Chapter 2
Sarah strode back to the Watchhouse, fists clenched, her sword swinging at her side. She could feel the cobblestones under the thin soles of her cheap boots and just managed to avoid a large dirty puddle. The street traffic of Ankh-Morpork was it’s usual vibrant, loud, and above all smelly self. The Commander moved through it like a small thundercloud. Beggars, thieves, and merchants took one look at her face and suddenly found they were needed elsewhere, very far from here.
She stomped through the watchhouse door and slammed it shut behind her. Everyone turned to stare - and as quickly looked back down at whatever they were doing. Nobby Nobbs decided it was a good time to duck out for a roll-up and Sgt Colon followed him, for the good of his health. It was clear the Commander was in a Mood. The kind of Mood that got people shouted at for stirring a cup of tea too loudly.
Sarah took off her helmet and ran a hand through her dark mane, sighing. Bloody chickens! They’d talked about this before. No taking animals within city limits! If she wants to hunt, she can bloody well go outside the walls and hunt her way through the damn cabbage fields!
She turned to the dwarf whose misfortune it was to be on front desk duty.
“Have you seen Sgt Manning?” she snapped.
“Not...not recently, sir.” the dwarf said nervously, as the Commander placed her hands on the desk and leaned forward, looming over him.
“When was the last time you saw her, then? Today? Last week?”
The dwarf sweated into his beard. “This morning, sir! She went out to look for Dibbler, sir!”
Sarah frowned. “Why the hell would anyone want to find Dibbler?” Unless she was arresting him for advertising what he sold in his tray as ‘food’...
The dwarf hesitated, then said, “I think she wanted a sausage inna bun, sir?”
Dibblers sausages in a bun were disc famous. Or maybe infamous was the right word. Yes, people would travel from the edges of the disc to see Dibblers sausages and then very carefully NOT buy and eat one. And then Dibbler would sell them a postcard and a tiny copy of an Ankh-Morpork landmark that he imported from the mountains. Which mountains, he never said but Sarah suspected they were down one of the back alleys in the Shades.
She rolled her eyes. Of course, her sister was the only person in Ankh-Morpork, and possibly the entire disc who actually liked and would willingly eat one of Dibblers sausages. But that meant she’d be back at the Watchhouse soon, if only to be sick.
“Well, if she makes it back here, send her up to the office.”
“Yessir!” said the dwarf, relief tangible in his voice.
An hour passed, the Commander did paperwork and tried really, really hard not to think about bourbon. Days gone past, there’d be a bottle in the bottom drawer, just sitting there. And before she knew it, it’d be empty and she’d be peeling her head off the desk in the mornings. But she couldn’t let that happen anymore. Now she had to look out for her sister.
There was a tentative knock on the door.
“Come in.” called Sarah.
The door opened and a mane of blonde hair appeared around the edge of it. The helmet barely fitted over the top, and the face underneath was a mirror image of her own. She sidled into the room as if expecting to be kicked if she was noticed and looked at Sarah solemnly.
Sarah sighed. “Sit down, please, Helena.” She waved vaguely at the chair opposite hers. The other woman sat, her hands tracing the edges of the seat, fiddling with the loose threads that dangled from the cushion.
“Chickens, Helena? You went and stole some poor mans bloody chickens from a few blocks away! You know you’re not supposed to hunt in the city! We’ve talked about this before!” Her voice got louder, and her sister cringed. She stopped herself, and took a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m sorry. But the bloody Patrician called me in about it this time and...well, you know how she gets.”
Helena nodded. “Sardonic,” she said. “Snooty.”
Sarah gave a snort. “Yeah. Both of those, in spades.”
“But she is very - pretty.” added Helena, eyeing Sarah with a knowing look.
“Pfft! Of course she’s pretty! She’s too rich to be ugly!” Sarah blustered uncomfortably. Pretty wasn’t even the word. Duncan was like a work of art, shiny and sculptured and delicately coloured, with the effortless sheen that pots of gold provided. She shook away the image of the Patrician, the oddly attractive image.
“Just - look, sis, if you want to hunt, go outside the city, alright? Everyone knows we have a werewolf in the Watch, and I don’t want to start being charged for random chickens. We have enough problems!”
Helena nodded slowly. “Alright, sestra, I will hunt in the cabbages. Even though the smell is…” she screwed her face up, and then held her nose.
Sarah nodded in agreement. “Very...cabbagey.” she offered, and Helena barked in laughter.
It was odd, having a werewolf for a twin sister. She hadn’t always been a werewolf, of course. She’d ran off to Überwald at one point, got bit, ran with a pack for a while, then came back to Ankh-Morpork. Missed her sister too much, she’d said. Sarah thought there was more to the story than that. Something had happened back in the mountains. One day Helena would tell her about it, and Sarah didn’t want to push it. Reconnecting after so long was hard enough. She opened the bottom drawer and took out the box that was inside. Taking the lid off, she held it out to Helena.
“Meat pie?” she asked, and watched her sisters face light up. “And proper bloody pies too, not Dibblers crap,” she added. She paused. “Did you really eat one of his sausages inna bun?”
Helena gave a muffled yes around a mouthful of pie crust. Sarah shook her head in wonder.
“Werewolves must have guts of bloody iron,” she muttered. Helena nodded happily, her cheeks bulging.
The Commander of the Watch looked at her sister and smiled. It was good to have her back.