying not to hyperventilate. ‘That’s a school uniform; shouldn’t she be at the school in question?’

‘Yes, she should be,’ Ron replied. ‘I’ll walk her back there right away, Sergeant.’

Angua nodded, curtly.

‘Best keep your wits about you this evening,’ she said, looking around into the murky depths of the city nightscape. ‘I don’t know, Constable, but… I’ve got a feeling in my gut that somethings happening.’

Ron saluted as Angua walked away, a door closing behind her.

‘By the gods,’ Ginny said, grinning. ‘Your Sergeant is hot!’

Ron rolled his eyes.

‘Please don’t flirt with Sergeant Angua; she’s, like, five years older than you, for a start.’

‘She’s so… animalistic,’ Ginny continued, clearing not listening to a word Ron was saying. ‘Like a caged beast…’

Ron decided not to dwell too much on the irony of Ginny’s words. Instead, he grabbed his sister by the arm and began pulling her in the direction of Hen and Chickens Field.

* Ron would have referred to them as a “Watchman” but Nobby Nobbs could only be classified as human by sheer force of probability.

** This technically should have been stopped by the university faculty. But, since the faculty had all been students themselves at one point, they felt this was an important and memorable part of the students’ academic careers. And was very fun to watch from the comfort of a nearby staffroom.

‘What is going on here?’

Ron’s head darted sideways.

A young woman, roughly his age, was glaring suspiciously at him. She looked very familiar. She was short, with a huge mane of bushy brown hair. And she was very, very cute.

Ginny then chose this particular moment to lose her balance. As she had been stood on Ron’s shoulders at the time, this wasn’t a good thing.

There was a muffled crash as gravity took hold, in the form of one small redheaded girl crashing discwards and knocking them both to the ground. Ron had been trying to covertly help her climb into her dormitory window, but their attempts to do this quietly had now been made redundant by the resulting noise.

‘Oww…’

‘Stop complaining and let me stand up,’ Ron muttered, irritably. ‘Bloody hell, Gin.’

Ginny helped Ron to his feet.

‘Er…’

‘Sorry, Miss Granger,’ Ginny said, turning to the girl. ‘This is my brother Ron; he was escorting me back to the school.’

And the puzzle pieces clicked into place in Ron’s brain. Of course he recognised this young woman; he had met her only a few hours previously.

‘Ginny, you know her?’

‘She’s a student teacher at the school,’ Ginny said.

‘Ron… you’re that nice Watchman from earlier today,’ Miss Granger said, her frostiness disappearing somewhat. ‘You helped me with-’

‘The dwarf bread museum,’ Ron finished. ‘Have you been able to contact Captain Carrot yet?’

‘Yes,’ she replied, smiling. ‘He is looking up the available days that he can open the museum for an excursion. Thank you, by the way.’

‘Pleasure,’ Ron said, smiling in return.

‘Ron… may I call you Ron?’

‘Well, I am technically off duty, so yeah.’

Miss Granger smiled.

‘My name is Hermione,’ she said, large brown eyes twinkling.

‘Hello, Hermione.’

‘Am I gonna get detention for this or what?’

Both Ron and Hermione jumped. They had forgotten that Ginny was stood nearby, now looking from one to the other with a raised eyebrow.

‘I… I will let this slide,’ Hermione said, sounding somewhat flustered. ‘However, you really ought to not run off into the city unaccompanied in future, Miss Weasley.’

‘Thank you, Miss Granger,’ Ginny replied. ‘Goodnight, then. If you could just…’

A few seconds later, Ginny had climbed into the window.

‘Do you need to get back in?’ Ron asked, turning to Hermione.

‘Oh, no; I have my key to the front gate,’ Hermione replied. ‘But thank you-’

‘And just what is going on here?’

This phrase was a cliché, but a cliché for a reason. It was part of the nuts and bolts of these situations. Or so Ron was starting to suspect, anyway.

A woman had appeared nearby. She was short, with blond hair tied into a sharp bun. A pair of glasses were held up on a protruding nose. She had one of those noses that lent itself well to looking down at people, regardless of whether they were shorter than the person to whom the nose belonged. Ron got the distinct impression that she spent a lot of time looking down on people.

‘Miss Granger,’ she said, in a nasally voice. ‘Might I enquire as to why you are speaking to this… er…’

‘Constable Weasley,’ Ron replied. ‘Ankh-Morpork City Watch.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said the woman. ‘I have the Watch have started letting in… all sorts.’

Ron’s eyes narrowed at the woman.

‘Need a watch of all sorts to police a city of all sorts,’ he said. ‘I take it that you are a teacher at this school?’

‘Ye-es,’ replied the woman, pushing her glasses up and displaying slightly tarnished blue nail varnish that clashed horribly with her hair. ‘I do have the burden of imparting wisdom onto young minds. Even if some are not… culturally disposed to engaging with the wisdom imparted.’

The back of Ron’s neck was starting to itch.

‘Be off to bed, Miss Granger,’ she said. ‘I can’t have you fraternising with every street watchperson who passes.’

Hermione’s face seemed to stiffen at this.

‘I do not have a curfew,’ she replied, sharply. ‘I am at perfect liberty to talk with this gentleman if I so choose.’

The woman glowered at her, before turning and leaving.

‘Who was that?’ Ron said.

‘Ms Roller. One of the most experienced teachers at the school.’

‘Don’t think she liked me much.’

‘Yes, she was rather rude,’ Hermione agreed, tucking a lock of her bushy hair behind her ear. Was… was she blushing slightly? ‘I… I thought it was rather sweet of you to escort your sister back to the school.’

‘W-well,’ Ron said, feeling his ears pinken. ‘Thank you. I was just trying to help.’

‘I’ve noticed,’ she replied, smiling up at him. ‘And you do an excellent job at it, too.’

A few minutes later, Ron was walking back through the streets, a slight spring in his step and Hermione’s parting smile still fresh in his mind. He had just reached the Watch House reception area again when-

‘Constable Weasley?’

Sergeant Angua had appeared. Ron saluted quickly.

‘Your sister got back alright?’

‘Yes, Sergeant.’

‘Good lad,’ Angua said, before pulling an envelope out of her pocket. ‘Oh, we need this message delivered over to Commander Vimes’s house. You know where Scoone Avenue is, right?’

‘W-what?’ Ron stammered, as she thrust the envelope into his hands. ‘I-yes, I know where it is, but-’

‘Then it shouldn’t be an issue,’ Angua said. ‘You’ve met the Commander already, from what Cheery tells me. Just knock on his door, and ask to see him.’

Ron stood rooted to the spot, staring down at the envelope in his hands.

Commander Vimes -URGENT

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Thanks for reading, everyone; hope you enjoyed the second chapter! If you enjoyed, please like, reblog and (if you want to be tagged when each new chapter is published) ask me to add you to the tag list. Apologies for the delay in this being published, but IRL stuff got in the way. Stay tuned!

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