Chapter Text
Prologue
A Man on a Bridge
The night is rainy and rather cold for this time of the year. The streets are quiet and, for the most part, devoid of people. But it hasn’t been this way for long. The tall hooded figure knows this only too well. It has had a very busy day and that day is not quite over yet. Right now it stands by the river, leaning on its scythe, invisible or merely unseen, it is hard to tell. The only person who is there to see it, a man standing on the bridge, pays it no attention whatsoever, as he stares intently at the water below, lost in thought.
It has to be pointed out that the thought in question is entirely new to him and he has just unexpectedly found himself right in the middle of it without a map. What else could he do? Ask for directions?
It watches him expectantly as he climbs onto the railing. A moment later, unheard by anyone, it swears.
***
Meanwhile...
Can such a term even be used in the context of an infinite multiverse? The world has more dimensions than most languages were invented for and, to make matters worse, terms like “here”, “then”, “up” or “later” are a lot more subjective than people tend to think. This is how we end up with times and/or places such as meanwhile in the past or your other left. Reality is messy like that. This is why we can tell stories like this one.
***
Splat.
Not even a proper splash, but a soft, squishy, anticlimactic splat is the last thing he hears. And what the hell is that smell? For a moment he panics. He rather hoped there wouldn’t be time to panic. He tries to move, but that only causes him to sink a little bit deeper. His last thought, as the foul-smelling sludge begins to fill his lungs is ‘There goes my last chance to get out of this mess with some dignity.’
***
Meanwhile, if such a term can be used in this context, somewhere almost, but not entirely, different, it is also a cold and rainy late spring night. Three vague, gray shapes hover above an empty street, invisible or merely unseen, it is hard to tell. The only person who is there to see them, a man standing on the bridge, pays them no attention whatsoever, as he stares intently at the, for want of a better word, water below. Or rather, at something he has just seen in the water.
And then it moves, and Sam Vimes realises what he is looking at. He reacts quickly. There is still hope.