Another Hogswatch in Ankh-Morpork. More little glimpses into the lives of its people as they go about the business of the holiday… where a family gets together in December, there will be lawyers in January…
Mr Slant nodded benevolently in the direction of his principal clerk, Mr Henry Lawsy. Lawsy's long thin figure was sitting in the clerk's high chair, making the final few entries in the legal ledger, his hands partially protected against the chill in the outer office by the fingerless gloves he was wearing.
Although Mr Slant needed no warmth and was notably cautious in the presence of naked flames – they mixed only too well with formaldehyde – he was sympathetic to Lawsy's discomfort and made a mental note to raise it with the coalman that there had been no delivery that day. Lawsy was a loyal employee and had volunteered to be the last man in the office this evening, arguing that as he lived with his elderly mother, who in any case had been invited to Brindisi for the season to stay with a friend there (1), he really didn't have much of a Hogswatch to prepare for, sir. Far better the men with wives and children are excused first.
Reading between the lines, Mr Slant had conferred with his associates Mr Honeyplace and Mr Morecombe, and a Hogswatch gift had been prepared for Henry: tickets to the Opera House, followed by a reserved place at one of the best restaurants, and (should he wish to take advantage of it) a Seamstresses' Guild seasonal token(2) made out to the bearer for an appreciably high value. He can always trade it in for its cash value, less Seamstresses' Guild tax, and no-one will think the worse of him Slant thought.
Slant was a surprisingly generous employer to his staff. He knew to reward loyalty, and Lawsy was loyal. A merely human legal junior working for a zombie and two vampires was never likely to gain promotion on the "dead mans' shoes" principle, and might never get to be a partner, but was happy enough to remain relatively lowly for the experience of working for the best legal practice in the City.
Slant noted it was coming close to seven o'clock. Even though the Law worked late and some parts of it never closed, it was unlikely there would be more business coming in through the door.
"Any more appointments, Mr Lawsy?"
Slant thought he heard Lawsy beginning to say "No, sir…" and then the air went heavy and confusing for a second. Slant's head spun as if something were unravelling. A blur moved in the air.
"And how is Tiny Tim, Mr Cratchett?" Slant found himself saying, strange words that had intruded from somewhere. He shook his head.
Lawsy looked puzzled for a second, then said, "Oh, I beg pardon, sir. It says here, seven pee-emm, you have a late appointment with Susan, Duchess of StoHelit." But it's not in my handwriting? Whose is this heavy old-school copperplate?
Mr Slant shook off the momentary annoyance. This was nobility. Who were good for business and could, in the main, pay his fees without flinching. Worth staying open for.
"Then show her ladyship in, Mr Lawsy."
"No need. I am here."
She was sitting on the edge of Slant's desk. Her legs crossed with a hint of silken swish. Her clothes suggested a very strict late-night nanny and held a hint of menace for those alert enough to recognise the signs.
"Then how may we help you, my lady?"
"My grandfather has run into some trouble dating from an ill-advised visit to Klatch some years ago. I need a good lawyer. The best. One who can get him out of trouble with the minimum of fuss and delay. How good are you at Klatchian law, Mr Slant? And military law?"
Slant tried not to show discomfort at her deep penetrating glare. As a zombie, he was no slouch at penetrating stares himself, as he'd directed enough of them at the judge, the opposing counsel and even at a recalcitrant jury to win cases. However, this one earned prizes, in his book, for strength and fury.
"Military law, madam, is on the whole simple and stripped down to its essentials. It has to be so, as it is down to soldiers to understand and apply it. And they are very simple people. Oh, all armies have their legal departments to run and co-ordinate things. But I recall from law school that only the less, ah, intellectual, candidates in my year were advised to join the Armed Forces. These were seen as a haven for less, ah, strong candidates."
"So if you were asked to defend a client facing a court-martial for desertion, you are confident that you could get him off?"
"Please speak to me of your grandfather and the circumstances." Slant invited her.
Susan gave him a substantially accurate version of Grandfather's local difficulty, leaving out that he was Death , as people tended to have a problem with that, and in any case she didn't want to disclose this to Slant until it was time to discuss the fee. She wanted a bargaining counter.
"I see." Slant said. "He frequently visits Klatchian soil on business, and recently had a task to perform at the Embassy. Here, a member of the Foreign Legion gate guard recognised him as a deserter and arrested him. He joined the Legion some years ago in a moment of madness, at a time when this city was indeed afflicted by madness relating to Music with Rocks In. He soon realised it was no life for him, and deserted after five days. He remains in detention in the Embassy compound and the court-martial is set for three tomorrow afternoon. Yes, I believe I can get him acquitted. My initial fee will be…"
"Pro bono" Susan said, hurriedly.
Slant raised an eyebrow.
"PRO BONO!" she repeated, in a commanding voice.
"I NEVER TOLD YOU WHAT MY GRANDFATHER DOES BY WAY OF WHAT LIVING PEOPLE CALL "A LIVING",DID I?"
"Now I come to reflect" Mr Slant said, trying not to sound shaken, "there was talk about the Duchess of Sto Helit having a family secret. Something runs in your family, does it not?"
"WITH MY GRANDFATHER TEMPORARILY INDISPOSED, MR SLANT, IT IS MY FATE TO COVER THE DUTY"
Her hair stood out in all directions, like the negative of a dandelion clock, and the scythe of Duty had flown into her hands.
"GRANDFATHER PASSED YOU OVER SEVERAL HUNDRED YEARS AGO. ALL ZOMBIES HAVE A CERTAIN ARRANGEMENT WITH HIM. THE RULES SAY I ALSO HAVE TO HONOUR SUCH…DEFERMENTS. BUT YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE AND WHEN THAT DEFERMENT WILL END AND HE – OR HIS APPOINTED REPRESENTATIVE – MIGHT CALL FOR YOU."
Mr Slant nodded, unable to speak. As a Zombie, he knew Undead status was only provisional and depended. in many respects, on Death's good graces. Susan clicked the handle and the scythe blade extended. Slant's eyes widened. How did this new Death view him? Young, female, largely unknown? Was she bound by the unspoken bargain he had with her grandfather? Mr Slant had to admit it to himself - he was afraid. It was a new emotion.
"I BELIEVE GRANDFATHER HAS SOME FREEDOM OF ACTION CONCERNING EXTENDED LIFE. HE WILL BE GRATEFUL FOR YOUR HELP. AND WHAT YOU DO NOW PRO BONO ALLOWS YOU, WHO KNOWS, SEVERAL HUNDRED YEARS MORE, TO DO AS YOU WILL AND MAKE THE WHOLE OF THE LAW. LOOK UPON IT AS BEING PAID IN A RESOURCE MORE VALUABLE THAN MERE MONEY. "
Mr Slant nodded again.
"I will act for your grandfather" he said. "You make a very persuasive case for my working pro bono."
"Thank you, mr Slant!" Susan said, human and female again, the scythe having dropped back into its own dimension.
They shook hands.
"Now if you excuse me, I have other duties to perform."
"Oh. Yes."
"But not here. Not for some time, Mr Slant, if we all stay friends!"
"I'll go and talk to the Klatchians" the old lawyer declared. "Mr Lawsy, prepare a letter, if you will…"
She had a quarter-pound of Weinrich and Boettcher's best in her bag. Once mounted on Binky and climbing above the city, she allowed herself one. Strawberry. Lovely, a taste of late summer. She looked Hubwards. A blizzard was raging in the lower hills. It was tinged with green and yellow fire. Some magical component? Ah well, I'll find out if anyone dies there and I have to call for them. Till then, somebody else's problem Quite a few lives, too, but nobody in immediate danger.
(1) See Maskerade for details of Henry and his dear old mum – and dad
(2) Well, on some worlds there are only book tokens. Think a few letters of the alphabet further along for Rosie Palm's latest innovation…