Looking Through Fresh Eyes 4: From The Front To the Back Of Your Skull

(Tying up a dangling loose end left hanging at the end of Nature Studies)

Returning, or even retuning, to the story.

Looking for more slightly sinister eye-related songs.

Bette Davis' Eyes – Kim Carnes

Eyes Without a Face – Billy Idol

Behind Blue Eyes – The Who

Hungry Eyes – Eric Carman

Every Breath You Take (I'll be Watching You) – The Police

I Only Have Eyes For You... (standard, various)

Eyes on fire – Blue Oyster Cult

Eyes On Fire – Rainbow (Same title, different lyrics)

Now Read On...

Lady T'Malia took a deep breath. Her formidable underpinnings audibly creaked under the strain(1). Emmanuelle idly wondered if she was in one respect a female version of Fred Colon. A man who, like jelly, once poured into a front-and-back breastplate with perfectly sculpted muscle structure(2) could from a distance pass for a man of normal size and musculature. It was rumoured she was buying Thaumic Rejuvenation Treatments from the university: the kindest estimation of her actual age was "way over sixty".

But right now, she was the most senior Mistress in the Assassins' School, the member of staff to whom all other women teachers deferred, their professional mentor and the woman who made decisions and adjudicated on issues of discipline and difficult cases. A reprimand from T'Malia for an error of judgement could sting.

But Emmanuelle was presenting a case for one of those ethically tricky subjects to be formally added to the school curriculum. T'Malia, who had taken the fall-out from Emmanuelle's notion of a liberal arts curriculum before(3), was expressing reluctance.

"Well, yes, Emmanuelle. But I have to deal with parents. They pay the fees. And it makes my job easier if they are happy about the curriculum we provide and reassured that we are not offering anything they would find to be distasteful or ethically unsound!"

She shuddered. Corsetry creaked, audibly.

Emmanuelle continued her case.

"I assuredly do not wish to cause you extra work or inconvenience." she said. "But there is a very real and pressing need for this subject to be formally taught. After all, my lady, the Concordat states that a pupil at this school will be taught all the social skills necessary for a young gentleman or woman of good breeding. This is a very obvious gap and will need addressing, if only for pragmatic reasons."

Lady T'Malia looked uncharacteristically uncertain. Emmanuelle pressed her point.

"If nothing else, my lady, Assassins will go into these houses. They will advance money. They require teaching in how to do so sensibly and with prudence. It is a part of life! And where such establishments are concerned, where large sums of money are involved, they will assuredly meet clients and those able to afford to buy a contract."

"Yes, Emmanuelle. I wholly agree. But gambling!"

"Gambling is a fact of life, my lady. I have seen you at the tables?"

T'Malia had the good grace to look shifty for a moment.

"Well, yes. But we are fully qualified Assassins! It's different for us!"

"How, exactly, my lady?" Emmanuelle pressed her. "Does full knowledge and awareness of how to gamble safely and sensibly come to us with the pink slip, as if it were a magical spell? We have all seen and heard of Assassins who have taken a risk too many and staked – and lost- large sums of money at the casino. We are taught to take risks – intelligently considered and evaluated risks. But, alors, there are Assassins who are left with huge gambling debts when they have taken a risk too far. Such debts must be paid. Noblesse oblige. Promising young people have been killed on missions they felt forced to accept. This is not good for the Guild, my lady."

"Yes." T'Malia said, thoughtfully. "You yourself came to us as a mature candidate in exactly those circumstances. A hundred thousand, was it not, owed to the troll Chrysophrase?"(4)

Emmanuelle winced. She did not like to be reminded. At least it had all worked out in the end and Chrysophrase regarded her as a highly trusted associate. He was good to such people: she knew she could call upon the troll crimelord for favours if she was ever that desperate. He had thought highly enough of her to personally investigate reports she was about to be inhumed by the Assassins, for acting as an unlicenced hired killer.

"Even I can slip up." she admitted, reluctantly. "Therefore I must ask for our students to be taught this particular fact of life. Gambling is barred to student Assassins, yet the allure is such that they still gamble. I wish them to be made aware, and for the benefits of others' hard-won experience to enlighten them."

There was a pause. T'Malia clapped her hands for the maid to refill their glasses. Lady T'Malia believed conferences with her teaching staff should be civilised affairs over a drink.

"This is about the Perry-Bowen girl, isn't it?" T'Malia said, perceptively. Emmanuelle winced.

"Yes, at least in part."

T'Malia sighed.

"Do you know, that young woman has coped marvellously over the past few months." she said. "Absolutely marvellously. Full marks to her, what with the injuries she received and being subjected to Igor surgery. I hope the trauma she has undergone was taken into account and she wasn't punished too harshly?"

Emmanuelle sighed. She had been forced to discipline Catherine for a breach of school rules. With extreme reluctance. Had the matter not been brought to her attention by another member of the teaching staff, she might have dealt with it wholly informally, with nothing written down nor any need for a black mark on the girl's official record.

T'Malia noted the look on her face. Lady T'Malia taught Political Expediency and Pragmatic Diplomacy. She could read even the slightest look like a book. She smiled, indulgently.

"But then I recall a young student did much the same during ...his... time here. Emmanuel-Martin de Jeannedarc, as I recall. An interesting young man!"(5)

Her eyes misted over with nostalgia.

" I was, and remain, quite fond of him, my dear."

Emmanuelle smiled. T'Malia continued.

"I agree with all the points you have made, my dear. But we just cannot officially teach our students about gambling. It would look bad. Parents would complain. The Times would get to hear of it. Bad publicity."

"Is there a contract out on Monsieur de Worde?" Emmanuelle inquired.

"It is always a possibility." her mentor conceded. "But other newspapers would then accuse us of trying to suppress a free Press, and we can't inhume them all."

"C'est la vie." said Emmanuelle, philosophically.(6)

"Indeed." said T'Malia, drily. "Or C'est La Morte, perhaps. Anyway. It occurs to me that Mr Mycroft is on sick leave for a short period. I know it's short notice, but could you cover his mathematics class for me? You will, in all probability, find it interesting."

Emmanuelle caught the hint. T'Malia added, reinforcing the point:

"There is no bar on teaching maths, nor any likelihood of adverse publicity. It's as safe a subject as any on the curriculum."

"I believe I understand you, my Lady." Emmanuelle said, smiling slightly.

"Good! Then I won't keep you. You may perhaps want to prepare lesson plans for one hour and one-and-a-half hour timetable slots?"


Catherine Perry-Bowen, meanwhile, had had an interesting afternoon at the Animal Management Unit. She had been led to a vacant classroom on the second floor, where Miss Smith-Rhodes, Matron Igorina and Arachne Webber had been waiting for her.

Johanna Smith-Rhodes had studied her intently for a few moments, looking disconcertingly and unflinchingly into Catherine's eyes.

"Cetherine, you are going to be tested over the next hour." she eventually said. Catherine did not like the sound of that word.

"Please understend thet we are not out to injure you nor to do you any herm. Matron Igorina will be on hend et ell times should you display signs of distress. Miss Webber will be in cherge of the experiment, which is of her own devising, end which hes been epproved by me. My role here is strictly supervisory. In a moment we will blindfold you end Erechne will lead you into this room, where you will encounter several enimel species. You must trust us. Look upon this, perheps, as a trial to ascertain your fitness to continue certain courses of study here. Efterwerds, you will be relieved it is over. Trust senses other than your eyes. Gether your mental strength. This is a quelity the Essessin requires in order to succeed!"

Johanna took and squeezed her hand reassuringly, then Catherine felt blackness descend in the form of a blindfold and hood. Friendly hands led her through a door. It brushed against her arm as it swung open, and then closed behind her. She sensed the lighting in the room had been artificially dimmed.

She was left standing alone for an unguessable length of time – probably only a few minutes. There was complete silence apart from a faint scuttling and clicking.

Whatever it is, they're softening me up, she thought. Leaving me alone with my thoughts to see if the fear builds. If it gets uncontrollable they'll fail me, whatever it is.

She started to have a suspicion as to what sort of wildlife was in the room with her. She recalled her uncontrollable fear and panic in the presence of the spiders. Incredibly, it was only a memory of fear and panic. It could only come back if she allowed it to. She took deep regular Zen breaths, as she had been taught: the calming breath. The one that allowed you to assert control over your body. She now realised this wasn't an ordeal all students had to face, alone and in the dark; she wondered if this had been devised especially for her. She felt something scuttle over her foot and shuddered slightly. But then, anyone would.

"What do you feel, Catherine?"

Arachne Webber, speaking softly from just behind her to her right.

"I felt something running over my right foot, Miss Webber." she said.

"And this made you feel?" Arachne prompted.

"Uneasy. A slightly unpleasant sensation. But I think that was the surprise of it more than anything else." She was surprised how calm her voice sounded.

"Good. Now I'm going to take it a stage further. I am going to put an animal on your sleeve. Do not worry. She will hold on of her own accord."

Catherine braced herself slightly, she felt Arachne draw closer, and then a weight was placed on her right forearm. She felt the slight tensing of legs gaining a foothold on the material of her sleeve. She assessed. The creature, whatever it was, was small and compact. Whatever it was, it weighed light.

Her hairs prickled as she felt it scuttling up her arm, ever nearer her head and face. She forced herself to be calm, but was aware she was not feeling anything like that uncontrollable panic and fear. Her thought processes raced. Small, comact, light. It did not move like a mammal or reptile, It felt as if it had more legs than four. It appeared to occupy a zone of between four and eight inches, a little more than the size of the palm of her hand... the scent was faint, musty, something other...

It climbed to her shoulder and settled there.

Catherine felt surprisingly calm, although tense.

"Can you identify the animal?" Arachne asked, gently. Catherine searched for the correct Latatian taxonomy. What had Linoleum called this phylum? Oh yes...

"I believe this is an arachnid." The word came easily to her, in a matter-of-fact way. "Possibly of the genus Theraphosidae. I cannot identify it any more closely than that."

"Therophosida Acantopelma Rubescens, to be precise. Found in the Paraquatian rainforest. And you are calm enough to think and reason and reach an accurate conclusion. And to tolerate her presence so near your face." Arachne said. "This is in concurrence with the theory I proposed, Miss Smith-Rhodes."

Catherine heard Miss Smith-Rhodes acknowledging this, and heard her say "Cerry on to the next test, Miss Webber."

The tarantula was deftly removed from her shoulder. After a pause, Arachne guided her to the next test. Her hand was guided to a smooth cold surface with a latex-feeling aperture.

"This is a one-way membrane leading into an animal habitat." Arachne said. It allows things in whilst preventing the animals inside from escaping. I require you to put your hand inside." Arachne then dabbed her hand with something wet and liquid. There was a faint unidentifiable smell.

Catherine hesitated, then remembered the words you must trust us. It did seem as if things were being escalated. She wondered why she was not a gibbering wreck. She inserted her hand. She tensed; almost immediately things began scuttling over it. More and more things.

"Your hand is inside a spider tank. It has been sprayed with a nutritive essence irresistible to arachnia. We require you to hold it in there until they have all... fed."

There was something about the emphasis Arachne Webber put on the word fed. Catherine wondered if she was completely sane. No, just obsessive about spiders.

Another eternity passed. Arachne spoke again.

"The spiders clustered on your hand are heptothermidae. They are completely harmless to people."

There was another pause.

"Although I could be just telling you that to ensure your compliance. There is no guarantee that they are not, for instance, Lycosa Raptoria, who are utterly deadly."

Catherine bit back a shriek and remembered you must trust us. And anyway, Matron Igorina had a cabinet full of antidotes at her disposal. An informal arms-race went on at the Guild: Mericet and Miss Sanderson-Reeves devised new poisons. Igorina countered by creating antidotes. It kept all sides intellectually occupied and gave them a competitive hobby.

Another eternity passed. Catherine forced herself to realise the spiders scuttling and settling on her hand were quite ticklish, really, and nothing to worry about. They dropped off, one by one, and she was invited to wiggle her fingers to dislodge the last few stragglers. Then she was told she could withdraw her hand, which had started to itch.

"Are you satisfied, Miss Smith-Rhodes? Matron? Then we can move to the last test of all. Catherine, I am going to introduce you to a friend of mine. She has been watching your progress with interest. How's your Toledan?"

Catherine was led across the room. She sensed a presence. A large presence.

"¿Felicia? Es una nueva amiga. Se llama Catherine."

Catherine felt a limb being extended to her. It was thick and round and pulsed and seemed to terminate in a claw of some kind. It was coated in bristles or hairs. And it belonged to an animal. She dredged up the Toledan and said, hesitantly,

¡Hola, Felicia! ¿Como va ahora?"

"She understands you. But her mouthparts cannot easily articulate human speech. She is perfectly friendly. I have high hopes for communicating with this species. They live in the deep jungle and have human-sized brains. I estimate them to be at least as intelligent as a typical city troll!"

Arachne paused. Catherine could sense the pride radiating off her.

"I nurtured her in a tank in my dorm at the Guild. Then as she grew, the other girls started to complain. Then I was sent down to see Lord Downey for a sherry and the offer of an almond slice."

Catherine felt sympathetic. They all knew what that meant. After her own recent black mark, she was surprised it hadn't happened to her.

"He reprimanded me and ordered me to transfer her to the Animal Management Unit where he thought she belonged. Unfair, I think. Other girls get to keep dogs and horses here!"(7)

"Shall we take the blindfold off now?" said Igorina. "The very last test of all."

"Heve a sedetive on stend-by." Johanna advised her.

Igorina sighed, contentedly. She liked Arachne, a girl after her own heart. Arachne Webber unfailingly provided the spider-webs that were the essential décor in an Igor cellar, and had even been privileged enough to be invited down there. She had viewed the contents without revulsion and had asked professionally interested questions. Igorina suspected somewhere along the line, there was Igor blood in her. Arachne had promise.

Catherine tensed. She was led back from Felicia. The blindfold was removed. Then she screamed as the terror flooded back along with her vision.

As Igorina hurriedly replaced the blindfold and administered a sedative drug, Arachne remarked

"I believe this proves the case, Miss Smith-Rhodes. The arachnophobia only takes over when she can see the spiders."

Johanna nodded.

"End given the donor of her new eyes is known to be arachnophobic herself..."

"A transferred symptom." Igorina said, as she steered Catherine to the door. She was gibbering about giant spiders. Enormous spiders.

"Psychic transference." Igorina concluded.

A clicking and sibiliant hissing noise was heard. It was just about decipherable as the Toledan for "Oh dear. I seem to have this effect on people. Was it something I said?"

Arachne rushed to reassure the Giant Sloth-Eating Spider of Paraquat, whom she had raised from the egg-sac. Felicia measured about nine feet across from leg to leg. She was the largest known species of spider on the Disc(8), and Miss Webber's consequent scientific dissertation on arachnid intelligence had won her prizes.


"This is very difficult for me, Catherine." Madame Deux-Epées said, looking sternly at her. "For my part, very difficult indeed!"

She shook her head.

"There is no doubt that you are in a very serious breach of school rules. None at all."

Catherine bowed her head. She had indeed broken School rules on various counts. There was no doubt at all. A tiny rebellious voice in her head said But I'm sixteen! It's perfectly legal outside, in the City! Why should it be an offence here? To which a counter-voice said Yes, but in here it's Guild territory. City law is only nominal in here. Guild rules apply. The first voice came back with But I did what I did outside the Guild!

Sitting behind her desk, and therefore making this Official,Madame Deux-Epées looked almost sorrowful as well as stern. She spoke again:

"You know me and how I choose to run Black Widow House. My House. I would have much preferred to deal with this informally and where sanction is necessary, to award an informal sanction. But you were witnessed, cherie, in School uniform, by another member of Staff who raised this matter with me. Therefore it is now a School matter, and one I cannot keep within the Black Widow family."

She did not add that officious rule-book bound little man Mr Moody, damn him to the seven Hells. And of course he also told T'Malia and she summoned me for a disciplinary drink and asked what I proposed to do about it. I cannot keep it informal now.

Catherine listened passively, wondering what her punishment would be. Madame Deux-Epées was not nasty enough to send her out on a mission scouting Ramkin Manor and stalking Vimes. Nor would she impose two hours of cleaning out the skunk-cages at the A.M.U., as Miss Smith-Rhodes would. Mrs Mericet normally assigned errant pupils the chore of cleaning the ovens in Domestic Science. No laughing matter, if they had last been used to bake Lord Downey's special almond slices. That called for more than just Marigold rubber gloves and old worn clothes. What was Madame Two-Swords' version of the Vimes Run?

Her teacher shook her head sorrowfully.

"Catherine, you were seen going in and out of Lashbrook's bookmakers on Cable Street. We ascertained you were laying bets. You know gambling for cash is expressly forbidden to students!"

"Yes, madame. I know."

"But you chose to break School rules anyway. Catherine, ma petite, I propose to award you two demerits. They will remain on your record for the rest of your time here, although any commendations you receive will balance them out. Which is lenient. Ma foi, what got into you? You are usually such a well-behaved conscientious young woman!"

Catherine sighed. She knew her teacher was also a Gamblers' Guild member, and guessed for that reason, she was extremely unhappy to have to discipline a pupil for what she did not consider to be a sin, and freely indulged in herself. She decided to play on this.

"Madame, I was looking at the sports pages at the back of the Times. I came across the racing form pages, and it occurred to me to try my luck. Up until now, they had always been uninteresting, just meaningless numbers. But as I read them, they suddenly made sense to me. Everything clicked. I also realised I wanted, very strongly so, to lay a bet and see how it all worked out. It was so exciting!"

Emmanuelle tried to hide her consternation. First my arachnophobia, and now this? She composed herself, aware of the girl looking back at her, puzzled, and said, flatly,

"How much did you win, if anything?"

Catherine took a breath.

"Four hundred and eighty-six dollars, madame. An accumulator bet."

Madame Deux-Epées kept an impassive face with difficulty.

"Four hundred and eighty-six dollars." she repeated, in an undertone. There was silence for a moment, and then Madame Deux-Epées seemed to come to a decision.

"Bien." she said. "I have dealt with you formally and imposed a punishment. But there is nothing that says I cannot also respond informally. We are encouraged to give pastoral care to our students, after all."

She pushed back her chair and stood up.

"This interview is formally over." she said. "But be so kind as to meet me at the porter's lodge in ten minutes. We are going for a little walk, ma petite. It is raining outside. You will require your hat and coat."

"Yes, madame." Catherine said, wondering what else her teacher had in store for her.

"And bring the money you won on les chevaux." Madame Deux-Epées added, as she reached the door. "You will need it."


"Going out, madame?" the duty porter genially asked.

"But of course, Monsieur Stippler!" Emmanuelle said, as she and Catherine signed out of the Guild. "I am escorting this student on a little informal extra tuition. We will not be going far, only, I think, across the river to the Street of Alchemists."

"Dangerous place, that." Stippler remarked, shaking his head. "Things explode a lot."

Emmanuelle smiled.

"We are Assassins, Monsieur Stippler." she reminded him. "Going into dangerous places – and coming out alive – is what we are for."

"See you both later then, ladies!" Stippler said, with his usual genial smile.


Although it was early evening, they were not bothered or molested in the City. Assassins carrying swords are generally untroubled by the Ankh-Morpork street theatre. A beggar, seeing an Assassin and a student Assassin, usually good for a few small coins, tried his luck with them.

"Give him a dollar, cherie." Emmanuelle said. "I believe at the moment you would not miss it." Catherine handed it over, to a cry of Gawds bless you, miss!

The walk round to Alchemists took about twenty minutes, Emmanuelle making genial small-talk with Catherine. They both noted the Alchemists' Guildhouse was still standing, although several upper windows had been blown out. A late-working glazier was busy boarding up the windows.

"It is about ready to blow again, I think." Emmanuelle said. "My intuition tells me."

"They aren't bothering to put new glass in." Catherine said, eager to make a contribution. "That suggests they don't think it's worth it. Which in turn suggests there are more than usually hazardous experiments going on in there. Exothermic alchemy, perhaps, madame?"

Madame Deux-Epées looked at her pupil and smiled with pride.

"My thoughts exactly, cherie! In fact, you were ahead of me. A most admirable observation!"

Catherine was only half-surprised that they went into the Gamblers' Guild headquarters and casino, opposite the Alchemists. They were greeted by a smiling and exquisitely dressed croupier.

"So nice to see you again, Madame!" she said. "I see you have brought a friend?"

She and Emmanuelle kissed on both cheeks, in the Quirmian manner.

"She is but a pupil, Marianne." she said. "Would Mr Jones be free right now?"

"Mr Jones always makes time for you, Madame!" Marianne assured her, and went to pass on the message.

"Mr Scrote Jones is a very old friend." Emmanuelle explained. "I wish you to meet him tonight. You will, of course, address him as Mr Jones. He is a Guild leader and a City council member, after all, and you are but a student."

Emmanuelle paused only to make an entry in a Guild Members Only ledger held at the front desk. She paused, looked at Catherine, and then made another entry.

"This is our ongoing little bet, among Guild members. We have a spread bet, on the next time and date the Alchemists' Guild will blow itself up. I have laid bets for myself, the larger sum, and for you as my guest, in the smaller amount. I believe our neighbours will immolate themselves again no later than midnight on Friday. They may have been in the pub beforehand, tu comprends? Beer and exothermic alchemy do not mix."

Emmanuelle smiled a contented smile.

"Whoever gets closest to the date and time wins the pot, or a share of the pot. It currently stands at over three thousand dollars".

And then Marianne the croupier came back to escort them to the Guild President's office. Catherine was surprised to see how small and relatively unadorned it was. For somebody who had changed his Guild from a lowly cluster of veteran gamblers living on their wits, into one of the chasing pack immediately behind Assassins, Thieves, Beggars and Seamstresses in terms of wealth and prestige, she'd have expected something grander.

But Scrote Jones' genius had been in recognising how many people wanted a modest gamble. He had brought together bookmakers' shops, alongside the traditional casinos, card tables, baccarat, backgammon and Cripple Mr Onion schools, and imposed clear and fair rules binding all concerned. Almost overnight, the bent operations had diminished and died. Even Chrysophrase the Troll had seen the virtues of running a fair game, and his casinos now operated to Guild rules: it was that or go under. Cripple Wa, seeing his old floating crap school wither and fade, had threatened death on Jones. But the Patrician had ruled on the demarcation principle involved, and had decided that all gambling, cardsharping, dice-throwing and other games of chance where money changed hands were the sole preserve of the Guild of Gamblers and no longer a Beggars' prerogative. Perhaps the fact that Scrote Jones had arranged to pay a City tax of ten per cent on all its revenues had swayed Vetinari's judgement; the Beggars had been rather slack in paying tax.

And, Catherine reflected, the Gamblers' Guild offered discreet private rooms, where City leaders including Vetinari could unwind and have social games of whist, in which absolutely no political or economic issues were informally discussed – they were there to relax and lay modest side bets, after all.

The man in the green glass visor of office stood up to delightedly welcome Madame Deux-Epées .

"Emmie!" he said, delightedly, They embraced; Catherine heard her teacher say Pas maintainant, mon amour in a low voice.

"You've brought a guest, Emmie?" Scrote Jones inquired.

"A student." Emmanuelle corrected him. "Let us be seated. Catherine, you will now tell Mr Jones everything about your recent indiscretion. Leave nothing out."

Catherine reluctantly told. Scrote Jones shook his head and tutted.

"Ooh. Laying bets on behalf of other students? That's unlicenced bookmaking, that is. Without Guild approval. Naughty, that!"

He frowned disapprovingly. Catherine reflected that although he was obviously older than her father, he was actually quite attractive, in a funny sort of a way that she couldn't work out. She'd heard the rumour that he was Two-Swords' lover. The more she looked at him, the more she could grasp why. To her horror, she realised something new stirring in the lower part of her body, that she wasn't entirely at home with. She squirmed in her seat. She reddened. Fortunately, Jones seemed as if he was putting her discomfort down to the predicament she was in. She gulped. She'd heard the Gamblers now employed enforcers to deter any unlicenced gambling operations. Would she end up with her fingers broken?

"There is perhaps a way around this." Emmanuelle said.

Ah, They're playing good cop, bad cop. The oldest interrogation technique in the book.

"Mr Jones, the situation may be regularised. It is specifically laid down in Assassins' Guild rules that any Guild member may also be a member of other Guilds, subject to permission from their mentor. I believe this is to accommodate late entrants and mature students who have led other lives and had other careers. But it does not specifically exclude Guild students. And as her Housemistress, I class as Catherine's mentor, who may give or with-hold such permission. Mr Jones, I understand young people of between sixteen and eighteen may become Associate Members of the Gamblers' Guild? Magnifique, the problem is solved!"

"Sixteen is the legal age for gambling in this city, yes." Scrote agreed. "OK, young lady. From what you said I believe you are developing an aptitude for gambling. Winning nearly five hundred dollars first time out indicates you've got something."

"Or it could be beginner's luck." Emmanuelle said, drily.

"Either way, we can take her on. Show her how to cut her losses and run if she's on a bad streak. Teach her a few skills. Guide her steps. In return, we take fifteen per cent of all winnings. No joining fee, but we take fifteen in every hundred. Which reminds me..."

"Show him the money, cherie." Emmanuelle said, happily. Catherine paid up with good grace and filled the forms in. In return, she received a Gamblers' Guild membership badge.

"We can keep you out of trouble now." said Emmanuelle.

"Welcome to the Guild!" said Scrote, extending a hand. Catherine took it.

From downstairs, music was playing. Catherine had heard the tune. It had started as a cabaret song at one of the clubs. Probably the Blue Cat: they were trend-setters there. Even straight people tried to get in to see the floorshow and hear the songs. A part of Catherine's inner dialogue supplied the words:

Her hair is deep-dwarf gold; her lips sweet surprise;

Her hands are never cold, she's got Theda Withel's eyes!

She'll turn the music on you,

you won't have to think twice

She's pure as Ankh-Morpork snow;

She's got Theda Withel's eyes!

But who was Theda Withel? Maddy Selachii thought she'd been some old actress from before both their times, she'd heard Daddy talk about her once.

Madame Deux-Epées was speaking.

"Mr Jones, may I ask you a favour? I require certain items from you to use as teaching aids in a class I am taking. They will be bulky, but tiens, I have Catherine to carry them back to the Guild for me!"

Catherine smiled. She was still over three hundred dollars ahead on the day. It could have turned out much worse...


To be continued... in the next thrilling episode, Catherine takes a swordsmanship lesson. Emmanuelle covers a maths class in unique and unorthodox style. Young love may rear its troublesome head...


(1)T'Malia had her corsetry constructed for her by the upmarket underwear manufacturers Burleigh and Spoke. The Burleigh half of the partnership saw this as a peace dividend, a profitable civilian spin-off from the advanced technology used to fabricate state-of-the-art armour and weaponry for the military. They had been dissuaded from putting By Appointment To The Guild of Assassins on their promotional literature by a personal visit from T'Malia, who had reminded them of the meaning of the word discreet.

(2) As befits a senior Sergeant. Who tend to be so senior that their muscle definition has faded with the years and needs every help it can get.

(3) Emmanuelle's trial course module in Seduction and Honey-Trap Methods For Assassins had been very popular among senior girls, but had to be removed from the curriculum after an avalanche of complaints from parents who didn't mind their daughters being trained as pitiless mercenary killers, but drew the line at the idea that the best way to a client's heart (or liver, or jugular vein) was through his trousers. T'Malia still winced at the soothing and reassuring she'd had to do after that one.

(4) See my story The Graduation Class.

(5) For the true identity of the student assassin Emmanuel-Martin de Jeannedarc, see my stories The Graduation Class and The Only One. This student narrowly missed taking his Final Exam as he was expelled from the Assassins' School shortly beforehand for a gross breach of school rules . You cannot hold a good Assassin down – M. de Jeanndarc came back some years later, when all the fuss had died down, under their real name as a Mature Student.

(6) I had to stop dead at this point as an idea for a piece of fan-art occurred to me. Yes, I've been drawing things, like my occasional characters from fanfic. C'est La Vie is also a wonderfully witty webcomic about a French woman living in Los Angeles. The thought occurred to me of drawing the central character Mona Montrois as a Discworld Assassin, perhaps an avatar of Emmanuelle...

(7) Johanna was soon to trump this achievement by nurturing a lion cub at the Guild. Lord Downey would take a deep breath and look back to the days when Felicia was the definition of a wholly unsuitable pet.

(8) Officially, anyway. Although Igorina had imparted a preciously-guarded piece of Igor-lore to Arachne, while they were drinking tea in her cellar. In the old dark days of the Dark War, millenia ago, it is said that the counter-Igors, the Rogi, had bio-engineered the largest spider of all. Not out of any great desire to be evil, but just because they could.

Theraphosida Ungolianta Gigantica was its provisional taxonomy, but during the Dark Wars it had become known as the Orc-Eating Spider. "The Rogi were frightened of their creation, the Orcs, and needed a greater threat still as insurance against them" Igorina had explained. "But the cure wath worse than the disease. They ate motht of the Rogi as well as quite a few Orcs , and then fled into the mountains. Igor-lore hath it they are thtill there now." Arachne would have killed to get hold of one, or at least laid her hands on an egg-sac.


Bonus Song Lyric – Kim Carnes, "Bette Davis' Eyes".

Her hair is Harlow gold, her lips sweet surprise

Her hands are never cold, she's got Bette Davis eye

sShe'll turn the music on you,

you won't have to think twice

She's pure as New York snow,

she got Bette Davis eyes;

And she'll tease you, she'll unease you

All the better just to please you

She's precocious

And she knows just what it takes to make a pro blush

She got Greta Garbo standoff sighs,

she's got Bette Davis eyes

She'll let you take her home,

it whets her appetite

She'll lay you on the throne,

she got Bette Davis eyes

She'll take a tumble on you,

roll you like you were dice

Until you come up blue, she's got Bette Davis eyes

She'll expose you,

when she snows you

Hope you'll feed with the crumbs she throws you

She's ferocious

And she knows just what it takes to make a pro blush

All the boys think she's a spy,

she's got Bette Davis eyes

And she'll tease you, she'll unease you

All the better just to please you

She's precocious

And she knows just what it takes to make a pro blush

All the boys think she's a spy,

she's got Bette Davis eyes

She'll tease you,

she'll unease you

Just to please you,

she's got Bette Davis eyes

She'll expose you

when she snows you

She knows you,

she's got Bette Davis Eyes