Yes-it's a sequel-our favourite vampire alchemist is back. Enjoy, everyone, and thanks to everyone who reviewed 'An Alchemist's Progress'. And special thanks to She Who Shines for the title.
An Alchemist's Dilemma
'My name is Cassandra Larimar, but you know that. I've been a vampire for eight months now. I've been b-total for all of that time. And dying did one very important thing to me. It forced be to change. I'm not the person I was. Or the person I wanted to be. I'm just a constable in the Watch with an affinity for chemicals. But that's okay, I think.'
She sat down, feeling like a complete idiot. Reg always wanted people to make speeches about what their unlife was like, and how they had overcome dying to accept immortality, or something like it. For weeks he'd been telling her that she had to tell the other members of the Fresh Start Club something more about herself and what her life, or afterlife, had been like. He'd told her everyone was terribly interested. That was probably the truth. The meetings were horrifically boring normally and anything would be welcomed if it provided a diversion for a minute or so.
The trouble was that when it was Reg asking it was extremely hard to say no, at least for the fiftieth time. Zombies were as persistent as vampires were meticulous. Besides, as little as she wanted to admit this he was Reg. She admired his enthusiasm, his never-ending hope, admittedly from a distance in case the heat of it singed her eyebrows. The point was that he was an idealist, a dreamer, and she didn't really want to rob him of that. She knew how it felt.
She was, however, considering robbing Count Notfaroutoe of the ability to speak for a while. He was still trying to ask for advice on reasonably-priced crypts. She'd never even been in one. She hadn't really had the time or money to try the 'oh-so-gothic-and-dark' vampire lifestyle. So far she had sampled the 'ostracised-for-being-a-bit-peckish' vampire, and the 'desperate-depressed-but-reformed' bloodsucker and had alighted on 'crazed-in-a-non-harmful-way' b-totaller. It the Count had wanted to know about rates of reaction, alkali metals and the search for the elixir of life she would have been ideal. But crypts? No.
She tried to stifle a yawn, but then decided vampires were allowed to be a little evil and pointedly raised her hand to her mouth to emphasis it. The Count didn't take the hint, but Reg saw and mouthed 'behave' at her.
She rolled her eyes, then said 'Things have been very hectic at work. And I'm sorry, I have no idea where you can hire an inexpensive builder who specializes in gothic towers in this city.' Although knowing Ankh-Morpork there'll be one somewhere. There always is.
'Try being in the fruit and veg trade.' The Countess had decided it was high time she spoke for her husband. Cassandra was surprised she hadn't interrupted before.
Yeah, because I'll bet you the cabbages try to throw holy water over you just because you wear a Watch uniform. And the apples must surely form religious symbols out of spite occasionally. Don't even mention the garlic, it must be lethal-actually maybe I should give them some credit. It's a brave vampire that will sell garlic to the population.
Cassandra made an effort to expunge thoughts of alliums from her mind.
Which was when Ixolite pressed a note into her hand. She smiled at him. Poor Ixolite. Whilst she would be the first to testify that vampirism was no picnic there was nothing sadder than a banshee with a speech impediment and self-confidence issues. Which was why everyone always made an effort to be kind to him. Once she'd heard some wizard claim that vampires had evolved from banshees. She could sort of see where the idea came from. Although she didn't have wings she could fly unaided, and they had the same complexions and room-temperature...um...temperatures. And banshees were just as strong as vampires. Both were unhealthly thin, but only vampires had that unique ability to be elegant, even when drunk. Banshees were...feral. What they had was not elegance but power, unsullied by grace or fangs. Except for Ixolite. He was just mournful.
She wondered if Ixolite had a reflection. It was one of the very best things about being a vampire. No reflection meant you could never see how bad you looked, which was probably why vampires always looked so damn good. A huge amount of perception is based on belief. And, if you can't see how rough you look then no one else will be allowed to suspect it, because self-belief can deny reality.
'Reg?' Cassandra took some satisfaction from the way his head jerked up at the sound of her voice. Normally zombies were very sparing in the energy stakes. She mentally scolded herself for enjoying the moderate amount of power she had over him. It was too close to what bad vampires did. They liked power too. 'Perhaps we should be getting back to the Yard? I told Carrot I'd be patrolling with Visit at one.'
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