Weeks had passed, the old rythm settling in. The only thing that remained from last Hogswatch, was memories. Lyra had remained carefully out of sight; the only signs of life she left were receipts, which meant that she was still working and, presumably, in good condition.
Jonathan Teatime had recovered amazingly well and enjoyed his job to the fullest. No one got in his way and lived, everything was pretty much back to normal.
Well, almost everything. Lyra had probably thought best to leave him alone for a while because she was afraid to be a burden. That was her style; she did what was needed of her and went straight back into the shadows, quick and efficient. Unfortunately, this time she had left traces.
He had constructed a perfect plan to inhume Bilious and even written it down somewhere, just in case. It had been a funny challenge, with a keg of liquor and a llama in it, too. He was ever so satisfied with his work, now upgrading his performances by terminating the victim's whole family and set them together to form polygons. He had even managed to make pyramids he was very proud of... yet something always felt unfinished. There was something he felt he had to do; he knew what it was and simply couldn't resist postponing it.
Lord Downey's words were nagging him. Take her out some evening. Whether that was an order or an advice, it was sensible, simple, and bloody impossible. He could see the logical scheme behind all that, but just couldn't get himself to even send her a written invitation. He didn't know where to do that either. Some posh and despicable hole like le Foie Heureux? Somewhere simple and almost edible such as Georgio's pizza place? Or maybe he just ought to let Lyra choose?
This was a horribly complex problem to deal with. Whenever he tried to get over it and engage contact with that girl, he felt stupid or irrational and pulled the brakes, then he felt frustrated and went to the Shades to kill a man or two. If this went on, for the first time in its history, Ankh Morpork would stop being overcrowded and he's get a medal for ending the city's population issues.
Sometimes, on his way back to the Guild at night, he would glance up at the attic she owned. There were some evenings when she would, at some point, pass by a small side window, open it to let her cat in, then have a cup of tea; the whole process looked like some sort of ritual, always well calculated, in the same order, cat comes back with dead mouse, window opens, cat gets patted and let in, window closes, kettle smokes. He made sure she couldn't spot him, but most of the time there was no sign of her presence; her room seemed empty at the Guild. It was as if she didn't want him to see her.
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***********o****************
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One night though, five young people knocked at the Guild's gates, asking to meet her. Teatime was currently reading a book about necromancy in one of the manor's many sitting rooms and boudoirs, the one nearest to the main hall and the library. He was looking for some plausible way to revive somebody, in the hope that it would help him clarify his rebirth, in case it was needed again.
Carter ushered them into the room where he was, disturbing his quiet little universe. There were three men and two women, all dressed as well as they could afford.
One lady was obviously a seamstress, her round face surrounded by long brownish hair. She was wearing a greyish dress, with a corset that enhanced her already imposing arguments. The other one seemed much richer and had an ancient haughtiness to her; straight black hair, dead-white skin and fangs gave enough hints about her nature. Apparently the dead were never cold, considering the few square-centimeters of black leather covering her.
Among the men, he recognized the stance of a thief with a clean shirt, which meant that he considered this an important occasion. The other two... well, they had done their best, for alchemists. They had put on their least burnt outfits and their coats had almost complete sleeves. One of them had put a hat on, possibly to cover some acid-eaten skull.
They all seemed to know each other quite well, despite their various origins. They were all standing there, waiting, doing small talk, taking news of each other. Five heads jerked up as the wooden door opened and they all fell silent.
Lyra's head peered into the room, then she insinuated herself in. There were a couple of seconds where everything stood still. She had that effect on people when she took care of her looks; it took a bit of time for their minds to adjust to her, to accept that their eyes were not fooling them.
She had rouged her lips and put a bit more black around her eyes than usual. Most of her hair was tightened in a bun, but she lad let a few strands out, parting her bright red mane on the left, as always, for the sake of asymmetry. She had a slinky long dress, tied behind her neck, with an outrageous plunging neckline. Her right leg was intentionally uncovered, to reveal her favourite thigh-high boots. She would have been plainly indecent, had she not a small chain running across her chest to hold the tissue together.
She was, all in all, terminally beautiful, with that innocent look in her dark, star-filled blue eyes and that small ruby dangling from a black collar. There was nothing to alter. This was a sight a man would damn himself to all hells to see again.
During a split second, she crossed Teatime's stare. The book lay in his lap, dropped by his suddenly paralysed hands. As she smiled gently at him, he saw a shooting stat passing by.
The spell was broken by a general movement among the group. They clustered around her, seemingly happy. Lyra was hugged, kissed on the cheek by the seamstress, on the hands by the men.
Once she stopped laughing and asked what they were all doing here, they said that she hadn't come to the Mended Drum since Hogswatch, that they were missing her and wondering what had happened, after a while, so they had gotten tired of waiting and decided to come and get her.
« You know you need to go out a bit from time to time, Lyra, the seamstress said. What happened to you anyway? You had us worried.
- I'm sorry, Myriam, I really am. I just had a minute or two when Carter told me you guys were there. I'm probably not even suitable...
- Whatever girl, you've never looked better, said the thief, as he took her hand and spun her around. Now we're all here and you're gonna drink yourself to death tonight. Well, that would be, if booze ever did anything to you. How you stand a keg of whiskey and still walk straight, I wonder. We promised, remember?
- Indeed, remember the oath. We might have sworn it on a playground ages ago, but I'm sure everyone here was very serious about it. We stay friends, we meet at least every two weeks, so's we have each other, if that's the only thing that's left.
- I know, I was planning to meet you all again anyway, but I just had a lot of work lately. You know what? Tonight, it's all on me. Whatever you want, wherever we're going. I've spent too much time saving up and never wasting a penny. You guys armed? Lyra inquired.
- Yup, Alienor has her teeth, Ronnie's pinched a mallet somewhere, Shaun and Billie here have their exploding thingies (you might want to watch em closely) and I got all the love I can give. Where's your weapon? »
Lyra blushed. Apart from a small purse hanging from a fine steel belt, she didn't seem to be carrying a thing.
« It's... they're... well concealed. I'll just need the guys to look at the ceiling if I need to take em out.
- Good girl. Now, as the elder and initial nurse of the group, I declare this party started! said the vampire.
- Alright! But... just... wait a second. »
Lyra turned and advanced towards Teatime, who had miraculously managed to resume his reading. She stopped just before landing on him and put her hands on her hips, giving her colleague a hard time indeed. She snatched the book from his hands, snapped it close and dropped it on a nearby cocktail table.
« You're coming with us, she declared.
- Really? What makes you think that?
- Well, see, Jonathan, right now you have two options. You can either enjoy a fun night with a stiff drink and the six of us, plus, I'm sure someone is going to start a brawl at the Drum, or I have a vampire here who, despite making me want to go lesbian on her, is very hungry. »
He glanced at Alienor, who bared her fangs and hissed. He had the intuition that if Lyra unleashed her friend, she wouldn't just suck his blood out. This was an ancient Uberwaldean vampire, no black-ribboner, one of those creatures who turned you into neat little cubes of meat in a matter of minutes.
Lyra grabbed his wrist and pulled him up, triumphantly.
« Glad you accepted. Now grab a coat and let's get going. »
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********o*****************************
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On the way to the Mended Drum, Jonathan learnt that the rather unusual people he was walking with were friends since childhood. The vampire had been a nurse of some sort, who had decided not to bleed them dry. They stuck together like mussels on driftwood as kids, and had grown up in different directions. It had all started one afternoon on some playground, they were all there and Myriam had a ball but she didn't want to play alone, Alienor was sitting on a bench watching them and Lyra had started talking to her, the same way a rabbit suddenly engages conversation with a fox. The general weirdness, along with having nothing else to do, had linked them together. Hence they had stayed in touch, meeting occasionnally for a drink, preferably at the Drum or at Biers, carefully making sure not to invade each other's life.
Lyra was mainly asking questions about the others; she replied evasively to any inquiries. There seemed to be some line that was not to be crossed, by general agreement.
The Drum was packed, of course, with clients mostly of the scruffy male persuasion. Two trolls outside greeted the newcomers with « Hi Mam Myriam ». Lyra and her friends seemed to be well-known regulars here. As soon as the group stepped in, eyes turned, voices died away. The bartender eyeballed each of them, stopping at the vampire. His arm vanished under the wooden pane.
« Evening William, said Ronnie. Usual table please.
- Aight. Sorry, didn't recognize everyone straight away. Mafia doin' rounds, dontcherknow, gets me all jumpy. I'll get me boy Rufus here to get your orders in a minute. »
Privileged clients, thought Teatime. You don't get to have a waiter for you, not in here, unless they think you're important. Or a table saved up for you, for that matter.
Their spot was impossibly posh, considering the place. It consisted in an undead couch, some tattered armchairs and a clean slump of wood in a corner that overlooked the whole bar, while not letting too much of the guests be seen, for privacy's sake.
Lyra read a small piece of paper from her purse, looked around and put it back into her purse. Of course, she wouldn't completely stop working; it was her nature.
Jonathan was directed to a comfortable space on the old sofa, between Lyra and the seamstress's panoramic breasts. The men ended up seated on the armchairs and the vampire chose to levitate, for some reason. Everyone else in the tavern had resumed their conversation, having decided that the weird bunch in the corner was not too much of a threat at the moment.
Some sort of massive and interestingly perfumed creature reluctantly made his way towards their corner. Lyra flashed a condescending smile.
« Rufus dear, how have you been? Big and strong as ever I see. Do you wash yourself well behind the ears every night?
- Yes Ma'am. Ma'am is still pretty. Pretty red hair. Bin missin' Ma'am.
- Oh, you incredible Dom Juan you. Always knows how to talk to women. Anyway, I'll have a pint of suicider mixed with Klatchian Orakh topped with wow-wow sauce.
- Sugar on the edge?
- Naturally.
- Mefinks the gennelmen will want some Winkles beer, an' Missus Myriam's gunna have a Jimkin whiskey an' we got some beef's blood from this aftanoon for Ma'am's special friend. »
That was a surprisingly long sentence. It seemed to drain most of the energy from Rufus.
« Very good, Ruffie, said Lyra. It baffles me how your memory is so excellent yet you're as clever as a sick squid. Anyway, Jonathan, what're you having?
- What's there to have?
- Whatever you wish for. As long as there's alcohol in it, coz otherwise they're gonna think you're some sort of weirdo who doesn't like ladies. Don't ask, it's a special kind of logic.
- Alright, a glass of brandy will do.
- Oooh yes, that's a good idea! I'll have some too after the cocktail. Make it a bottle, Ruffie. Oh, and I'll have a reasonable mug of Klatchian coffee afterwards. Got some work to do, later. »
Teatime stared at her. She seemed to carry one load of money about her person, if she was going to pay for everything. Maybe that came from the real estate everyone said she had bought off some old, unfortunate clients...
« Are you sure you're gonna be able to walk straight after all that? he asked.
- You watch her, man, said the thief. She's outrun several officers from the Watch at many drinkin' contests. She stands everything, except troll drinks perhaps. Last time we came here that lil' crazy lass sitting daintily next to you drank down the whole stock of Amanita Liquor. An' you know how she reacted?
- Slept it off?
- Took a piss and asked for a cup of tea.
- Now Ronnie, you're exaggerating a bit here. I was a bit tipsy after the fourty-second glass of whiskey.
- Really? It didn't show.
- Seriously. I asked Alienor to bite me. Twice.
- And I wouldn't touch her blood with a ten-foot pole, the vampire muttered. Not with what she puts in it. »
That was understandable. There was scorpion venom in Orakh, and Teatime wasn't sure about the exact contents of suicider. Mostly apples...
The drinks arrived within minutes and the conversation revolved around how every member of every government sucked and it was best to just blow the lot up, with much help from the two alchemists. The undead Assassin spent most of his time listening, slowly sipping a tasty Brandy indeed.
There was a cap over Lyra's glass; when she lifted it to poison herself, a bit of smoke, from the wow-wow sauce, came out and unleashed an eye-burning stench. One drop fell off and dug a small hole in the table. She was in an animated debate about explosives with the Alchemists, insisting that adding a few coffee beans into the basic mix would add a flavour to blowing things up.
Jonathan had to admit that he wasn't having a bad time. He sensed that he was among people who considered him as a friend, in a warm, comfortable spot, with a decent free drink. The Brandy wasn't too strong, he would hold the glass. He didn't dare to look away from the vampire for too long; she was trying to look harmless, delicately sucking the blood out of her glass. Those teeth gave him the creeps, but he wasn't tempted by the blood; hence he deducted that he was quite definitely not that sort of undead. He laid a hand on a pocket to get the reassuring feel of his knife and got elbowed by Myriam. Right, not yet. Wait for a signal. Any signal. Don't start anything, you're too new here.
Lyra's liquid weapon didn't seem to have any visible effects on her, although after a while, there did seem to be more of her, as in she was more confident, filling her allocated space a bit more. It wasn't logically explainable. Some sort of aura was building up around her, it was as if she was radiating something. Had he known about sensuality, he would have sensed that men in quite a large radius were getting a bit raunchy, shooting glances at her and Myriam, graphic conversations drifting about how nice a woman on their laps would be right now. The tide eventually came back and hit the thief.
« Hey girls, still got no boyfriends? he inquired, with a voice suggesting that the beer was a bit too strong for his frail, twig-like body.
- Seamstresses can't afford to fall in love, you know that Ronnie. Alienor?
- We have... rules about that sort of thing, among vampires. We mostly draw pleasure from human blood. Besides, I wouldn't enjoy having a male standing in my way, telling me what to do. Our females don't get taken seriously, everyone thinks we're just interested in bathing in virgins' blood and acting crazy, not to mention undressed.
- Which is...
- Not true at all, as you can see. I have yet to take you to the opera, my friend. Lots of rich people and jewellery to pinch there. Give me my earring back.
- Sorry. How 'bout assassins? You guys also have some weird regulations about that? Is that why you brought your man here Lyra?
-What?
- So's we know he's trustworthy?
- Ronal Christopher McConker, you stop drinking right now. Jonathan is not my... whatever. He's a friend, whom I trust, and a colleague who impresses me by the quality of his work. Very artful, especially with heads. Where's the harm in taking a friend along for a damn drink? Anyway, you should know I'll probably never get meself a proper man, because I freak em all out! Thanks for the reminder anyway. »
She sat back, arms folded – oh dear, and gulped down the rest of her cocktail. A band had settled somewhere and was playing the usual folk songs. Lyra sulked for a few seconds, before apparently spotting someone in the tavern and brightening up.
« Guys, I think now is a good time. » she said, while standing up and double-checking her little paper.
Her irises had turned reddish. She strode across the room, heads turning on her path, then stopped in front of a dodgy-looking man, who looked up at her in bewilderment.
« Marty Troubles from the Shades?
- Who's askin'?
- Enjoying your last drink?
- I won't go down without a fight, miss. Didn't know they had women assassins now. That's mean. Me 'n my lads don't take assassins kindly, yer know.
- Well then, entertain me. »
She took her hairpin off. It was, in fact, a beautifully crafted silver dagger. Expensive, sharpened. She leaned down to be level with his face, while putting a foot on his chair, right against his crotch. The effect of cleavage on the man was amazing; he was pretty much paralysed, staring blankly. Lyra whisped something in his ear, then in a flash, slit his throat. It was neat, quick, good work.
The tavern was silent. That sort of thing happened in there all the time, but usually it wasn't a small woman who performed the service. A dozen men rose, not too sure about this, but one glance at who appeared to be their late boss gave them the push they needed. Duty took over; if it was to be a girl, it would be easier because everyone knew girls were weak and you could do naughty things to them before killing em good.
Teatime watched the scene like a connoisseur enjoys a good wine. It was a show, and this was the first act, when you let tension rise up and people get nervous.
He smiled as Lyra sat on the corpse's lap; blood was slowly pouring out of its throat, but she didn't seem to mind the wetness. She put her uncovered leg upon the other and took two short sabres out of her boots, then rested her elbows on the table and looked at the men around her, with a grin on her face that could have spat venom.
It took about half a second for one of the thugs to launch himself forward. A glint of metal sent his head flying, then the rest of the men closed in on the girl. Teatime wondered whether he should join in the fun, but since everyone else was just having a good time watching the show and a leg landed on Myriam followed by a scream, he simply poured himself another glass. Lyra was pretty much attacking in every direction; for those whom she didn't stab or cut in pieces, she kicked them in the nadgers to deal with them later. She had sharpened her heels apparently, for the men in the second category had blood on their hands as they were clutching their forks. She had turned into some sort of killing machine and was generally quite funny to watch. She fought like a man from the Shades, without honour, using the blades as an extension to her body, an additional feature to the blows she dealt.
In a matter of minutes, her little dancing around with sabres had brutally killed seven men, dismembered one and castrated the last three. At last, standing in the center of a circle of corpses, partially covered in blood that wasn't hers, Lyra lowered her blades, slightly out of breath... and Jonathan was just in time against her back, breaking a new attacker's arm. The idiot had snuck up behind her from nowhere, trying to strangle her offguard, with an old piece of string.
Act two now, too much tension, everyone's blood boiled and the proper brawl started. It was mostly a matter of dodging blows from inexperienced people, hitting as hard as you could and surviving. Lyra's friends had joined in the fight and were, in fact, making their way towards the exit. Alienor drained a man's blood, all nine liters of it, smiled and left; she could stop herself and feel satiated, which was quite hard to achieve for a vampire.
The two assassins were fighting back to back, in a total mess, against everything they had learnt at the Guild. It felt good to randomly hit every moving thing nearby, to kill or be killed. It was wrong, it didn't pay, and who cared because it was fun. Lyra felt strange against him; small would probably describe the sensation, and for some reason, with that girl covering his back and butchering people as if they were on a contest, he felt unstoppable, more alive than ever. He was pretty sure that he had made a friend and was very happy about that.
« STOP IT! »
They both turned at the bartender's call.
« You've killed more than fifty people and the rest of em have run away! Just... just STOP! Please! » he screamed from under the bar.
Teatime looked around; the place was littered with corpses, unconscious or badly injured men. Lyra took a few unsteady steps towards the voice; her arms were crimson, her chest and face were spotted with red droplets, but her needing a bath was the least worrying detail. She had a look on her face that her colleague thought only he could ever have, and to see it on someone else's face was weird. He had thought only him could enjoy his work so much; that girl looked like she just had an orgasm. His scrying glass showed him some strange reddish aura around her and he had to look elsewhere as she licked the blood off her knives. She threw a bag onto the counter and in a hoarse voice, informed the owner that there was a hundred dollars in them, which should cover any of the night's expenses. As the man opened the sack and his eyes widened, she burst out laughing.
She was standing on a troll. How she had put it down was a mystery; Jonathan recognised it as one of the bouncers from outside and decided that this woman was batshit crazy. According to his glass eye, there was a blurry, tall black shadow next to her, which looked very much like Death. He crossed her gaze and stared into a pit of blood. For some reason her irises had gone completely red and he had started laughing with her, probably at the same good joke; of course, this place was hilarious, this floor of bodies on which they were stepping on their way out was screamingly funny, the look on the faces of the people outside, especially of the few Watchmen that were there, everything was worth a laugh. They ran, just in case, then hid in the shadows of a dark empty alley. No one had bothered running after them, which gave them time to catch their breath, while trying to stop giggling stupidly. Lyra said something while putting her hair back into a bun.
« Didn't catch that.
- I said we should totally do this again.
- Are you mad?
- Stop asking that sort of question, I just managed to stop laughing. But yeah, we should do more brawls. Not in the same bar, of course.
- Next you're gonna say we should cross the shades at night.
- Don't tell me you read minds with that scrying glass of yours? Coz then I really swindled that guy before killing him.
- Glad I can't do that. Look, that was fun. It's just that we had enough fun for today. For the week, actually.
- Look at you, trying to be reasonable. How sweet. Anyway, how about you drop by at my place and I'll get you some cocoa? You don't have to, you can go straight back to the Guild if you feel more like it. »
She smiled at him, sweetly; she was herself again, the universe had gone back into her irises, with stars and everything. She looked like a doll, only with blood on it. She was still holding the sabres. You couldn't say no to a face like that; well you could and get acquainted with her hooded friend.
« Alright, let's go for that cocoa. »
Less than half an hour after that, Teatime was warming up with a tasty cup of cocoa with cinnamon in it, while his colleague had gone to her attic's bathroom (he couldn't be bothered to ask questions anymore) to wash the blood off. She came back in a blue dressing gown and they both stayed seated for a while, enjoying the cocoa, staring outside.
« Aren't you worried about people seeing you through those big windows?
- It's a special kind of glass. It's been sort of smoked so that only one side of it is transparent. It's a Dwarfish technique, very useful. I paid them extra so that people outside think it's a wall.
- Clever. By the way, I couldn't help noticing, what with your dress not covering much, that you had something tattooed on your left shoulder blade.
- Oh, that... well, remember when we were supposed to travel abroad for a few weeks, four years ago? You went to Quirm, I believe.
- Correct. It was an interesting journey. You went to Klatch, right?
- Aye, and it was awesome.
- Did you stay with assassins?
- If you consider the D'regs as such, then yes. Don't stare at me like that, I killed a few of them to survive, so they became friendly and made me a member of their tribe. We all had a great time. The circle with spikes represents the sun and the desert's scorching heat, and the panther walking in it basically means that they'll kill you in your sleep if they don't like your face. So there you are, knowing a D'reg that hasn't murdered you in more than three days, lucky bastard.
- Did that hurt?
- What, getting the tattoo? Of course. Everything is painful with the D'regs, but you get used to it, cause you have to. Just like you get used to people staring at you at the Guild, or clients, because they think you're not man enough to play with knives. You can't kill everyone, unfortunately. There isn't enough No1 Powder to blow em all up. »
Teatime nodded, finishing his cup. He wondered how late it was and why the situation felt a bit awkward.
« I should let you sleep, he said eventually.
- What's the – oh ye gods it's 3 AM already! I'm so sorry I took so much of your time! Aw man I couldn't be a good host for a dead rat.
- Don't worry, I had a great time. You had a good idea with taking me out and all. Besides it's nice... um... cocoa. »
And that was the stupidest sentence that ever came outta me, he thought.
She opened the trapdoor and adjusted the ladder. Nothing could have hinted that she had recently murdered twenty-seven people (he had a thirty-one head count for that night). Everything in her was so small. Or strangely cute. Or something.
He decided to set off before it got any weirder. He felt fine with her, but he definitely didn't want to crash on her couch after waking up in her bed. That just didn't sound right.
« Good night Lyra, see you around, he said on his way up.
- 'Night. Thanks for everything. »
He closed the hatch on a happy freckled face.