The MGC returns? C4. Revised to take account of "beta-reading" and good criticisms
Alice and Joan swiftly washed, armed, and dressed themselves(1), then nodded at Mr Brown on their way down to the waiting coach. Brown did attempt to say "I'm sure the QCIC invitation only applied to Miss Sanderson-Reeves…" before mumbling into silence on seeing the look on Alice's face.
Joan cheerfully said "She's with me, Mr Brown. No objections? Jolly good. Driver, bash on!" Joan thumped on the back of the cab, and the coach, to all intents and purposes an unremarkable Ankh-Morporkian sort of family runabout(2), set off.
Mr Brown cleared his throat.
"At first sight, this murder might not appear to have very much in common with the previous ones in the cycle. Nevertheless, we believe it to have been perpetrated by the same killer. Here, as you will see, an additional perplexing factor is "how?"
The coach turned into a heavily-guarded gateway, where two men, in appearance alike to Vimes' City Watch in that they wore the usual motley of you-get-what-you're-issued,-and-if-it-fits-it's-a-bonus, OK? stepped forward to halt the vehicle.
"Please produce your Guild membership badges, ladies" Mr Brown requested, as the Guards-But-Not-Watchmen stepped forwards.
"Assassins Guild. Three to see Mr Bellamy. He's expecting us".
The Guard nodded and turned, giving an order. The portcullis in front of them lumbered upwards, its heavy downward-pointing weight propelled upwards by invisible trolls or golems working a winch. Alice and Joan now knew where they were. The Tanty, the City Prison.
Four forbidding walls of dark granite, punctuated by regular lines of small barred windows, stared down at them as they got out of the coach. While there were distant noises of clanking chains, doors swnging open on rusty hinges, and the occasional cough or barked command, the prison was eerily silent. The duty warder, who looked ill at ease, escorted them quickly into the prison's administrative offices. He knocked at a dark oak door. It carried a plaque bearing the words Prison Governor.
A voice – a female voice, Joan and Alice noted – said "Come!"
The door swung open. It revealed a large-built woman with a stern forbidding face, half-lens glasses pushed down her nose and secured with a lorgnette cord, who had black hair fading to grey around the temples. It was built up into swirling plaited cones over each ear. She gave the newcomers a disapproving look.
"Mr Brown, Miss Band and Miss Sanderson-Reeves from the Guild of Assassins, to see the Governor, ma'am!" reported the warder. She dismissed him with a nod; Joan reflected that he left a fraction faster than was necessary.
"Governor Wilkinson is a very busy man!" she declared. "Especially after this morning's irregularity!" She shook her head in irritation at irregularities. "It's got in the way of routine, for one thing, and it's generating a unwarranted amount of paperwork for everybody!"
"We are, in fact, here about the irregularity, Miss Maccalariat!" Joan said, placatingly. "The sooner we're done, the sooner routine here can return to normal!"
The woman considered this, and nodded. She appraised Joan, as if she was one in a million women who could come near to being the professional equivalent of a Maccalariat, and her manner smoothly adjusted.
"I understand that. My name is Amorina Maccalariat.(3) Personal Assistant to the Governor, by the way. Working in a prison is a challenge, compared to the Post Office job I hope will be open to me soon! But we all have to expand our professional horizons now and again. Lord Vetinari was most sympathetic in finding us all suitable temporary jobs in Government service, until the happy day dawns when Mr von Lipwig can allow me a Post Office branch of my own!"
Joan nodded, and smiled slightly. She had heard that the liberal inclinations of the current Governor and his constant lobbying for prison to be a place of reform and rehabilitation as well as punishment had made him an irritation to the Patrician. Giving him a Maccalariat was evidently Vetinari's reply.
Anyway, the latest terror to criminals and deterrent to anybody pursuing a life of crime (or at least getting caught) led the three Assassins to an inner office, where the Governor was passing the time of day with Commander Vimes of the Watch and Mr Drumknott from the Palace.
"The delegation from the Assassins' Guild, sir." she said. "By the way, you so far have a quiet morning. Three discharge interviews are set up, but only one prisoner wishes to bring you a grievance."
"Can't think why!" Vimes muttered, cheerfully. "It used to be six or seven a day, didn't it, Sir Martin?"
"Thank you, Miss Maccalariat," the Governor(4) said, weakly. That will be all!"
Joan exchanged a guarded nod with Vimes, knowing full well she had once come within a hairsbreadth of being hung at the Tanty. By his investigation. An uncharacteristically paranoid part of her, honed by life at the Guild, surfaced with "Maybe all this has been just a subtle plot to get me here so they could enact the death sentence". Telling herself not to be so wet, she asked:
"It seems a little bit strange to be dealing with a murder inside a prison. I'm assuming Miss Band and myself will be allowed to see the scene of the crime?"
"When Sergeant Littlebottom's finished in making her own initial scene-of-crime, yes!" Vimes said, curtly. "Don't worry, she knows not to disturb the scene for you people to look at."
Sir Martin Wilkinson, Governor of the Tanty, reached for his Dried Frog Pills with an unsteady hand.
"Well, actually" he said, taking an indiscriminate handful, "I've got my officers supervising the slopping-out of cells right now. After the prisoners have had breakfast, I'm putting them on lock-down until you people have done what you have to, and the body has been removed."
There was a knock at the door.
"Enter!"
A senior prison officer entered. Looking at him, Joan assessed that his state of personal presentation was a jolly sight better than most. Well scrubbed, uniform clean and pressed, armour and helmet brightly polished, he was an alert, good-looking chap in his middle thirties. Joan immediately approved of him.
"This is Mr Bellamy, one of my senior officers. He'll escort you to the murder scene."
"Follow me, ladies. I advise you not to linger, as we'll be walking through the maximum security wing. It's an experience you may not find pleasant".
"Do murders happen often in prison, Mr Bellamy?" Alice asked.
The officer considered before replying. As they walked down a gloomy unwindowed stone corridor, he said
"Well, the strange thing is, people on the outside think that just because we're dealing with a community of criminals and the lawless, things like this happen inside all the time. I'd personally be prepared to lay bets that in its way, within these walls we've got possibly the most law-abiding community in the City. Relatively trivial crimes like theft do happen among the prisoners; but not very often, and they're usually carried out by newly-arrived inmates who don't know the Code yet. After a thief has been caught and had his fingers crushed by a slamming cell door – we employ an Igor in the infirmary, these days, by the way – the rest get the idea and refrain. I believe the criminals have their own Code of Conduct, and because it's their law, one they agree on and choose to live by, it makes for a remarkably trouble-free environment.
"Oh, there's still an element of bullying – weaker prisoners can be exploited by stronger ones – and as in every prison, the nonces, that is, sex offenders, police informers, and any Watchmen or prison guards who fall from grace and break the law, are utterly loathed and outside the Code. Unfortunately, my predecessor in office, Mr Bellyster, is currently serving a sentence here for negligence and for aiding and abetting an escape."
In response to an unanswered question, Mr Bellamy shook his head slightly and said
"Twenty-three. It causes us a lot of extra work, to be honest, as Mr Bellyster didn't exactly go out of his way to win the sympathy of the prisoners. Now they're all out to get him. It's understandable, really, but we're still hoping the Patrician will consent to his serving the balance of his sentence somewhere else."
He paused, then said in a low concerned voice: "Apart from er, nonces, which when they happen are termed suicides by the Watch, actual random motiveless murder, as such, very rarely happens in prison. When it does, it tends to unsettle the prisoners and it makes management difficult. Everyone gets paranoid and wonders if they're next. If you can resolve this, you're doing us all a favour."
They arrived at a locked and barred metal gate, where a warden stood forward and conferred with Bellamy in a low voice. Bellamy shook his head.
"No, Not a good idea. These ladies are from the Assassins' Guild, so can we take it as very possibly yes, they are carrying weapons? No point in searching them, or insulting them by asking them to give up their weapons, especially as I'm sure they'll give their word of honour not to use them. Ladies?"
"I don't see anybody on a contract!" said Joan.
"Right of self-defence excluded, of course!" said Alice.
Bellamy nodded. Joan felt herself liking him more.
"Now we've sorted that out, ladies, I should warn you that the murder site is at the end of this corridor. To get there you have to pass a lot of lifers with nothing to lose. Some people might find it intimidating."
She noted Bellamy had loosened his truncheon in its sheath. He nodded to the gate guard, then they were through. A barrage of noise, jeering, and barracking met them as they passed through. Solid black-painted cell doors were to the left and right of them, punctuating the plastered and whitewashed corridor wall. Each door had a single barred window at roughly face-height. While Joan and Alice were looking resolutely ahead, it was obvious to them that there was a prisoner hanging into each window, watching, hungry-eyed, devouring, as the two women walked past.
Joan nudged Mr Bellamy.
"Why is that door over there painted red when all the rest are black?"
The warder's eyes narrowed.
"Mr Jagger. A long-term lifer. He claimed, and got, special privileges. Don't you worry, ma'am, the moment he goes, that door gets painted black!"(5)
Alice wanted to hurry things along: she didn't class herself as psychic by any means, but she sensed a certain kind of darkness in the men staring hungrily at them. She also didn't like some of the remarks that were being shouted, and her fingers itched.
"Here we are, ladies"
They turned a corner.
Corporal Nobby Nobbs of the Watch leapt from full-slouch to near-attention as they approached, hurriedly concealing a dog-end behind his ear. A voice from an adjacent cell indignantly called
"'Ere! Nobby! You said I could have second divs on that smoke!"
"Shutupshutupshutupshutup!" Nobby hissed.
"Ready for you now, sirs, ma'ams!"
"Stand at ease, Corporal" said Bellamy, affably. Joan dug up from a long-ago memory that a senior prison officer's rank was roughly equivalent to that of a Watch senior sergeant's. There's talk of the Prison Service being absorbed into the Watch and given to Vimes, she thought. Honourable retirement for Sir Martin, and the Mr Bellamys are given the authority they deserve. Damn good idea.
"Oh, and give Prisoner Glenister that cigarette. The one I haven't seen."
"You're a toff, Mr Bellamy!" said the unseen voice, whose hand fluttered out of the cell door's window.
"And di you…er… you know?" Nobby asked Bellamy. The prison officer sighed and handed over a pass. Joan craned her neck and read it. It was dated for today, signed by Bellamy, and the text read:-
I confirm the holder of this permit, Corporal C St. J Wormsborough Nobbs, is categorically not a prisoner attempting to escape. He is in fact visiting the Tanty legitimately, and is free to come and go at any time, at the discretion of his Commanding Officer.
She smiled. Some things did not change, then.
Bellamy coughed, to attract attention.
"The prisoner assigned to this cell was booked in yesterday at five pm, and was in good health when checked at lights out. But was found dead at first check, at six this morning. "
Joan raised a hand.
"Nothing more, please. At least, not yet. I want to form a completely free impression before asking for specifics."
Bellamy knocked. A voice said "I'm just about finished now. You may enter".
The door creaked open. Joan and Alice took in the scene. Bare walls, plastered and whitewashed. The usual prisoner graffiti and score-tallying. A barred window, two thirds of the way up the wall, otherwise open to the sky. A stool. A bare wooden table, where there was a tray and the remains of a meal. A bare stone floor, with fragments of the prisoner's bedding strewn on it. She forced herself to look over. The bed was nothing more than a shallow wooden box on four legs, with the standard office beneath it. As far as she could tell, the box was designed to accommodate a layer of straw, no more than two or three inches deep, that the prisoner slept on.
And the prisoner herself. Mouth open in a final rictus, the skin of her face and throat having gone a distinct blue-green colour, the aspect of one fighting for a last breath that would never come. Ever though rigor mortis and gravity had pooled the blood in the lower part of her body, leaving the upper part un-naturally pallid, there was no doubt that death had come reasonably quickly, if not easily.
Joan blinked.
The prisoner herself?
"Mr Brown, this is a woman."
"Well spotted!" said the QCIC Assassin. "I can see your forensic skills are going to be of considerable help in this investigation".
Joan bit back an acid retort.
"By that, I mean that we are looking for a female serial killer who only targets men. Surely the fact that the victim in this case is a woman means we're wasting our time and resources with this one? The whole modus operandum of the Marriage Guidance Counsellor was to defend women and children by killing predatory, abusive and violent males! I should know! Anyone who has adopted that persona from the original MCG will no doubt be following in her footsteps by targeting men only!"
"Miss Sanderson-Reeves? " said a small, anxious, diffident voice. "I was ordered to give you every assistance on this investigation. Can I fill you in as to why this woman was arrested yesterday? She was taken to a remand cell at the Tanty only because Watch accommodation was full up."
Joan looked down into a small, worried, bearded face.
"Sergeant Littlebottom, isn't it? I've heard some jolly good things said about you. Okay, please tell me."
Cheery explained: that Volentia Gregoric had been a nursery nurse who had gone to the bad, and at the instigation of a male who was also in Watch custody, she had taken indecent and progressively more disgusting iconographs of children in her care, using bribes and threats to ensure their compliance. It was believed they made an illicit living selling the pictures on to fellow "collectors", and the Watch, along with investigators from the Seamstresses' Guild, (6) was even now chasing them down.
"The ironic thing was, the Agony Aunts thought at first it was a case of a man getting Guild members to pose for, er, "artistic iconographs". Which is allowed, as part of the normal range of commercial transactions possible between a Seamstress and her client. The usual arrangement is that any iconographs are, er, for personal use only. However, if the iconographs are copied and resold, the Guild gets a percentage of the resale fee. The Aunts thought he was selling pictures on without paying a Guild copyright fee, so they went to him and had a quiet word, as they do. They of course confiscated the iconograph machines and a bag of completed prints. Then when they took a look at the sort of pictures they'd been used to take… well, they called the Watch."
"And this man. He's safe and well?"
"Igor patched him up, to a point where he can stand trial. He's in a secure Watch cell at Cable Street and still breathing. He's under a doubled guard, now his accomplice has been found dead!"
Joan nodded.
"But this disgusting specimen here. She's dead. While I concede the world is marginally cleaner for that, and nobody's going to cry much over her, somebody killed her."
"And how did they kill her?" mused Alice. "And how did they get it into prison?"
"Well, what I see is consistent with poison, orally administered, acting on the respiratory system." said Joan. "Prussic Acid, cyanides, have this effect."
While they spoke, the Watch Igor and several Watchmen arrived with a covereable gurney to collect the body.
"She's going to the Watch mortuary now and then to post-mortem" said Cheery. "Post-mortem is Igor's department. Do you want to be present?"
Joan watched the corpse transferred to the gurney. She sighed.
"I think I'd better be," she said. "I want a damn good look at those lungs and throat for a kick-off. Then to check the blood for signs of cyanides. High levels of blood cyanohaemoglobin is the proof of cynanosis. As an insurance, we'd better collect together what's left of the bread and food and water here and test that for common poisons."
Joan felt her head furiously buzzing with ideas.
"Mr Bellamy, I need to go into who would have been in this cell prior to the client arriving. After the client arrived, who booked her in? Who delivered her? Who had cause to visit this cell? Did she leave it for any reason? What city street does that window open onto? Did she have any links with vampires and banshees? After all, both species have been used to inhume before. And is there any possibility it could have been suicide or even misadventure? We need to rule those out before we go galloping to conclusions."
"Er…. With a need for high security and surveillance of this prisoner, we did have a Gargoyle officer on the wall outside this window all night. She reports hearing nothing untoward inside the cell, and no intrusion from outside it." Mr Bellamy reported.
Joan nodded. Many City institutions employed Gargoyles for exterior security. It made sense.
"We'll have to sit down and go through the rest, Mr Bellamy. I want to leave no stone unturned."
"I gave a full report and personal statement to the Watch. Perhaps we could review that and if there are any gaps, we could fill them?" Mr Bellamy asked. Joan nodded.
Meanwhile, as the body was taken from the cell and the noise in the corridor faltered, as the other prisoners realised that random death in the night might happen to them too, Alice leant over the rough bedding, pressed down as it had been by the weight of the sleeping, now dead, woman. It looked like ordinary straw, dried summer hay. Some of it had gone to flowering heads. Alice recognised the corn-like grass seeds, and ignored them. She also noted the hay appeared to have been gathered in a summer field somewhere, perhaps farmland outside the City. There were occasional dried and preserved flower heads in there, as well as other plants she couldn't identify. But something didn't feel right.
She called Cheery over, who took a look at the plant matter with her.
"The problem is, I grew up two miles underground where there aren't many flowering plants. So I don't know whether this is common or not, to tell you the truth. But these little dark blue flowers do look fresher and newer than the rest, now you come to mention it."
"I grew up in the countryside near Quirm. But even so, I never paid it too much attention, either. I could tell you which mushrooms are safe to harvest and eat, and which are best eaten by other people after you've harvested them with care, and a few plants that become more edible after a week in the wilderness, but that's it."
"We really, really, need a botanist on the strength." Cheery said.
"I think I might know somebody who could help" Joan said. "If you've got any sample bags spare, fill them up. Oh – and use gloves, girls? Don't contaminate the evidence! Sergeant Littlebottom, could you call in at the Guild for half an hour or so? The man I've got in mind might be useful here!"
Joan, Alice, and a very nervous Cheery, paused outside Mr Mericet's Poisons lab.
"Enter!"
"Ah, you're taking a class, Mr Mericet. Should we call back later?" Joan said, diffidently.
He smiled, seemingly genuinely happy. Although, as Alice reflected, it was hard to tell.
"No, these are upper-sixth formers, Miss Sanderson-Reeves. Advanced students. They can be trusted to get on with it."
Mr Mericet led them into a private ante-room behind the main classroom.
"Humphrey, I'm so very pleased you offered me your help in a current dilemma!" she said. Alice made herself look out of the window in studied poker-faced abstraction. Humphrey!
She quickly explained the situation.
"And you're far and away the most expert authority I know on plant-derived poisons. I was wondering if you could be of assistance and identify the plants in this sample bag? It may be the case that none are poisonous and I'm barking up the wrong tree. But at least with your expert help we'll have eliminated a line of enquiry. And I'd be so grateful to you!"
Flattered, Mericet said he'd do what he could, Joan. He then shook the hand of the "redoubtable Sergeant Littlebottom. I've heard so much about your skill as an alchemist. It's a pleasure to assist the Watch in their inquiries, ha ha.."
He then took the samples out into the big lab, to begin a series of analyses. The connecting door closed behind him.
"Humphrey?" Alice asked, pointedly, still slightly off-balance at seeing Joan playing easy to get. "And coquettish doesn't suit you! Nor does that I'm just a silly little girlie who doesn't know about these things, so can the big clever man help me act!"
"I trained with Emmanuelle, m'dear, and so did you, remember. Her approach to life has some good lessons for us all!"
Alice sighed. Emmanuelle Lapoignard Les Deux-Epees's ability to twist men around her little finger, or indeed other interestingly formed parts of her anatomy, was legendary. She changed the topic.
"Did you get a copy of the Watch statement on Bellamy?" Alice asked.
"Got it here. What did you make of him?"
"Certainly good at his job. Not lenient to the prisoners, but fair and consistent. He certainly has their respect, and that must go a long way!"
"So we can rule him out as the killer, then. According to his word, supported by checking prison records and interviewing others for confirmation, that cell sat empty for a week prior to the Gregoric woman being admitted. Bellamy says he personally supervised two women prisoners in filling a sack with bedding and taking it to the cell. The only interruption was when Bellamy's wife called by to deliver his evening meal, that she'd prepared herself. As she's known and trusted by the staff, and also the cons know she's the wife of a respected officer, she was allowed to make her own way to the feed and bedding stores to take his evening sandwiches there. But at no point did she go near the cell or the prisoner. So discount Mrs Bellamy, for now.
"The bedding was transferred to the cell under Bellamy's personal watch. The two prisoners carrying it were not allowed contact with the criminal and nothing other than the bedding material was left or changed hands. Bellamy, being an experienced officer, was looking for this. The cell was then locked and placed under strict security, with a warden on patrol outside and a gargoyle deployed to the window. Both of whom check out as straight.
"Food and water was likewise brought to the cell by another officer, also checking out as straight. It was promptly delivered and the door locked again. The prisoner was periodically observed to be alive and breathing up until lights-out. Nothing of report then happened until the body was discovered in the early hours of this morning."
"Bellamy's hiding something!" Alice mused. "He's not telling any lies, but he hasn't told all he knows, or suspects, either. No evidence, Joan. That's just a feeling. I'll sit on it, until it jogs any other thoughts".
Joan added "And the accomplice in Watch custody, who you would have thought was also a prime target, remains untouched. Maybe the killer physically cannot get inside a Watch house."
"But can get inside the prison!" Alice completed. "Meaning he or she is either a prisoner or on the staff, possibly in collusion with person or persons inside. Somebody with freedom of movement to get around the building un-noticed or un-remarked. "
"Hmm. Maybe we should be looking at trusties. The prisoners who are entrusted with routine jobs, such as swabbing corridors, taking meal trollies to prisoners on lock-down or Death Row, the ones you see moving around the prison on various errands. At least two passed us, completely unremarked, when Bellamy was leading us to the cell."
Mericet reappeared, looking smug.
He carried a large volume , which contained artistic plates of Common And Uncommon Toxic Plants Of The Central Continent And Discworld Temperate Zone.
"Joan, I believe I've solved your problem." He said, opening up the book.
"The culprit is this little fellow here. The Flowering Prussic Blue, of Überwald. The dark Prussic Blue of the petals and stamen – and indeed of the pollen – is due to its high hydrocyanotic content. Mixed in with other plants in the straw given to prisoners to sleep on, it would go un-noticed and unremarked. But enough of the plant, near to the sleeper's face, would convey enough toxic pollen to bring about death by cyanosis. And the dead flowers would most likely be swept up and burnt, unremarked upon, with the old bedding, in the prison incinerator."
Mericet smiled, proud of himself.
Alice ventured a question.
"Does it grow locally, Mr Mericet, and therefore could its presence in straw be seen as accidental? Making this, possibly, a case of misadventure?"
Mericet shook his head.
"Hardly, Miss Band. It only grows naturally in Überwald, in mountain meadows over six thousand feet above sea level. Even there, it's viewed as a pest, as it can poison cows, horses and even goats grazing on it during the summer months. For such fresh blooms to be found in Ankh-Morpork - in March - suggests it's been deliberately cultivated, in a greenhouse or other forced system. Normally, this plant flowers in May and June. The only possible conclusion is that it was deliberately introduced into the prisoner's bedding. A truly elegant and stylish amateur inhumation! I should like to meet this person, Joan, when you bring about her arrest. And…"
He paused, suddenly less sure of himself.
"Dinner, next Wednesday?"
"Always a delight, Humphrey!" Joan said, smiling. "And can Sergeant Littlebottom here take a scan of this page for her files? Thank you so much!"
"We really need a botanist!" said Cheery. "I would have missed all that!"
(1) Note the Assassins' sense of priorities when getting ready to face the challenges of a new day. Which is not to say that you can safely surprise a lady Assassin in her bath or at her toilette. They tend to get rather intense at uninvited intrusions on their privacy, and there is always a weapon to hand to express dissatisfaction with.
(2) But should the Thieves' Guild have attempted to hijack it, hold it up, steal it or otherwise sought to inconvenience its owners, there were a lot of hidden features, such as concealed one-shot and other types of crossbow hidden in the superstructure, or a driver's seat that turned into an ejector seat if the wrong bottom sat on it, thus projecting the hijacker head-first into parabolic contact with the unyielding road surface.
(3) Amorine was the code-name for a halogen- based British nerve gas created at the ultra-secret Porton Down base. There is truly no shortage of appropriate first names for Maccalariats out there.
(4) Perhaps a note on terminology. In Great Britain, a prison is run by a State appointedGovernor. He then employs a staff of warders/wardens who are the rank-and-file prison officers who run the place and see to discipline. This might cause a little confusion with accepted United States usage: where the Warden is the governor and employs prison officers and guards to do the Shawshank Redemption or Cool Hand Luke casual brutality stuff. (Hmm. Ideas.)
(5) I know. It sneaked up on me as I typed. Irresistible. Down the hall there could have been a prisoner called Clapton, or perhaps Baker, behind a White Door in a White Room… or Inmate Stevens, S, contemplating a Green Door from the wrong side…
(6) Because of long-standing demarcation agreements, the Seamstresses' Guild had more practice in investigating the sort of cases that, in other jurisdictions, had to do with Vice. But with a declared City interest, it allowed the Watch to join in and add its expertise to the hunt.
There is a current rather stomach-turning law case in Britain (Oct 09) concerning nursery nurses who took photos of their charges for distribution through a paedophile ring. Anyone interested in background, Google on the nauseating case of "Vanessa George". I have used the bare bones of the case for convenience here.
