A/N Please read disclaimers in Chapter One.
OUT ON THE CUTTING EDGE
Harry finally woke up feeling as if his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, and found it to be true. The pounding headache he was used to from years of fighting off mental attacks from Voldemort, but the ramifications of Roundworld/Discworld travel, the botched stake out from last night, the hideously uncomfortable bedding, and the drinking late in the evening had sent him to bed feeling lousy. All of the former might have been justification for his ill-feeling, but what really sent him over the edge was the ban on magic.
As soon as he'd arrived back in Carrot's room, he'd gone straight for his mirror, intending to contact Hermione. But reflecting on things, he decided not to use it. It was a magic device from his own world, and he'd given his pledge to Commander Vimes not to use magic. He hadn't fully made a wizarding oath, it was true, but to Harry he felt obligated to keep his word regardless, and mournfully kept the wooden case shut and not spoken to his lady friend.
In his painful morning half-daze, he wandered into Carrot's combination welcome room/bedroom/dining area. There was a mug and a pot of a coffee-like substance on the table, and a note.
"Dere, Hairy,
I wille meet you at, the Watche Housee, Butt I must go to Cable Street firste to get, some papers. Period. Then I will meet you at the Watche Housee for the Squad Meeteing. Period. Have, some coffee. Period.
Carott. Period."
You don't need papers, looks like you need some help with grammar, Harry thought. But he poured out some coffee. It was lukewarm, bitter and sour at the same time, but still clearly caffeinated. Oh well. I guess Watch coffee is the same the world - the Disc - over, Harry thought.
He pulled on his uniform and shuffled through the streets across the Brass Bridge and first went to behind the station to the latrine - right this time. It was indistinguishable from the one he had been on the left side, but still serviceable.
He entered the squad room. There were a number of dwarfs, Detritus the troll and a few other trolls, he recognized Dorfl the golem from last night, sitting with two other golems, Angua, and a quite few other humans … except maybe for the … monkey? … missing link? … over in the corner.
Harry was tapped on the shoulder, and he turned to meet a tall, thin human. "Greetings, Lance-Constable Harry Potter, I am glad to meet a new Watchman," said the stranger. Harry noticed other people in the room shudder. "Pleased to meet you," Harry said. "You are-"
"Constable Visit-the-Infidel-with-Explanatory-Pamphlets," Visit said. Harry stretched to catch this.
"Visit-"
"-the-Infidel-with-Explanatory-Pamphlets," Visit finished.
"I see," Harry said, not seeing at all.
"May I ask, Harry, whether you have considered the damned state of your soul? Are you perhaps a follower of the Almighty Om?" Visit inquired.
"Of - who?" Harry asked.
"Don't mind Washpot," said the monkey-looking man. How can you speak grubbily, Harry wondered. "He just wants to give you some of the pamphlets what he leaves in all the other temples."
Visit looked hurt. "Would you like a pamphlet, Harry?"
Harry had been through enough to realize that the fastest way to get rid of most unpleasant visitors was to give in to their demands as quickly as possible and then ignore them. "Oh, certainly Constable Visit, I'd appreciate that." I haven't found any toilet paper so far.
Visit almost cried. "Here, Lance-Constable Potter, here!" Visit stuffed about four greasy pamphlets into Harry's hands. They bore titles like Smiting the Inner Sinner and The New Revelations of the Old Prophecies Which We Now Think Are Probably Not Heretical. "Should you wish to go out Exhorting with me, Harry, I would be most honored, Om be praised in a tasteful manner to other religions."
"Er, yes, well, perhaps some other time," Harry said. It seemed to have the right affect, since Visit wandered off to torment another youthful watchman. At that moment, Vimes and Carrot strode in.
"Attention the Watch!" Corporal Pessimal announced. Harry rose along with the rest of the Watch house.
"At ease," Vimes said, lighting a cigar. The Watchmen sat down. "Right. Listen up. Carrot has details regarding last night's attack on the Temple of Monolith, as some of you may have already read in this morning's edition of the Times. We'll start with that." He nodded in Carrot's direction.
"Last night, four Watchmen were involved in an operation to stop the wanton destruction of sacred property that has allegedly been occurring by the splinter group known as the Grave Gourmands," Carrot began. "The attack on the Temple of Monolith was largely unsuccessful, and the sacred statue and premises were not seriously damaged. The perpetrators were using a siege weapon of relatively recent construction. Unfortunately, none of the alleged perpetrators were arrested."
"What types of rock and timber were used in the device, Captain?" asked Cherie Littlebottom.
"Cable Street has some of those over there, Corporal Miss Littlebottom," Carrot said. "We'd appreciate your expertise on them. It might help us locate where the mangonel was constructed, and thus where the base is.
"Now at the present time, our informant has alerted us to the fact that at least two other temples are likely to be targets. Since the Grave Gourmands will be expecting Watchman, I would like to propose that Constable Downspout and Constable Reg Shoe take the lead on surveillance for the other two temples, with two teams of Watchmen in reserve, who can be there in a minute's notice should attacks occur. I will be putting together a list of Watchman who will be drawing double duty today to protect these sacred spaces, and Corporal Pessimal will post it later."
There was a general groan at this. No different if I was in Auror headquarters and Shacklebolt just announced an extra shift, thought Harry glumly.
"As always, keep your ears open and keep Watching," Vimes said. "I want this group badly."
"Next item. As many of you know, reports have come in from all over the city regarding the strange behaviour of the Igors. I have asked Igor about Igor, but it doesn't appear at this time Igor was involved, though we can't say the same about Igor. Still, you will all remember - particularly you, Dorfl - the last time we had something like this happen. People ended up dead. I am not expecting any funerals over this, Watchmen. Igors are supposed to save lives, not take them."
"Sir, what is it that Igor is doing, exactly," one of the dwarfs Harry had not met asked.
"Good question. As you know, most of the Igors communicate with their entire community, but they do not have to share their communication if they choose not to do so. Since Igor has been left out of the loop on what Igor initially asked Igor, we don't know for certain, but it seems that Igor and Igors after that Igor have been ignoring their usual trade to deal with … necromancy."
There was a shudder throughout the Watchroom. That shook them up, Harry thought. But which Igor is which? Of course, if it is necromancy, that means that Igor is a witch, unless Igors is a witch … which Igor is witch?
I have got to talk though this with someone, he thought, shaking his head.
"Question, Constable Potter?" Vimes asked.
"Er - not at this time, sir. I just don't think I've met Igor," he said, in what was probably the only safe thing to say.
Vimes looked at him sharply and nodded. "I don't think Igors are very common on the Counterweight Continent, are they?"
"No, sir, at least not in Lon-" Harry responded.
"Right, I'm assigning you to work with Littlebottom on this at present, Potter," Vimes said. "You'll learn more about the facets of Ankh-Morpork that way. Interview Igor and Igor, and Igor, too, if necessary."
Seems a safe enough cover, thought Harry. But I still have no idea what he means.
"What else, Carrot?" Vimes said.
"Two more muggings and three rapes last night in the Shades," Carrot said. "Plus a bit of GBH over by the Misbegot Bridge. I don't think it was raining, so that seems very quiet. Sergeant Detritus?"
"Was quiet last night. Too quiet," Detritus said. "Someone know sumpin', I fink. Come to fink of it, der usual squad of gang boys seems a bit smaller - not so many of `em to clump around."
"This might follow the pattern that more seem to be joining the Grave Gourmands. Reg? Any news from your end on that?" Carrot asked.
Harry looked at - a zombie? Merlin, these guys have everyone. Talk about your affirmative action program.
"'Sno news from the newly inhumaned," Reg said. "If they're takin' body parts, it's not from the main three cemeteries in the city."
Vimes puffed his cigar. "Littlebottom reported that several horses were dead or reported dead from the track. Although horse flesh presumably wouldn't be used for necromancy, the weight might, if they were trying to put a few hundred pounds weight of flesh into coffins. So keep your eyes open if there are a lot of sudden closed-coffin burials."
"Anyone else have a report?" he asked.
There was silence. "Right, that's it." The room began to move.
Pessimal stood up one last time, and the room lapsed back into rigidity. "Right you lot, the Watch! Let's look out for each others' backsides out there!" A small ragged cheer went up. The meeting was over.
Littlebottom sought out Harry. "Sergeant Cherie Littlebottom, forensic alchemist," she said, offering out her hand.
"Lance-Constable Harry Potter, Lon-," Harry said.
"Right," the dwarf said, looking at him appraisingly. "So you've never met Igor before."
"That's right," Harry said.
"Had breakfast yet?" Littlebottom asked.
"Not really," Harry said, truthfully. The pizza seemed a long time away. Maybe they would be able to get some baked beans on toast, or eggs and bacon, with any luck.
"Best way, then," Littlebottom said cheerfully. "We'll eat before lunchtime anyway to avoid the rush, but I'll grab myself a rat on a stick on the way. Let's go see Igor. He used to be downstairs here in Psuedopolis, but we did some renovations to the attics after we dealt with the recent Koom Valley mess, and we've moved Igor upstairs. More space for his workshop, and of course, it abuts the roof so the lightning rods are easier to manage.
"Only difficulty is, now you can't get there from here - we had to build a supporting wall and so we have to walk around the corner just to go upstairs."
They walked out the front of Watch house parallel to the Ankh. Halfway down the street the dwarf strolled over to a vendor selling food out of a cart. "Morning, Mr. Dibbler. One rat on a stick, please," she said, then glanced at Harry. "Or do you want one, too? My shout," she offered.
"Er … no, not just now," Harry said. He looked into the cart and found Littlebottom to be telling the absolute truth. The man had a selection of deep-fried rats impaled on skewers.
"Right, that'll be a dollar," Mr. Dibbler said.
"Come, Mr. Dibbler, the price is always 50 cents for the Watch," Cherie said smiling firmly.
"Well, yeah, I guess, that's true," he admitted. "But it's cuttin' me own throat."
They exchanged specie and species and walked on, with Harry trying very hard not to watch the Watch sink its teeth into the rat with obvious relish.
"New to Ankh-Morpork, then?" she said between bites.
"My first time here," Harry said.
"Yeah, I thought you looked a bit dry behind the ears. Good nip in the Ankh'd fix that. Mind you, you might have to wash off, afterwards," she said, finishing off her nibbling on the tail. They turned the corner and Harry could see the back of the Watch House, and a long staircase that led up to a door near the top floor. "Here we go," she said, disposing of the stick in a bin beside a marquee that read `Psuedopolis Yard Prosthetic Igorring.'
"Igor works for us at the Watch," she explained. "Although technically he's a corporal, he doesn't work on the street unless we're expecting a riot, when seconds count. Now one thing - don't mention his speech impediment, okay? Not word one."
"Got it."
She creaked open the door and walked inside. Harry followed her into what he believed was the cleanest area he had seen in Ankh-Morpork so far.
"Igor?" she said quietly.
"Yes?" said Igor, emerging behind them on the stairs. Harry jumped - and something in his hindbrain screamed run. He then dashed past the counter into the back, which he saw looked like an operating theatre. He looked back to see Cherie and someone - presumably Igor - staring at him.
"How did you do that?" Harry asked.
Cherie smiled. "It's just one of those things Igors do," she said. "Why don't you come back and let's talk."
Coming to them, Harry looked closely at Igor … or was it `the' Igor. The Igor was ... well, at least human looking, certainly. The man had three noses, innumerable scars, and … an extra arm? His face looked like ... the worst mass of tissue from the worst traffic accident imaginable.
"Tell Commander Vimes the noses are almost done, it's an extra week on the four ears, and the arm will be ready by the end of Grune," the Igor said.
"Ah … what …" Harry said. He felt bile in his throat. It was a good thing he hadn't eaten.
"Harry, Igors are expert at creating, grafting and attaching regenerative body tissues," Littlebottom explained. "When we were dealing with this gang from Ephebe last month, they liked to waylay Watchmen and cut their noses or ears off. Igor grows one back on his own body or a surrogate to about 80 percent completion, and then transplants it onto the recipient. With a bit of curetting, within about a month, you can't tell the difference. And it's a new appendage, so it works even better than the old one."
And here about all we have worthy is Sekele-grow, Harry thought. He was impressed, in spite of himself. "Can you do internal organs as well?"
"Well, of course," said Igor. "They are harder to replace, though as there are more infections during the process. But should you find yourself losing your head, believe me, I can get you another one here in the body shop. My stitching is exquisite - no one can even see the seams."
I'm not going to go there, Harry thought, but the infections are because you don't have the antiseptic environments we would have in a hospital. Blimey, if muggles ever found out about this place … there would be a rush for it. Anyone who ever had a traumatic injury. Or was in an accident. The plastic surgeons would have a field day. "Sorry, Mr. Igor, how exactly do you do this? Is it magic?" Harry asked.
"All the Igor Clans are, in fact, magic in part, but no, we don't use involve magic at all in the way you're thinking. We do need fat, though. Lots of it. About half a pound was involved just in this one ear," Igor said.
"We get most of our fat from Uberwald, where the fifth elephant landed," Littlebottom explained. "That's actually my home. The fat is mined by dwarfs deep underground, and then shipped to Ankh-Morpork."
"Very impressive," Harry said. "You're really on the cutting edge of traumatic medicine. Mr. Igor, how many other people are you in your profession?"
Igor looked confused. "You mean how many other Igors are there?"
"Er, yes, how many people are Igors?" Harry asked.
"No, Igor. Igor is dead," Igor explained.
"I see," said Harry blankly. "I thought you were Igor."
"No, no, I'm Igor. You mean Igor," continued Igor.
The reality slowly dawned on Harry. "All of you are all called Igor? How do you know which Igor you want?"
"You just ask for Igor, of course," Igor said.
Littlebottom gave him a knowing look. "I heard Constable Littlebottom explain that there was a recent meeting of Igors. You didn't attend, I take it. How many Igors did attend?"
"About eight, I think. That means all the Igors in Ankh-Mopork save two," Igor said.
"Ten total in Ankh-Morpork," Harry said aloud. "And … where you're from … how many?"
"Not so many, in my clan, any more. Only about 50," Igor said calmly. "But of course, there are thousands of Igor in the world."
"I see. Well, you didn't attend, but the others did," Harry said. "Why didn't they have you attend the meeting?"
For the first time, Igor looked uncomfortable. He maintained his silence and Harry cast around for an opening. "Perhaps they felt you and the other Igor weren't capable of helping them?"
"There's naught wrong with Igor! He's just a young Igor, he's only been Igorring about 50 years now," Igor shouted. "How was he to know that he couldn't …" his voice trailed off and Harry felt an inward glow of satisfaction.
"That he couldn't what?" Harry asked.
Igor's eyes narrowed. "Nothing, that's what."
Harry smiled. He knew this tactic. "And so you couldn't do it either, which is why they didn't invite you?"
Igor knew the tactic, too, and was ready for this question, however. "No, I can do it, all right, but … this has to do with the whole essence of being an Igor. To the clan, it's bad enough that I work for Vimes. Igor doesn't trust me anymore. Look, I really can't say." He looked at Littlebottom. "Igor drinks too much now," he said finally. "He goes to the pub a lot. You know which one. He's depressed. If Igor wants to say something, fine. I had nothing to do with it."
Harry realized they were being asked, politely, to leave. He was trying to think of any last questions, when he suddenly saw a piece of the jigsaw for the first time.
"Igor, did you say it took half a pound of fat to grow that ear?" Harry asked.
The Igor's face was impassive, but he responded to his craft. "Yes, that's right. Could've done with less, but I really wanted it to look nice."
"Where do you store the fat?" Harry asked.
"It's officially purchased by the Ankh-Morpork government, and doled out to the Igors at cost," Littlebottom said. "The carts bring it to a store room that's kept cool in between …" suddenly the dwarf's eyes narrowed. "In between the Patrician's Palace and the race track."
"Anything … unusual there recently?" Harry asked.
The Igor stared into space. Littlebottom stared at the ceiling. Finally she said "The Watch will be making inquiries, of course, in the normal course of our duties. Of course, it is a large area..."
Igor continued to stare into space. "Yes, I'm sure that everything is normal. I'm sure the Watch will find that everything is in order, particularly in the store rooms nearest the loading docks, where the carriages alight and toss off anything … damaged in shipment."
"Well, thank you for your time, Igor, I'm sure Commander Vimes will be encouraged about the situation regarding the appendages," Littlebottom said. "Let's go, Potter."
They walked for some time in silence. "That was good questioning back there," Littlebottom said.
"I only asked out of ignorance," Harry said. "I really didn't know anything about Igors."
"They were still good questions. Questions I wouldn't have thought of," Littlebottom said.
"What's next?" Harry asked.
"Cable Street to see the mangonel and send a clacks for a routine check on the fat deposits. Then we'll need to get Angua's help for tonight to talk with Igor," Littlebottom answered. She looked at Harry. "How about an early lunch, then?"
"Sure … is there somewhere we can get … um" Harry began.
"Not rat?" Littlebottom said, trying her best to look hurt.
"Please," Harry begged.
Cherie smiled. "Angua's a vegetarian, and so there's a nice place that does a lovely Ephebe salad with olives and cheese. You might prefer meat. Like most dwarfs I consider myself vegetable friendly, but right now I could sink my teeth into some bangers and mash."
"Lead me to it," Harry said.
"King's Head. Not too far," the dwarf replied, and led him towards the city center.
"By the way," Harry said. "You mentioned Igor had a speech impediment. I didn't notice it at all."
"Igors lisp, mainly. He doesn't," Cherie explained. "Ergo, a speech impediment."
Harry let this float over him. "You mean, he doesn't have a speech impediment, so that's a speech impediment?"
"Precisely," she said.
Harry was silent for the rest of the walk to the King's Head.
"What are you thinking?" Littlebottom asked as they sat down and a waitress came to take their order.
"What an amazing amount I'm learning about Ankh-Morpork," Harry said. "It's like an onion."
"Smelly, prone to rot, but easy to stew and spice things up?" Littlebottom asked.
"I meant more that there were a lot of layers, but your statement seems accurate, too," Harry said. "We'll, let's eat, and then see where this lead takes us."
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