"Mother."

The small figure in the chair did not react, flipping a page of the book on her lap nonchalantly.

Bastian raised his voice, "Mother."

Ladyship paused, then glanced over her shoulder, "I'm sorry Bastian, were you addressing me? What a delightful, if juvenile, little title you've come up with."

Bastian did not smile back. His mouth was set in a line, "I'd rather not play games, mother."

"Games, Bastian?" she asked sweetly, slipping a bookmark into the large tome and placing it on the coffee table, then indicating he take the seat beside her. He did not.

"Do not take me for a simpleton-"

"I do not."

"-And do not patronise me!"

"I do not intend to, Bastian, though I apologise if I come across that way inadvertently."

Bastian took a long breath; he recognised this little trick. Deprive the fire of oxygen and it flickers out. Deprive the raging zealot of his furious arguments, take away his points before he can make them, and his anger will lose strength.

"I overheard you, mother. I heard everything."

"Overheard what, exactly?" she asked, still smiling, although her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

"I know the truth!"

Margolotta stood and took Bastian's hands, but he wrenched them away. She frowned.

"Bastian," she said softly, "You know that you only have to ask for the truth. You are privy to every meeting; overturn every stone; read every book; there is no use in keeping secrets. You only have to ask."

He stumbled away across the room, trembling a little, "You say that - and yet, you lied to me! Everything I know; a lie! My- my very existence is one big web of lies!"

"Bastian." this time her voice was cool, "You are becoming hysterical. Please calm down and talk rationally. Even after everything I have taught you, about harnessing emotions, about controlling them, you still explode like this?"

The boy breathed harshly through his nose, then stood up straight, face perfectly composed.

"Good. What is it that you want, Bastian?"

He took another deep breath, then leant casually back against the doorframe and examined his nails, as if the former topic had never been broached, "I want to leave, Madam."

"That is your prerogative, and always has been." She nodded in a businesslike manner, "Where is it you would like to go?"

"Somewhere away from Uberwald," he lifted his gaze to hers and curled a lip expertly, "Everything about it is dire. I want to meet interesting people, I want an opportunity to learn new things without the bias of your hand. I don't want to be your puppet."

Madam lifted a heavy tome and absently flicked through it, "Hmm. What about Ankh-Morpork? You'll certainly get a new perspective there. Rest assured, that is one place where I have very little influence. For the moment, at least."

"And what is there in Ankh-Morpork for an ambitious young man - politics? Business? Trade?" he asked, pushing himself up straight and watching her reaction.

"The Ankh-Morpork Assassin's Guild."

"Sounds interesting," he yawned lazily, but never took his eyes from her.

"You'll receive the finest education on the Disc, everything that you'll ever need to know, told from the perspective of a human male."

"How refreshing." He smirked, "How soon can I leave?"

She snapped the book shut and placed it down with some care, meeting his gaze with a steely one of her own, "It will take a good few weeks to contact Lord Downey and organise your place, but Lord Vetinari and I were once good friends, so I am sure there will be no…issues. At any rate, as you dislike Igor's ostreechas so much, it will take you several weeks to travel there, which means it should certainly be sorted by the time you get there. Igor?"

Igor peered around Bastian into the room, "Yeth, Mithtreth?"

"Would you be a dear and pack up Master Bastian's belongings?" she smiled icily, "He's leaving."

-x-x-x-

"The young mathter ith about to leave, Mithtreth. Would you-?"

"No, Igor," Margolotta stared steadfastly out of the window, down at the coach, her back to the patchwork butler. "If I go and speak to him now, he may lose his nerve, and we certainly don't want that."

"Hith nerveth are very thtrong, Mithtreth, and I would know."

Madam said something, but Igor didn't quite catch what it was; it was somewhere between a curse and a sob, but knowing Uberwaldean, it could have been either. Or both.

"Why do I always drive them away?"

Igor heard that whisper quite clearly. He blanched, ill-equipped to be dealing with emotional women. He'd left the necessary glands in the dungeons.

"Why must I always drive them away?"

"…Mithtreth?" he ventured.

The effect was instantaneous; her head snapped around to reveal blazing eyes, "Igor! Didn't you say that Master Bastian was leaving? The new school term starts in less than a month, and I shan't have him missing classes!"

Igor sagged in relief, "Of courthe, Mithtreth, I thall leave at onthe."