Vimes awoke groggily and walked slowly over to the wash basin. Staring at himself in the mirror he ran his hand over the forest of stubble on his face. Huge bags hung under his eyes, the effort of the last few days had finally caught up with him.
“Gods, I’m getting to old for this" he thought.
He started to shave and his thoughts drifted.
What exactly was going on? No-one seemed to be acting normally, two people were unconscious and apparently guests at Death’s pleasure, assuming he had such a thing. He didn’t trust the wizards but Vimes suspected there was some one behind this that they’d yet to discover the motive of. Perhaps Angua’s family. But why would they do this to her?
None of it made any sense.
As he reached for a towel he noticed a note left for him:

Sam, there’s a clean uniform on the chair for you and ask Willikins for some food, make sure you DO eat before you go out again. And please be careful,
Love Sybil

Vimes smiled briefly, there was something about his home life that reassured him when a case was getting him down.
He got changed and went down for some lunch.
"Ah good afternoon sir." Said Willikins.
Vimes grunted a response.
"Very good. Some sort of pie for lunch today sir."
"What sort of pie?"
"Well the butcher was rather vague, I thought it best not to enquire further."
Vimes caught a whiff of the pie and realised how hungry he was, he was used to irregular meals but the past few days his stomach had been tied in knots unable to accept anything.
"Better give me a large helping."
"As you will sir."
He was served a pile of crust and what could charitably be called meat. He was about to eat a forkfull when he heard odd noises coming through from the servant’s room.
Peering round the corner he saw Willikins standing in front of a mirror pulling faces and saying phrases in a peculiar tone of voice.
"What are you doing?"
"Oh sorry sir I was just practising."
"For what?"
"Well, there’s a talent night on at The Dysk this week, and I’m going to do my impersonation routine."
"Your what?"
"Oh, I come on stage and then I mimic someone’s voice and mannerisms with humourous intent. I do a very good Patrician."
"Sounds interesting, you are a man of many talents Willikins."
"Thank you sir I do try."
"Just a word of advice though, don’t impersonate the patrician."
"As you say sir, although Lord Vetinari did say he was looking forward to it."
"A continuous source of amazement that man." muttered Vimes as he returned to his lunch.
He lifted the fork once again and paused. Mental wheels were turning and the sounds of ideas clicking into place were nearly audible.
"Impersonations." mused Vimes.
"Sir?" said Willikins.
A look of concern dawned over Vimes features. He dropped his fork and stood up hurriedly.
Willikins turned round at the sudden sound of footsteps.
"Sir? You haven’t touched your lunch."
But all the response he got was the sound of the front door slamming shut.

*****

Karlos Uberwalde sniffed the night air. The lights and scents of Ankh Morpork assailed his senses. He stopped briefly and looked around curiously, as he smelled something he didn’t expect, and then headed onwards towards the city.

*****