Chapter 2

Two days later Miss Winter was coming back from her first excursion to the Slaughterhouse District. She was walking up Quirm Street, when a black carriage stopped beside her and she was addressed by the occupant.

"Can I give you a lift, Miss Winter?"

"Oh, it is you, my lord. Thank you, it would be quite convenient."

The door was opened and a hand helped her inside.

"I must admit I am fairly tired. The city is bigger than I expected."

"Ah. I assume you have been doing the usual sight-seeing tour?"

She gave him a surprised look.

"Oh, did you think I was truanting? Certainly not, my lord. I have been down to the Slaughterhouse District to get an impression of the situation there."

"That is very commendable of you, Miss Winter, but you shouldn't venture into these parts of the city on your own. You are, after all, not familiar with the ... idiosyncrasies of Ankh-Morpork. In the future, a palace guard will accompany you. I shall give directions for that."

Since she had entered the carriage Miss Winter had been busy trying to smooth her hair and dress, which had indeed been in a rather ruffled state. Now she sat still and looked at him with a cheerful smile.

"Thank you, my Lord, but that is quite unnecessary. My brother says he has seen to it that nobody would dare touch me. My brother has some special connections."

The Patrician raised an eyebrow, expecting further explanations, but she had averted her eyes and was now eagerly looking out of the window.

"So many interesting looking buildings! I read you have some fine examples of the works of B S Johnson in this city? I am asking because my brother – that is another brother – studied Bizarre and Dysfunctional Architecture and wrote his dissertation on Johnson. He used to tell me a lot about his peculiar projects. I intend to see them at first hand and compare them to Robert's accounts."

He considered her face while she was speaking. Her features, though not pretty in the classic sense, were pleasant and possessed an expressive agility that suggested a corresponding suppleness of mind. He noticed a group of three tiny circular scars on her chin, and wondered if it was the reminder of an alchemical experiment gone wrong, when he realized that it was more likely the result of a childhood bout of chickenpox. The contrast between her otherwise smooth face and the touches of grey in her hair did not puzzle him: The Patrician knew that Miss Winter was thirty-four.

"Indeed, we have no shortage of Mr Johnson's inventions. The University prides itself of a very fine Johnson organ, though I don't think they let visitors see The Bathroom. And you may have heard that the Palace has a magnificent landscaped garden designed by that genial man. You are welcome to explore it. I believe the University publishes a leaflet listing all the Johnson sites in the city. Mr Drumknott will be able to provide you with one."

"Oh, yes, that would be very interesting. Ah, this looks like Short Street, is that right? If you don't mind, I'll get off here, it must be almost five o'clock and I may as well go straight home."

Vetinari signalled to the driver to stop and Miss Winter, after thanking him briefly, stepped out and strode away. A thoughtful look followed her.

Angelina Beatrice Winter was not aware that she was subject to the special scrutiny of Lord Vetinari's special clerks, but if she had been, she probably wouldn't have minded. Her vita may have been be slightly odd, but contained nothing she wished to hide.

She came from a moderately genteel, moderately wealthy and very, very scholarly family. They had a little old money and a great deal of old knowledge. Steventon, their estate near Pseudopolis, was of modest proportions, but the library comprised five rooms. While she was neither particularly handsome nor rich, she was decidedly clever. Her mother had taught her literacy and numeracy, her father had introduced her to history, the arts and her most cherished subject, science. She had shared the home tutor's classes with four brothers and a sister, but the library was the cardinal source of Angelina's education. She had spent seemingly endless hours in the dim candle light lingering between the ancient shelves, while rain poured down the windows and the shadows flickered on the floor. Volume after volume opened in her hand and found its way into her mind, forming a landscape of its very own inside the head of an impressionable young girl.

On her lone ramblings she came across books that seemed strange and exiting. With the innocence of a ten-year-old she never wondered why she sometimes found further rooms beyond that dark corner by the grandfather clock. Some of these rooms were gloomy and scared her, others were filled with an unfamiliar light. There she explored titles like "Urban Biodiversity and Community Planning" and noted with interest not only their content, but their publishing dates and places. It was as if these books came from a different world. The latter idea gave her a slightly shivery feeling, but did not deter her from further studies. On the contrary, she made her excerpts all the more systematically, since she was rarely able to find the same interesting volume again on the next day. Some days there was nothing but a wall next to the grandfather clock, covered in faded yellow wallpaper. Once when she gingerly touched it, her hand went straight through the wall, and she pulled it back in dismay. Another day when she had ventured further into the peculiar rooms than ever before and was beginning to be anxious about finding her way back, she encountered a large, curious looking creature covered in saggy orange fur. The animal gave her a friendly pat on the shoulders and ushered her around a few corners until she found herself among familiar shelves again. When Angelina related this episode to her parents, they smiled indulgently and nodded their heads. The imagination the child had!

After some ten years of such academic pursuits, Angelina approached her parents with a wish to study at the Pseudopolis Academy for Applied Natural Lore. Mr and Mrs Winter, who had allowed their sons to make highly individual career choices and were currently supporting their other daughter's ambition to establish herself as a silversmith, saw no reason why she shouldn't. The College, however, saw a reason immediately in the form of Angelina's first name and protested vigorously against the impudence. A legal tug-of-war followed, lasting two and a half years, and eventually Angelina took up her studies as the first female student in Pseudopolis. At the age of twenty-four, she became engaged to a young man of the local gentry, who subsequently left for the Grand Sneer and never returned. Her parents could not find out how much Angelina minded, but it was generally noted that she bore it very well. However, she never showed any inclination to attach herself to a potential admirer again, but instead pursued her studies with diligence and enthusiasm.

As soon as she graduated, Angelina found out that while the college had grudgingly allowed her to study, they had in spite of her excellent attainment no intention to offer her a job. The local alchemist's guild proved to be more liberal, whether from a genuine belief in equality or from complete disinterest in gender was unclear, but during the following eight years Angelina succeeded in building her career until the point when she hit the glass ceiling. It was later said that a smaller amount of saltpetre would have avoided the incident, and immediately voices arose claiming to have known all along that women were not suitable for this profession. Lady Filigrane was certainly most displeased about the damage to her conservatory; however, Angelina had escaped with only slight burns and bruises and was determined to make her way, if not in Pseudopolis, then elsewhere.

Most of this biography was duly researched and collated by the relevant clerks and presented to Lord Vetinari about a fortnight after Miss Winter's arrival. He scanned it with an air of only slight amusement.

"Well, Drumknott, Miss Winter seems harmless enough, wouldn't you agree?"

"Indeed, my Lord. There is, of course, the youngest brother..."

"Ah yes, Henry Nathan Winter. Who would have thought that our little botanist is the sister of one of the up and coming men in the Assassin's Guild? The report says they are on good terms and meet several times a week, usually in Miss Winter's lodgings. It fails to state what they do. Do you believe it is likely that they are plotting to overthrow the current government?"

"I believe they play music."

"Music?"

"Miss Winter mentioned last week that she was going to buy sheet music for herself and her brother and that she was quite delighted with the range available in Ankh-Morpork."

"Ah. Interesting. Well, you may file this report, Drumknott, it requires no action."

"Certainly, Sir."

"Was there anything else?"

"Yes, my lord. We found this." He handed Vetinari a slightly crumpled piece of paper. "Apparently these were circulated about a week before Miss Winter's arrival."

Vetinari glanced at the paper. It had a printed iconograph of Angelina Winter at the top and underneath the words:

This lady is my sister. I will deal personally and terminally with anybody who lays hands on her, regardless of trade, status or species.

Henry N. Winter, Master Assassin

"Good grief, and he thinks that is going to protect her? I see we need a back-up plan here. I want no harm to come to Miss Winter. Her task is more dangerous than she realises, and she undertakes it with the utmost innocence. She will have an escort, but a discreet one. Let her trust her little brother, if she so desires."

"Understood, my lord. I shall organize a rota."

Drumknott received the papers out of Vetinari's hands and proceeded to lead them to their true destination in his filing cabinets.