Okay so this is the first chapter of my new fic. There is a plot, somewhere but this is more of a taster. Read, review and try not to kill me okay? lol.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything apart from Henriette and the plot, the rest belongs to the Lord God Terry and may he forgive me for the things I am about to do.

Summary: Death has a problem, his name is Havelock. Havelock also has a problem, her name is Henriette. Susan Sto-Helit has a lot of problems and someone's going to die.

Somewhere a boy fell. Plummeted might actually have been a better word. Yes, he plummeted like a dead squirrel through the night air of Ankh-Morpok. As he fell time and space rippled around him, tearing him straight down the centre: a bifurcation in the trousers of time.

Two boys now fell. One boy hurtled towards a world of pain but ultimately a long life with only the occasional twinge in the old back muscles. The other did not. There were a couple of fairly satisfying thuds as two bodies hit the murky street below. Silence, for a long time and then just faintly, a groan. No, two groans, that wasn't right.

( gods damn formating)

As both boys rolled heavily onto their backs the trousers of time knitted themselves back together neatly. Havelock Vetinari, nineteen years old and a student of the Assassins School in Ankh-Morpok, regarded the night sky and shifted slightly. A strong hot pain shot through his back and he swore. It was at this point that all temporal hell broke loose.

Ankh-Morpok: the great wahooni, the great glittering fly covered turd of the Disc looked at the sun beginning to peak around the curtains and rolled over again, cursing quietly. After a few more minutes its conscience began to poke it sharply and insisted that it get up and with a great heave the city came awake.

The slow dull early morning sunshine did not however penetrate into the deepest dungeon beneath the Patrician's palace in the Plaza of Broken Moons. Here there were not even cracks under the door and there was a very good reason for this. Several reasons actually. They were the main inhabitants of this chamber which could really have been described as more of a pit.

The grey spirit of Waldo Furnish, a street mime wanly regarded his now useless black and white clad body.

"Scorpions," he muttered. "I hate bloody scorpions."

IT IS ONLY TO BE EXPECTED, said a voice from behind him. Waldo turned and regarded Death warily.

AFTER ALL YOU HAVE JUST BEEN KILLED BY ROUGHLY FOUR HUNDRED OF THEM.

"Four hundred," muttered the spirit of the mime. "I never realised there were so many."

IT IS A LITTLE DARK I HAVE TO ADMIT.

Waldo shrugged. "So that's it is it?"

YES. UNLESS YOU HAVE ANY LAST QUESTIONS?

The ex-mime considered this for a moment.

"There is one thing I'd like to know," he said.

AND THAT IS?

"When are you gonna come for him upstairs?"

Death thought about that for a while.

I DON'T KNOW. I SHALL HAVE TO LOOK IT UP.

"Yeh, you do that," murmured Waldo as he faded from view.

Death looked around the dark pit and shrugged slightly. He spent a lot of time here. It was the nature of the place he supposed. He wandered out through the wall and into the grounds. Binky was munching grass quietly by one of the ornamental fountains.

HOME BINKY, said Death, sitting astride his horse.

As Binky flew through the curtain of reality to his master's house Death thought to himself. He wasn't at all sure when the Patrician was supposed to die. That wasn't anything unusual, he didn't know when a lot of people were going to die but he had been getting asked a lot lately.

He wandered through his house and into the life-timer room. He strode along the high rows of shelves, his heel bones clicking on the marble floor above the soft whispering of peoples lives slipping sweetly away. He paused when he got to the V section1. Death frowned, which is a neat trick when your face is solid bone.

Carefully he moved aside a couple of life-timers and stared at the hazy silver shape at the back of the shelf.

OH BUGGER, he said.

1 Normally Death wasn't anything like as organised but Albert had been spring cleaning and had gotten a bit carried away with himself.