Chapter 2-Where Sociology Dictates
Drumknott had carefully given his subordinates instructions, and then proceeded to the Watch house in Pseudopolis Yard. One of the clerks went to the Post Office, with a letter addressed to Miss Susan Sto Helit, who worked as a teacher for the 8th Ankh-Morpork Gymnasium[5], another one left for the Unseen University, and the rest of them headed for the nearest clacks tower, where they relayed two messages; one, to be send to the country of Lancre, and the other, to be sent to the valley of Oi Dong.
There had been almost a decade since the clacks where introduced, as a fast, if a little expensive way of transferring messages through large distances. However, after the financial fraud regarding the latest board of executives of the Grand Trunk Company, that was revealed a couple of years ago, the Dearhearts, who where the rightful owners of the clacks system, while patenting it, they donated the use of the clacks to the public. That meant that while erecting new clacks, and maintaining older ones, was now being paid from taxes, the Dearhearts where entitled a humble royalty fee. This also meant that while moving messages from tower to tower was absolutely free[6], actually converting said messages to clack language, and deconverting them, afterwards, remained a for-pay-service, which, in turn, led to the appearance of companies that provided clacks services, which where referred to as C.S.P.s. While, aside from their prices, the C.S.P.s appeared indistinguishable, there where indeed many differences, in regards to the compression methods they employed, their range of clackswork activity they covered, and several others. The Dearhearts themselves opened a trust fund, gathering most of the late John Dearheart's former associates, that is, those who survived, and created their own Clacks Service Provider company, which quickly rose to become one of the most successful C.S.P.s of the Disc.
Drumknott knew this well, since Vetinari had conceived most of the plan as a way to both lay claim to the most profitable invention of the century of the Fruitbat, raise the taxes, open a new market ripe for the taking to many ingenious and competitive ideas, compensate the Dearhearts, and bring even more people to the clacks, and allowing for the money to circulate faster than the speed of darkness. While the taxpayers became happier! And the various governments, but especially his, made far more money than they spent. Although Drumknott had helped with the logistic part of the clacks project, he couldn't help but marvel, if only for a few moments, at the shear audacity, the outright shamelessness, the unapologizing theft, the total disregard of common sense with which Vetinari managed to outplay just about everyone involved with the clacks, and how no one could complain about it.
It was indeed a move that literally came out of nowhere, and one could not help but wonder whether the Patrician intended it all from the beginning, when he faked the hanging of a con-artist, Moist von Lipwig, who at the time of his hanging went by the name of Alfred Spangler, and assigned him the position of Ankh-Morpork's Postmaster General. Moist not only managed to revive the Post Office, but also uncovered the fraud regarding the Grand Trunk Company, a fact that Vetinari quickly and cleanly took advantage of.
Aside from politics, Vetinari was equally capable in chess, which was evident from the fact that he let his opponents think they had the advantage, taking out a Bishop, his Towers, and his Queen, only for them to find out that he has two promoted Queens on the ready, and at least one of his Knights threatened the opposing King. However, most people made two erroneous assumptions regarding Vetinari.
The first one was that they assumed he was acting according to a plan. It was wrong because Vetinari never rested to the safety of just one plan, nor did he have any qualms to ditch his earlier approach, turn the chessboard into a complete chaos, and using it to his advantage, while his opponent was flabbergasted by the current turn of events. The second was that they believed he was very skilled in chess, and that he had extensive knowledge of it. He hadn't. He had very limited knowledge, in fact he didn't know absolutely nothing about the most important and encompassing ability required to play chess; the ability of losing. It wasn't that he was a sore loser, he just never did. He could always see the moves he needed to make, in order to win, but he had absolutely no clue of what he needed to do, in order to lose.
A chess match between Vetinari and the Death of Discworld would be an interesting event to see[7], despite the fact that neither one of them looked forward to it. Vetinari, because he rather enjoyed living, albeit in a spartan kind of way, and because he still had much to do as the Patrician about the City, with which he was rather fond of, despite all of it's shortcomings, and most of the longer ones. Death, on the other hand, because he knew that given the recent events that transpired, it would subsequently mean the end of the rest of the world, as well.
Being an anthropomorphic personification meant that you had abundant time in your hands, and as a result, you developed a personality and sought a hobby, and Death had found one. Humans. Those marvelous creatures who kept closed their eyes to the rest of the universe, expecting it to fall in line with them, and somehow, most of the times, it did. They baffled him, piqued his curiosity, and inevitably, sought his compassion, in their after-last moments. And he would give them compassion, even to the more rotten ones. However, despite all this, he had a Duty, and it demanded that he should not interfere. That's why he was in deep thought at his study, wondering whether or not it was time to visit the Disc, and his granddaughter in particular. He picked up a card with his bony fingers, and read it.
To the most loving grandfather in the whole world.
I wish you have a happy Hogswatch,
and I hope you come by again whenever
you like
Love, Susan
On the other side of the card was a picture, portraying Susan and a young man, both smiling at him. He sighed, put the card back to his desk, and left for the stable. "COME, BINKY. IT IS TIME TO GO", he bellowed his horse, as he lead it out of the stall. When they exited from the stable, he rode it and prompted it to begin. The crystal-white horse left the ground, as it floated a few paces, and begun its stride, before vanishing.
Fionnyke tried to catch her breath. The man could certainly walk fast, but this was beyond belief. He hadn't dropped a single sweat, he wasn't huffing, nor did he seem to waver due to stressing muscles. Yet he had walked faster than most people where capable of running. Inside the cell, a young man, definitely a man, and definitely a human, was resting upon his bed.
"What do you want?" he groaned as he slowly begun arising, while the darkness of his cell hided most of his features.
"Your extensive knowledge on transdimentional traveling and surviving in foreign realities." the Patrician replied, with a rather sharp tone.
"What knowledge?!" the prisoner almost shouted, taken aback from Vetinari's words, as his eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment. "I only did that once, and it wasn't because I wanted to. As for the surviving part, I am sure you know better than anyone, what a wonderful job I've done so far at it." he continued, as his tone steadily progressed from surprise to amusement, and finally landed on sarcasm.
"From what I know, you are still alive, and you certainly have more actual experience in crossing dimensions than most people." Vetinari countered, while Fionnyke remained speechless; talking about dimensional shifting was one thing, but meeting a person who had already experienced it...
"Yes, and you have made certain of the fact that I remain alive so far, eh?" this time, the prisoners voice sounded carefree, but you could sense contempt somewhere in there. "So, out with it. What is it you want exactly? Some pointers, perhaps? Here is a free one: 'when traveling between realities, always make sure you have gum; it's a real lifesaver[8]'. Now if you want more of these, you should get me some new Gentleman's Illustrations. Your world has some very nice pieces, and I'm really looking forward to seeing more of them."
It felt as if the prisoner was making fun of the Patrician, but Vetinari knew him well enough to know that he was actually making fun of himself. "It is really good to see you in such high spirits, but I must confess that we don't have all the time in the world, at least yet. We have found a functional way to travel between dimensional realities, and I shall require your assistance for a rather delicate mission. Should the mission be successfully completed, you will be awarded your freedom to go wherever you like, and be guaranteed your safety in doing so." The Patrician seldomly expressed any strong emotions, except for those rare cases where it served his purposes. This time however, a small hint of kindness reeked, and it was as close to genuine as anything, if not more, which made his following statement all the more scarier. "However, should you decline, know that you will be met with an uncertain death, swift or prolonged, painless or painful, liberating or domineering. That is not a threat; it's a promise. And you have spent enough time in these cells, to know what kind of promises I make."
At that, the prisoner stood up, and walked towards the door of his cell, stepping into light. Now Fionnyke, who was a few steps behind Vetinari, could clearly see his features. He was tall, not excessively tall, but tall nonetheless, and he had brown, unruly hair, although they had grayed in the sides, and despite the dark colors, she could spot a few blue streaks on the upper portion of his head. His eyes looked dark, and his eyebrows where thick. He had been unshaven, but hadn't a really long beard, which suggested that he hadn't saved for at most two months. His body hadn't much to show for, other than the fact that his shoulders looked rather bulky. He wore regular clothes, which was a bit of a surprise, although the fact that he came from another dimension overshadowed it.
"Fine. Do whatever you want. You wanna torture me? Go ahead, I have a thick one, anyway. You wanna kill me? Just look outside your palace windows and see if I care."
Vetinari eyed him for a few uncomfortable moments, before giving up "Very well. It seems you have made up your mind. I won't keep you occupied any further." and on that note, he darted for the stairs. "Miss Fionnyke, are you coming, or not?"
Fionnyke wasn't sure what to do. The Patrician could certainly employ a very commanding voice, however, she felt that there was more to the prisoner's refusal to cooperate. "Wait a moment!" she shouted, and Vetinari stood still while turning around, having an expressionless face. "Let me try and convince him."
The Patrician remained silent for a few moments, and then nodded "Very well, but make it quick."
Fionnyke suddenly gulped, realizing what she just did. Whipping up machinery and digging through books were rather straightforward tasks, but convincing people was beyond her. True, she had convinced the Patrician to listen to her, but that was because she used Lady Margolotta's Family Crest, and she even had to be coached on how to approach Vetinari. What made her current situation worse was the fact that the prisoner hadn't noticed her until recently. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, so that she could speak to him face to face.
In the meantime, Drumknott arrived at the building of Pseudopolis Yard, proud headquarters of the City Watch. The revival of the City Watch resulted in employing a number of buildings as offices through the city, but it also led to the expansion of the building. While it was already a long building, approximating three hundred meters in length and four hundred and seventy meters in width, taking up space equal to about ten normal houses, and having three floors, a basement, and a subbasement, the new divisions that arose during the last years, demanded that the building expanded. Now it occupied seven neighboring houses, with which it was conjoined, it had two more floors added, and the dwarfs working as watchmen had dug another subbasement.
On the main entrance of the building, Corporal Cecil Wormsborough St. John 'Nobby' Nobbs and Sergeant Frederick 'Fred' Colon where enjoying an Ankh-Morpork A La Cream. "Good afternoon Sergeant Colon. Corporal Nobbs." Drumknott greeted the two watchmen, as they eyed him.
"Hello Drumknott. Nice weather we have, eh? It actually hasn't rain for more than 6 hours" it was one of those days where it rained constantly and people small-talked about it. "So, to what do we owe you the visit?" asked Colon, trying to remain calm.
"Or your boss." added Nobby while trying, and failing, to look nonchalant. The fact that he would try to look like anything and still fail miserably didn't help.
"Oh, there's no reason to worry, corporal. The Patrician quite understands your affection for silver dishware and cutlery. You may keep them, provided that you don't steal any more of them." Drumknott assured him, before continuing, "No, I'm here to request Captain Ironfoundersson's personal assistance on a matter of civic security."
Nobby and Fred had blank faces for a few moments, before Nobby replied "He is on his office, fifth floor, second to last door on your right."
After Drumknott proceeded to the captain's office, Fred asked Nobby "What was that all about?"
"Well, you know me, Sarge. I can't resist a good spoon whenever I sees them." replied Nobby defensively, and a hint of embarrassment in his tone.
"Not you, you moron! About Captain Carrot and the matter of civic security." Fred had replied, while rolling his eyes.
"Who knows?" was all Nobby could manage. After a few uncomfortable silences, he noted "It's cloudy, again. Think It'll rain, sarge?"
"Let's just get inside." said Colon, right after a deep sigh escaped his breath. "This is gonna be one of these days, ain't it?" And at that, they both entered the building.
Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson was in his office, when he heard a few knocks on the door. "Come in." he said, as Drumknott entered. "Ah, mister Rufus Drumknott. What a pleasant surprise." he beamed him with a huge, natural smile. Captain Carrot was one of those special few people that when they said something along the lines of 'what a pleasant surprise', they really meant it was both pleasant and a surprise. "How is work treating you?" he asked, with all his interest focused on Drumknott.
"No complaints there, Captain." Drumknott wasn't really a man for small talk, but he couldn't help but open up on such a fine young lad who is the pride of our city. He had to keep mentally kicking himself, so as not to lose focus of the task at hand. "I'm sorry but I haven't got much free time, so I'll be short. The Patrician has requested your immediate help, with a very important mission. I'm not at liberty to say much more, other than the fact that our reality may very well be in danger. You are, therefore, to go to the palace, where the Patrician shall delve into further detail."
At once, Captain Carrot stood up, looking very serious, told Drumknott "Understood" and went to Vimes, the Commander of the Watch, in the office next to his own, in order to inform him about his leave of absence, before leaving for the palace along with Drumknott.
Meanwhile Mustrum Ridcully, the Archchancellor of the Unseen University, was carefully eying the clerk in front of him. Granted, it would be difficult to eye him if he was behind him, but that's why there's magic. To solve all those important problems of the everyday life, like eying people behind you, or blocking high pitched sounds while allowing deeper sounds in your eardrum, or even turning a lot of paper into furniture[9]. "And you are sure that the Patrician requested Rincewind, and not Linseweed?" When Ridcully got an idea, it was really hard to shake him off it.
The clerk had sighed again, as he tried to explain for the umpteenth time "No, Archchancellor, I am sure. Mister Drumknott made certain that I got the name right. He even gave it to me written down on paper. You know; the one I handed to you the first time you asked? Yeah, that was the one. It says Rincewind, and it says Wizzard, so I really doubt there was any kind of mistake." 'aside from the fact that I was born' he added to himself, while praying that the Archchancellor would finally let it go.
After several minutes, the Bursar entered the Archchancellor's office, leading Rincewind with him. "Here he is, Archchancellor. Now, may I go back to the library. The Librarian was doing a neat trick with his feet, and I'd really hate to miss it."
"Yes, yes you may go, that a chap." he quickly dismissed him, while focusing on the more serious matter in front of him. "Now, Rincewind. Is there anything you'd like to share with me? After all, you still are a wizard, broadly speaking, and that technically means that your trouble is our trouble. I'm sure that whatever you did that attracted the Patrician's notice, was not your fault at all." His voice dripped honey, but Rincewind had traveled far and wide, and had experienced enough to know that where there was honey, you'd be sure to become acquaintanced with bees. Lots of stinging bees.
However, before Rincewind could deny any accusations that had possibly been made against him, the clerk quickly interjected "Now, now, Archchancellor. There is no reason to jump to conclusions. The Patrician simply wishes to enlist Rincewind's help on an expedition, that will require his particular field of knowledge."
Although Rincewind was relieved to find that he hadn't done anything to gain the Patrician's ire, his instincts were more worried about what was it that he had done to gain the Patrician's attention, and turned to ask the clerk, before the Archchancellor beat him to it "And which is that field you are referring to, if you don't mind me asking?"
Something in the Archchancellor's tone made Rincewind to take offense at his question, but once again, the clerk responded before he could raise a protest "I'm afraid I don't know more than that. I was only given strict orders to take Rincewind to the palace." Rincewind begun developing a feeling that, other than his presence being on the stand-by, he wasn't much needed in the conversation taking place right now, so he decided to take a sit, while the other two continued to ignore him.
Somewhere in the Ramtop mountains, in the country of Lancre, a message arrived at the clacks tower. After the translators had finished translating it and send a reply that the message arrived, they gave it to the local mail office. Needles to say, when the postmen saw the address, they flew to a panic rage, before a senior postman calmed them, and proposed to draw matches to see who would be the lucky lad to deliver the message. Jeik Cardsby had been new, not only to his job as a postman, but also to the lands that encompassed the Ramtop mountains. It was, therefore, not a surprise, the fact that he didn't understand why everyone felt relieved that he had been chosen to deliver the message, as if they had been given a pardon right before facing the hangman. He would soon learn, was all they thought, as the hapless boy went to do his job.
In a higher place of the Ramtop mountains, closer to the Hub, there lies a monastery hidden to all but those few select to uphold the books of history, maintain the balance of time, and ultimately reach enlightenment. The History Monks, as they are referred to, train here day in and day out, in the various martial arts, historic events, time manipulation techniques, and a few other miscellaneous knowledges, such as cleaning floors.
At the monastery's garden, a wrinkly old man was surrounded by two identical young lads, who where in position to fight him. As they carefully circled him, searching for an opening, the old man smiled, as he gave a swift kick on the one behind him, will using the kick's boost to charge forward to the one in front of him. Although the boy had been hit in the stomach, he managed to roll with the kick, taking away the burn of the connection. The other one, however, wasn't so lucky, since he had to defend the old man's barrage of hits, which put him to the defensive and rendered him incapable of doing anything else.
Seeing his companion in trouble, the boy rushed only to find the old man administering a circling kick with extreme prejudice. This time, however he was ready and dived to avoid the old man's left foot, which in turn brought him face to face, or rather face to foot, with the old man's right foot, which used the momentum of his previous kick, and landed on the boy's jaw, sending him flying. As the old man's feet connected to the ground, he instantly ducked, avoiding a first right kick from the other boy, which swept right up from his head, and he immediately crossed his hands above him, blocking the follow up attack, which was impressively done using the same foot, by raising it high, and then throwing it down like a hammer. He was also ready to jump, using both the power of the kick he blocked, the positioning of his body, and the rotation with which his feet executed the jump, to avoid the sliding tackle the second boy employed, and to land right behind the two boys.
Now having both his targets staggering in front of his attacking vision, he jumped again, using both his feet to kick them in the face, and put an end to this silly fight. And then the lights went out for Lu-Tze.
Jeik had returned to the post office after delivering the mail, but he felt he was only a shell of his former shelf. That old lady was out of this world. In fact, it would be more accurate to say that she was out of his worst nightmares, if said nightmares combined razor sharp objects, fiery breathing behemoths, insane clowns, and black dancing and singing performers who bleached their skin white. Although he was twenty-two years old, and technically not a child anymore, he knew that he had just received a handful of three lives' worth of childhood trauma. Everyone watched him, feeling just a ping of guilt for what they did to the poor boy, which was fortunately overshadowed by the vast amounts of relief they felt because that wasn't them, this time.
After coming back to his senses, Lu-Tze felt an intense headache on the back of his head. He opened his eyes, and for the first time saw a third boy identical to the other two. Feeling rather groggy, he decided his pupil was long overdue a proper beating, but instead settled for a tongue lashing "You cheated."
"Oh, please. I handed your butt to you, and all you could muster was 'you cheated'? If anyone feels cheated from all this is me! I deserve a better berating." Lobsang Ludd said, feeling rather smug. At once his three selves became one, as if they always were.
Lu-Tze didn't reply, but noticed a young monk coming to him, holding a letter on hand. "What is this?" he asked, and saw the young monk's face changing from one pale color to the other, and back again.
"It's a letter, sir. From Ankh-Morpork!" It was easy for Lu-Tze to understand the young monk's bewilderment; after all, what kind of secret monastery has letters addressed to it. He took the letter and quickly surveyed it. All he needed to see was a name; Vetinari. It was addressed to one Lobsang Ludd, of the History Monks.
"It's for you, from the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork." he said, as he handed Lobsang the letter.
"How does the Patrician know our existence? I thought our order was a secret one." Lobsang asked his mentor.
"Technically, yes. But the current Patrician is a special case. It's not just that he actually has a... functional mind. He employs a vast network of spies, to the point that it is actually impossible to save the world in his city, without him learning about the age during which you stopped wetting your bed, or as in your case, if you have managed to stop wetting your bed at all." Lu-Tze gave him a diabolical smile. Truly, revenge is sweet, and there's even more from where that came from.
"Aw, come on. It only happened once or twice, and it was because I had the flu, and my control over time went a little highwire." he replied sheepishly, all signs of his previous smugness wiped off his face. "Here you go, Cheng-Lee Roy. Give a few pennies to the postman, will you? Hey, that's weird. I could'ave sworn I had a few sixpences in my pocket. I..." suddenly, an eerie feeling of dread came over him, as he turned around to see his teacher's wicked grin, as he held three and a half sixpence out of his hand. "You took them away from me during the battle, and you held it to your own, allowing me to gloat over my victory to you, and now you reveal them? You cunning little bastard"
"Let that be an important lesson to you, boy." he snickered, as his grin grew ever so wider.
"Let me guess; never gloat over your victory, because the summer of your rise is immediately followed by the autumn of your fall?" Lobsang tried, a hint of sarcasm in his tone, with a ton of irony.
"No, but that's a good one. The important lesson is that you should always beware of rule number one, no matter the circumstances." Lu-Tze replied, hiding in his pride for himself, the pride he felt for his student. After reading the letter, Lu-Tze asked Lobsang about it's contents "So, what does it say?"
"The Patrician wants my help on a special mission that may or may not save our reality."
"Then I suggest you leave immediately." he replied sternly.
"You can't be serious. A random guy knows about us from out of nowhere, asks my help for a matter of universal life or death," Lobsang paused a moment to cringe a little at this word, before continuing "and you expect me to trust him?"
"By the gods, no! I wouldn't trust my own mother to tell me the truth whether sweets can kill you. The fact that she's been dead for the last few aeons doesn't help, either, but that's not the point. The point is that you are the reincarnation of Time, and it is therefore your responsibility to make sure that there is a universe for time to tick away, in case it is an actual situation."
Lobsang thought about it for a few moments, and conceded with his mentor. "Very well, I'll make haste right away."
"You do that" replied Lu-Tze, before adding as an afterthought "Oh, and make sure you stay out of trouble., that is, more than absolutely necessary. For example, avoid Gymnasiums; I hear they are quite hazardous to your health, especially if it's this time of the month[10]." he finished, his evil grin returning to his face.
"Lu-Tze? Would you be so kind as to, oh I don't know, stay out of my freaking love life!" he replied before storming out of the monastery quickly enough to hide his reddening face.
And speaking of Gymnasiums, Susan was in the teachers' office, while correcting the exams. Although most of the kids had done rather well, courtesy of her efforts, there had been quite a few kids that managed to stubbornly shrug off all kinds of education she tried to instill them, and proved it in spectacularly frustrating ways. So much that it wasn't funny. The worst part was that all the time she kept thinking about the Patrician's letter. She couldn't help but feel it was a kind of joke, but before delving further in thought, a voice appeared suddenly in her mind, forgoing the use of her ears.
"HELLO, SUSAN."
She didn't need to look up, to know who was it, but she did so, anyway. "Hello, grandfather."
In front of her, the figure of Death stood compellingly, his dark robe hiding most of his bony body. "I BELIEVE YOU HAVE RECEIVED A LETTER OF UTMOST IMPORTANCE."
"Do I, now? What is it this time? The Auditors of reality? Someone opened a box full of every blight known to man? A Glod gave birth to someone who wasn't actually named Glod?" Susan was feeling rather moody. Breaking up from a relationship that up to that moment you thought was the one, true, real thing, and keep thinking it quite a lot, afterwards, tended to do that to ones psyche. Besides she still had paperwork.
"NO. IT IS FAR WORSE AND DANGEROUS THAN THE AUDITORS, OR ANYTHING ELSE THAT HAS THREATENED OUR WORLD." Death could almost sympathize with Susan's predicament, and what was about to follow, but he held on strongly either way.
"What can be more dangerous than someone trying to wipe all life out of the universe?" Susan had seen a lot, ever since she begun temporarily taking over her grandfather's post, whenever he went missing, took holidays, or changed jobs, and therefore, she believed there wasn't anything that could surprise her. She was, of course, wrong.
"SOMEONE WHO DOESN'T HAVE ANY RULES TO FOLLOW, AND WHO HAS ALREADY MANAGED TO DESTROY NUMEROUS OTHER REALITIES." Death answered.
She looked at the letter again, for a moment, trying to figure out what he meant, before turning her gaze back at him, again, only to find that he was gone. Cursing under her breath, she gave her papers one last glance before striding out of the office. It was really becoming a bad habit, her grandfather coming in and out of her life without notice, asking her to take action... Although she had to admit she was beginning to develop a soft spot for him.
Fionnyke tried to reason with the prisoner, however, she noticed she didn't know how to address him. "So...um, what's your name?" she asked, flashing him a rather awkward smile.
After looking her for a moment, trying to find out whether she was for real or not, he decided to answer her question "Mrg'nna Sull'vn"
Fionnyke remained aghast. She was expecting him to have a foreign, even downright weird name, but Morgana Sullivan? That was just wrong. In fact, she was expecting him to not even be able to understand their language. Come to think of it, that was weird; how could you speak morporkian fluently, and have such a ridiculous name that seemed more appropriate for her than him. That was when she noticed his snickering, and when realization dawned her, the prisoner burst out laughing.
"Ahahahaha, Oh, man. Hehehe. That truly never gets old. Ahahahaa." He was struggling to find his breath, while the Patrician tried hardly to hide his grin. After snorting a few more times, he decided to tell her his actual name. "Okay, sorry for that. My actual name is Galen Stormms. What's your name, miss...?"
She was feeling a little angry, but decided that spending your life in a dungeon earned you a certain amount of leeway. "Fionnyke. Fionnyke van Kroitzenburg. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Oh, yes. It is always an honor for the common folk when they meet criminals."
"What was it exactly that you did that earned you a spot in Vetinari's Palace Dungeons?"
"Do the words 'Illegal Immigrant' tell you anything?"
"If that's the problem, then all we have to do is to get a reading from your dimensional resonance, and we will send you home." She said, hope forming in her eyes that she could convince, him. Fionnyke was actually surprised a little; why hadn't Vetinari used this as a bargaining chip?
"I'm afraid that all you'll find is absolutely nil." Galen replied, having a rather melancholic tone in his voice, and sporting a defeated look.
It took a few more seconds before she realized what he was telling her. "Oh...Oh my god, I'm..um, I'm so s-sorry, I, uh, I didn't know...Oh my god, you must feel terrible!" She stated, trying to make up for her indiscretion.
"Nah, don't worry about it." he tried to calm her, "We had a saying in the old country which goes 'Excreta Occuro, Tracto Id'. I think it means something about facing your problems because if it happened to you, it can happen to anyone, although I'm not so big on languages that are deader than Duke's career." after registering the blank looks she gave him, he tried to explain it "We had a joke mold, back to my homeworld, where one would say something was deader than a previously popular icon, in order to get revenge, in a metaphorical sort of way, for the time he spent vainly idolizing said icon, although, in retrospect, that might have been insensitive from my part." he finished, lamely, realizing that he had probably just kicked a dead puppy in the nads.
After several moments of awkward silence, Fionnyke decided to take over this conversation"Alright, Galen. I'll try to level with you. I'm terribly sorry for the loss of your homeworld. However, if my instincts are correct on this one, whoever or whatever did this to your world is still out there, roaming free, doing as it pleases. My world very well may be in danger. In fact, it could blow any minute now...okay, maybe not now, but still... If you knew your world was facing a possible threat, and you knew you could do something about it, what would you do?" She asked him, her sapphire eyes locked on him, her pleading look written all over her face, and her hands slightly trembling. Galen felt very uncomfortable, as he looked from Fionnyke to the Patrician, and back again. "Will you please help us?" she pleaded one more time, not sure whether his silence meant yes or no.
Finally, Galen's eyes rested on Vetinari, squinting them at him. "You are a bastard!" he casually exclaimed.
Vetinari smiled, as he characteristically raised his eyebrows, and responded "I can throw you hot burning oil, poke your ribs, stretch your limbs, have you repeatedly whipped, do any number of imaginable, aha, numbers on you, and for my personal favorite, throw you on a pit with spikes and scorpions."
Galen looked at him blankly, before correcting himself "Fine, so you're an imaginative bastard from a position of power, but a bastard nonetheless!"
"So, that means that you'll come aboard?" Vetinari asked, feeling rather amused.
"One condition; when the negotiations with the gods-forsaken-pathetic-little-piece-of-nose-slime-that-crawled-under-the-forgotten-depths-of-the-most-decadent-ocean-to-ever-exist that was responsible for my homeworld's destruction, whom from now on I will refer to as DASK, or DeeAeiSeeKay, which is a sum of what I think about him, inevitably fail, I get to be the first one to ride a big giant tree up his existential-hole that compels him to confirm whatever passes for his ego by subjugating and then exterminating one reality after another." he finished, and found some time to catch his breath.
Vetinari, however, knew him well enough, and felt compelled to ask "What version?"
"Version 3 point 2." Galen admitted "I added the DASK part a few days ago."
"Yes, it was quite graphical and subtle." he said, a soft and kind smile appearing in his face once more. "Very well. Thy will be done." He said, while opening the cell door, and leading Galen and Fionnyke back to his office, where a certain amount of ruckus happened.
[5]An eight-sectioned building, situated in 8th street and Thaum. Named 8th Gymnasium of Ankh-Morpork, despite the fact that the city has only three gymnasiums. For some incomprehensible reason, the Wizards avoid the place like the plague.
[6]You know, in the same way that public school is for free. The fact that you pay for it in taxes is inconsequential.
[7]Even if you take into account that Death doesn't understand how the Knight moves.
[8]It really is. All the boy scouts know it. Anyone who had a last minute date knows it. Even your teachers know it. That's why they insist on taking it away from you, especially when you are a teenager; because we can only appreciate something after it's taken away from us.
[9]Although, admittedly, Mustrum Ridcully never required magic to achieve such a reverse engineering feat. He simply layed his paperwork all around his office, and never moved it from it's spot.
[10]You kids must surely be old enough to recognize the test correcting period, during which teachers pull all-nighters trying to make sense out of their student's gibberish, and as a result, they become quite cranky.
That's it for the second chapter. Phew. This took about a half more than I expected, which is two times the previous chapter. It is times like this that I want to yell something along the lines of "Holy exposition, Batman!", but then I remember that I would look rather silly in red, yellow and green, and having my legs exposed, not to mention creepy. See you again during chapter 3 where all our heroes gather under the same roof, and the resulting explosions that come from that.
Oh, and for you lazy bums what not tried to translate the dog Latin Galen used, it roughly stands for "Shit happens, deal with it", though I can't seem to recall if Pratchett already had used it, in a slightly different manner. Oh well.