There were a fair few advantages to being Death's granddaughter. One was that she was still very aware of what was going on, even when she was unconscious. She was more aware than anyone most of the time anyway. Usually all that meant was she'd catch a glimpse of a tooth fairy hanging around during a bar fight every so often.

What it meant now was she could see the dark cloaked men emerge from the shadows and tie her up. With a long piece of rope, they tied up her arms and legs, and then they gagged her. And then a body bag, which they padlocked. And chains around that. And then another body bag. They clearly weren't taking any risks- Susan couldn't blame them, she'd have done the same thing.

Then the men lifted the twisted ball of rope and chains between them and walked it outside. Susan could sense the unconscious bodies of her colleagues, propped up in cupboards discretely out of the way. They'd swept through the school cleanly, taking the path of least resistance with almost certainly supernatural efficiency and, most inconceivable of all, they'd caught her off guard. It took a lot of training to do that.

Which must mean they're Vetinari's men.

And sure enough, the men left the building and shuffled noiselessly towards a midnight carriage. A door opened and they unceremoniously threw her in. They probably didn't want her hurt too badly, as the many layers of sacks cushioned the impact. If they wanted her hurt, well, she was glad she didn't have too much of an imagination, but she couldn't say the same for the Patrician's men.*

She heard the crack of a whip, (or rather, she sensed it) and the carriage moved. The carriage's driver was after all a dark clerk, and therefore not one to expose themselves through loud cracking whips. No one was quite sure how, but Vetinari had long ago found a way to make a soundless whip. She reasoned this meant less energy was wasted as sound, so it could all be focused on inflicting pain.

The ride itself was as smooth as a tyrant would be accustomed to. Susan hadn't had as smooth a ride since Binky, and to pass the time, she set about trying to figure out how exactly Vetinari achieved this. She reminded herself of Bobby Joist, a fellow teacher, famed for his D.I.Y. attitude*. He'd once told her of a new idea that the Artificers' Guild were getting excited about which absorbed impacts to make journeys smoother. It wasn't exactly magic, although sometimes, he said, the ride went really too smoothly. Suspiciously smoothly.

He said it was called suspense. She could see why.

They were still driving, so Susan set herself a new challenge. All the prime numbers up to a hundred… Now a thousand… Seriously? Were they not there yet? Fine. Ten thousand… Ugh.

She liked numbers. Or, at least, she appreciated their existence. You could tell what was coming next with numbers, or at least, with enough information, you could figure it out. It astounded her, not for the first time, that somehow humankind had invented a logical, foolproof way to figure out their universe and yet very few of them paid any attention at all to it. She suspected Vetinari did though. He probably made it his job to know.

The carriage stopped. The driver dismounted and walked until Susan could no longer sense them. It wasn't that the driver was far away. She wasn't sure what it was. Maybe the driver had gone somewhere with some strong magical interference, or maybe they just knew how to hide from her. She challenged herself to think how the latter was possible, but it wasn't exactly as simple as high mathematics.

The door to the carriage eased open, again, silently. And suddenly, in front of her, the driver's presence was back. At least, it felt like the driver, except for something she couldn't quite put her finger on. It hurt to even try.

She heard herself give a small cry of pain. She was awake again, but the body bag she was in still kept everything pitch black. The driver heard too, and gestured for the four clerks to leave. The faintest of taps on the wooden floor told her they were following those orders. The door closed. And the driver raised a knife.

Susan tried to squirm, or curl herself away, but the bags and the chains were keeping her perfectly still. Although she was suddenly very aware that even though her body was covered in chains and ropes from head to foot, there was one uncovered spot right where her heart was.

The knife came down in a slash.

And the bag split. In fact, do did the chains. All Susan's bonds were sliced open in a flawless straight line. It didn't make it any brighter, because the inside of the Patrician's carriage was the same shade of black as the outside, and if it wasn't for her ABILITIES, she'd still be blinded by the night. As it was, she could only see an onyx cloak, and coming out of it, an obsidian glove, sheathing a midnight blade.*

Click.

A dull roar grew and grew. Suddenly there was a fire on the street and a light inside the carriage. A glaring red thinned the shadows and separated the shades. A black goatee stood out against the flickering red light the fire cast.

Gloved hands pulled down the hood and the Patrician stared back at her.

"Hello, my dear."

"Pleausszz…" She stopped. Her lips were still numb from the sedative. Ahem. "Pleasss don't call me 'my dear'." She glared.

"Would you prefer 'my prisoner'?" He replied, raising an eyebrow.

"I think it's fairly obvious I don't." Two could play at the eyebrow game.

"Maybe you'd prefer your name, Susan Sto Helit?"

She'd be shocked he knew her name if it wasn't so logical. If you're going to kidnap someone, you should know who they are first.

"Okay, now why am I here?"

"Before I tell you that; let me tell you a little bit about a hobby of mine."

"Is this going to be one of those talks?"

"A Duchess like yourself is no doubt familiar with the art of heraldry," He didn't even pause. "Important lineages aggrandising themselves through coats of arms and the like?"

"Like that one?" She asked, coyly, pointing to the black shield hanging above his head. She hoped she'd hidden her facial tic when he'd mentioned lineages. Surely he couldn't know?

"Your family motto caught my eye: Non Timetis Messor…"

Yes, he knew.

"Now, in studying heraldry," he continued "one must also study said families."

"You know about my grandfather?" She said, trying to sound unimpressed.

"Technically I know about all three, if you include your biological grandfathers, but I suspect you know which one I'm interested in."

"Oh dear, you're not hiring me because my grand-dad is famous, are you? I thought we'd got rid of nepotism." She tried to keep calm, keep laughing, but all the while she could feel her hair getting bushier by the second.

"Ah-ha." He laughed humourlessly. "Well, to put it gently, let's say I want a word with him."

"That's big talk for someone who drives his own cab." She smirked. "I mean, surely you have people for that? Say… four people whose skills include kidnapping and mixing sedatives?"

"Ah, your welcome party. My apologies. I fear they were necessary, as I couldn't be certain how you'd respond to what I'm about to say."

She couldn't help but notice how he'd completely avoided the question.

"And what are you about to say?" Her voice was bubbling with anger and in danger of becoming CAPITALISED.

Vetinari manipulated his fingers into a conspiratorial tent and paused…

"I'm declaring a War on Death."


*Actually, of the four kidnappers, two were female, three had only immigrated to Ankh Morpork recently, and only one was technically alive. With their faces uncovered, you might even mistake them for the cover of a university prospectus.

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* Susan: "Would you have a look at the lock on this door? It's jammed."

Joist: "Do it yourself."

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*After visiting Death's house, you had to learn to differentiate different shades of black. Susan used synonyms.