Chapter 12: Samples
Another day, another problem. Angelina felt guilty. Again. Havelock had been so good. Not only had he forgiven her escapade with Chas without batting an eyelash, but he had seen to it that they moved into their new flat swiftly and smoothly to give her the satisfaction of having her own place and being away from Sir Samuel. And he had praised her for her efforts with the votists, though that had really been mostly Lady Sybil and Mrs Palm, and besides, it hadn't exactly had any success. He'd even made sure there were figgins for breakfast. She should have been happy and grateful. Instead she struggled with a flat sense of disappointment that Havelock wasn't at least a little bit jealous; and she missed Sybil, and deep down in her heart she wished that she'd had the guts to make a stance like Sacharissa Cripslock and that curt Miss Dearheart. 1) She also realised that it had been extremely convenient to reside in a household that employed a cook. Her own attempts at producing a tempting breakfast had led to the usual result. Havelock was eating the congealed lumps of egg and soggy bacon without complaint, but also without a word.
It was a welcome distraction therefore when a rustling sound from the front door indicated that The Times had been delivered. Angelina went into the hall and picked up the paper from where it had fallen through the letterbox onto the doormat. She returned to her chair with the mildly relieved sense of having something to do.
Much as she normally disapproved of such clichéd displays of emotion, she couldn't help gasping when she saw the headline. She scanned the article hastily and passed the paper across the breakfast table to her husband.
"Have a look, Havelock!"
He took the paper out of her hand and read out loud:
Divine Diva's Swan Song
Ankh-Morpork music lovers are in shock after the tragic death of opera singer Dame Gina Dulci at the opera house yesterday evening.
The singer, whose age is unknown, had stunned the audience with a stellar performance in her role as Stella in "The Silver Star," which culminated in what appeared to be a particularly convincing rendition of the ill-fated flower seller's death. Thunderous applause rewarded the native Genuan star and it was not until the call for encores brought the rest of the cast back on stage that it became evident something was wrong. Tenor Espandrillo Lambourghini (41), who had excelled as Gnoccio, tried to rouse the recumbent diva and eventually turned to the audience asking for a doctor. A medically trained member of the public came forward but could only confirm the soprano's death. The suspected cause is an unexpected heart attack. Dame Gina has been known to suffer from stress related to her upcoming nuptials, the preparations for which were allegedly not going according to her plans.
Lord Downey (52), who was expecting to marry the dazzling prima donna in Sektober (The Times reported), was not available for comment. Reliable sources have it that the grieving Patrician has locked himself into his bedroom at the palace.
Meanwhile devoted Dulci admirers have laid down hundreds of bouquets of flowers at the entrance to the opera house.
Havelock turned the page and folded the paper neatly before proceeding to read the stock market values, this time in silence to himself.
"Well," said Angelina after a while. "What do you think?"
He shrugged.
"If it wasn't for the fact that it cost her life," he replied, "I'd say she did it on purpose to revenge herself on me."
"How so?" Angelina wrinkled her nose.
"Isn't it obvious? Downey will get a significant sympathy vote now. He might win the election purely by merit of this tragic bereavement."
"Hm." Angelina frowned. "Do you think maybe ... he did away with her?"
"He's an assassin, Angelina. Nil Mortifii Sine Lucre. He wouldn't kill her unless someone else paid him for it."
Angelina sighed.
"Oh, well," she said. "There's only one way you could draw even with him in this matter. Shall I throw myself off the Tower of Art?"
"Do you think you would enjoy that?"
"It would be a novel experience anyway."
"Hm," he said and shook his head. "I think we can do better than that."
1) While this kind of inconsistency is not exclusively observed in pregnant women, nobody else has quite so much of an excuse for it.
~oOoOo~
In his bedroom in the Patrician's palace, Lord Downey stood by the fireplace and watched the flames slowly consuming the pages of a book.
~oOoOo~
Noon was approaching when Havelock and Angelina left the house to take a little stroll. They walked arm in arm, ostensibly engaged in harmonious and edifying conversation. Both had dressed with particular care, and Angelina had taken pains to tie up her hair a little neater than she usually did. Havelock carried an enormous bouquet of white lilies and gypsophila. They walked through some of the most public areas of the city, across the Plaza of Broken Moons, past the Barbican, along the Turnwise Broadway and over the Brass Bridge. People looked. Havelock made sure they were Seen. A gracious nod of the head here, a dignified wave of the hand there. Every now and then, he affectionately patted Angelina's arm.
She tried to keep on task and appear stately and decorous, but she also took the opportunity to survey the various placards that were covering pretty much every available wall space. She saw still plenty of "LORD VETINARI. A NAME YOU CAN TRUST" and "MAKE YOUR CHOICE COUNT. CHOOSE DOWNEY" posters, but they were meanwhile outnumbered by "VOTES FOR WOMEN OR ELSE!", "GENTEEL WOMEN DON'T NEED VOTES!" and "VOTES FOR WOMEN ARE A SENSIBLE AND FAIR IDEA." Angelina wasn't sure that the votists' campaign had chosen the most effective motto.
The display of marital felicity moved down the Lower Broadway and approached the Opera House. The crowd assembled here was a few rungs higher up the social ladder than the average Ankh-Morpork mob. Some had even appeared in full opera dress. Being a somewhat posh kind of building, the Opera House enjoyed the luxury of a broad marble stair flanked by curved banisters leading up to the main entrance. These steps were now covered in flowers, many of which had already begun to wilt. Iconographs of Dame Gina Dulci adorned the banisters, surrounded by yet more flowers.
The genteel and subdued conversations stopped and the crowd parted when the Vetinaris drew near. Havelock dispensed a few more majestic greetings and led Angelina to the bottom step of the stair. There he knelt down and placed the lily bouquet in the front and centre of the offerings. He rose and both he and Angelina stood for a minute in silence, heads bowed and hands folded. Angelina raised a hand to her eyes and wiped the knuckle of her index finger across her cheek. Then they turned and, with nods to the left and right, walked away with measured steps.
"I feel wicked now," whispered Angelina when they had left the mourners behind. "It was the most insincere thing I've ever done."
"Think of it as a new kind of game," replied Havelock. "I've learned a thing or two in this respect from Mr Lipwig."
"Do you think it'll do the trick?"
"We shall see. We need to play every ace we have, since it doesn't look at the moment as if the female vote will get through."
"Maybe they'll change their mind at the last minute?"
"Maybe," he said. "And now, since we're here, we'll pay a little visit to Commander Vimes."
"Oh, must we?"
"Yes. I like to keep an eye on him."
Without further ado he steered her across the street and in through the door of the Pseudopolis Yard Watch House. Neither of the two duty watchmen 2) made any comment when the couple marched straight up the stair to Vimes' office. Havelock did, however, knock on the door and waited a full ten seconds before he entered.
"Good morning, Commander."
If Vimes was startled by their sudden arrival, he hid it well. 3)
"Good morning, sir." He directed a minimalistic nod at Angelina. "Anything I can help you with?"
Havelock placed Angelina in the only available other chair and stood behind it, placing his folded arms on the back rest.
"Nothing in particular, Commander. We just thought we'd drop in, since we were in the neighbourhood. A courtesy call, so to speak. But since you ask so kindly, please do tell how investigations are proceeding with regard to the river monster."
Vimes stubbed out his cigar in an already overflowing ashtray. He picked up a sheet of paper and read from it.
"The creature known as Ankh the River Monster is suspected of fifty-seven counts of vandalism, seventy-five counts of trespassing and forty-eight counts of assault." He looked up from the paper. "That would be the anti-votist ladies. We've made five different attempts to arrest him, but he has so far escaped us each time."
"Hmhm." Havelock rubbed his chin. "I don't want to interfere with your sphere of expertise, Commander, but are you sure this is the best possible approach to this matter? I mean, I know you are a great supporter of arresting all and sundry, but in this case I feel it might be useful to go the root of the problem – or should I say the source?"
"Sir?"
"I mean to say, Commander, that it would be worthwhile to investigate just how such a creature came to emerge from the river. If we know the reason for this, then we might have a better idea of how to persuade it to return to its...bed."
"You mean it's something in the water or something?" said Vimes, oblivious to the inelegancy of the needless repetition of the word "something."
"Indeed. I was going to suggest that my wife should conduct a thorough water analysis."
"If there's anything to analyse, Corporal Littlebottom will do it," replied Vimes without a second's thought.
"Commander," said Havelock, "while I have every confidence in Corporal Littlebottom's abilities, I would like to point out that my wife has considerable experience in the field. The corporal views things from a forensic angle, not from an environmental one. You would be well advised to make use of Angelina's expertise. Her investigation could complement the one conducted by the Watch."
Commander Vimes was visibly torn. 4) He shuffled the papers on his desk, apparently in a bid to win time, but lost the initiative when a stack of folders went sliding into Angelina's lap and from there onto the floor. She gathered them up and handed them back with an obliging smile and Vimes was forced to mutter a word of thanks. He looked at her for a whole three seconds with only the vaguest hint of a scowl.
"She's going to do it anyway isn't she," he said.
It wasn't a question, so they didn't answer.
"Well I can't arrest her for taking samples out of the river. Last time I checked she was employed by the city to do just that." he grunted eventually and lit another cigar.
Havelock flashed a smile at him.
"So," he said, "she can go up to her old laboratory straight away. Can't you, Angelina? I'll stay here with Commander Vimes for another...little chat."
Vimes took a puff.
"Doesn't she have to wait for her little brother to pick her up?"
"No need for that," said Havelock.
"As far as I remember you said you didn't want her to move about the city alone."
"Indeed. I thought Lance-constable Greenaway could accompany her. I saw him down in the front room just now."
"You want me to deploy a watchman to look after your wife?"
"He's only a lance-constable. I'm sure he is dispensable."
Vimes gave Havelock a look which implied that a lance-constable who was also a fully trained assassin was not quite the same as a lance-constable who was just his humble self. This was countered by His Lordship with a stare which said that a Lord Vetinari stripped of the Patricianship was nevertheless still a Lord Vetinari. Various other looks intended to join the game, but suddenly habitual reaction kicked in and before he knew it Vimes was staring at a point on the wall behind Vetinari's head and saying: "Sir."
"Splendid!" said Havelock. "That's settled then. I'm sure Lord Downey will have no objection to Angelina using her old lab, since he found it unimportant enough to leave it empty."
"I shall be happy to oblige, thank you for the asking," said Angelina. "It's always nice to be included in the decision making process."
2) For once, they were indeed both human and male.
3) In fact, Vimes considered for a split second to ask Vetinari to wait in the corridor until he was ready to receive him, but he thought better of it, mostly because there wasn't an unnerving clock out there that would have made such a move worthwhile.
4) Only, of course, not really.
~oOoOo~
"Well, Constantin," said Angelina and slid her arm through his, "it's sure been a while since you've last chaperoned me. I almost feel inclined to say you've grown, but I've probably just forgotten how tall you are."
"You've rarely seen me up close," replied Constantin.
"I've rarely seen you at all. But it's been a comfort, after a fashion, to know that you were there. Still, I wish Havelock would come to his senses and allow me to go out on my own. It's ridiculous to be treated like child."
"Don't blame me," said Constantin. "I'm only doing my job."
"So you do. I have to admire you, though, voluntarily working for Commander Vimes!"
"It's all right," said Constantin in an evasive tone. They walked on in silence.
The first thing Angelina noticed when she came through the door was the smell of the place. Paper and chemicals. It was fainter now than it used to be when she was working here daily, but she recognized it immediately and felt comforted by this olfactory welcome. With eager eyes she looked around. She hadn't been in this room since her ill-chosen flight from Havelock nearly two years ago, for while she had intended to return to her duties after her wedding, their little adventure at sea had prevented her. Apparently nobody else had set foot in the place during all this time either. Her folders and reports still lay on the desk neatly set out the way she had left them, but covered with a thick layer of dust. Absentmindedly, she doodled a heart on the desk with her finger. This prosaic room, dedicated to the analysis of water samples and the drawing of graphs and charts, had been the cradle of her love for Havelock. Here they had talked and talked, here he had given her his watch, here she had confessed to him that he drove her to despair –
"Will your equipment still work?" asked Constantin, indicating an apparatus of twisted glass tubes on the workbench.
Angelina shook off her memories and coaxed her mind to return to the present.
"I don't see why not," she replied. "This just needs to be cleaned up a bit. All the smaller things are packed away in boxes and should be ready to use."
She pointed to the far end of the room, where half a dozen crates stood lined up against the wall. Constantin walked over and lifted the lid on one of them. Embedded in straw and tissue paper, assorted glassware tried to look inconspicuous. The next crate contained a pile of books, an abacus, a wooden rack for test tubes and a leather mask and goggles.
"What's this?" asked Constantin and pulled out a tangled mess of dried leaves and petals. Angelina looked at the strange object and tears swam into her eyes. She wiped them away.
"Oh, that. Don't mind me, it's just hormonal. That's oograh."
"Oograh?"
"It's the troll word for plants. I believe they only have the one. It was supposed to be a bouquet, though it was a bit, let's say, unconventional. I was given it by a troll woman after I cleared up the case of the rubber pest. I think it's a kind of unofficial award from the troll community."
She took the shrivelled troll bouquet out of Constantin's hands and gently placed it back in the crate it had come from. One by one, they opened the rest of the boxes and brought out the contents. After an hour, the room gave a credible impression of an alchemist's laboratory.
"We should have dusted first," said Angelina, when every available surface was crammed full with contraptions and glass containers.
"Never mind," replied Constantin. "You can get all that sorted later. What do we do now?"
"We take these," said Angelina and placed a hand on a small box of jars with cork stoppers, "and get samples from the river. If you take the box, I'll carry the case with the protective gloves and the eye-droppers."
"What do we need them for?"
"Constantin! We can't just touch the river! Especially now that he's a man, after a fashion. That would be highly indecorous."
He stared at her, brown eyes bulging with polite astonishment. She laughed.
"I'm joking, Constantin. The water is pestilent, that's all. Normally I would worry about us contaminating the samples, but in this case it would be the other way round. Let's not take any unnecessary risks, shall we?"
They left the palace and ambled over towards the Brass Bridge. At the back of the Plumbers' Guild, they made use of a handy set of broad steps that led down to the water's edge. A stiff breeze blew. Angelina donned her protective gloves and handed another pair to Constantin. Then she knelt down and reached out for the river.
"Oh, this is too bad," she said after half a minute of fumbling. "The eye-dropper won't pick it up. It's too solid. Much worse than I had thought. Absolutely disgusting."
She unscrewed the lid on one of the jars and scooped up a fistful of river sods. When she shook the jar gently, the slimy waters coated the sides and ran down much in the manner of treacle. Angelina put the lid back on, scribbled something on the label and handed it to Constantin.
With hindsight, one might say she ought not to have turned her back on the river she had just insulted. But hindsight is allegedly twenty-twenty and Angelina was only thirty-seven. Neither she nor Constantin paid any attention to the Ankh while they stowed away the jar in the box with the awkward carefulness of two people doing a job that's easy enough for one. Hence it came as a bit of a surprise when a muddy hand grabbed Angelina around the waist, lifted her off the ground and shook her like a salt cellar.
She didn't scream, though admittedly this was a result of shock rather than bravery. The strength of the river monster's fingers seemed disproportionate, considering their substance. Wriggling wasn't going to help. The weight of Constantin Greenaway, who had seized her feet and was clinging to them with the determination of a loyal terrier, at least prevented her from being tossed into the water but did nothing to free her from Ankh's strangling hold. It's low tide, she thought, he shouldn't be this strong! She strained to break free but might as well have attempted to water ski on the Rim Fall. Ankh pulled her this way, Constantin the other, and even in this calamitous situation she was painfully aware that her dress had ridden up well over her knees and might at this precise moment be barely covering her buttocks. It is amazing how even in the most dangerous of circumstances, a woman will find time to be concerned whether her bottom looked big. 5)
Rescue came in the shape of a river barge travelling past under full sails. The bow wave disturbed the water and the muddy hand fell away. Angelina landed on top of Constantin in a jumble of sensory stimuli that offended all the senses in some way of other. The squelching sound, the cold and wet clothing, the pain of impact, the taste of river water which had found its way into her mouth could have each individually provided the material for a pretty unpleasant dream. And then there was Constantin's horrified look and, of course, the stench.
With a groan 6) they untangled their limbs and scrambled up the steps to get away from the river as quickly as possible. As soon as they arrived at the top of the stair, Constantin uttered a genteel curse and dashed back down to grab the box of jars. Eventually they both leaned, panting, against the back door of the Guild of Plumbers.
"What shall we do now?" Constantin asked. "You look a mess."
"Whatever we do," replied Angelina, "don't tell my husband."
5) One might think that this would not cause undue embarrassment for the woman who invented the bi-skin-knee, but these were different circumstances and thus different standards applied. There could be journalists about. The last thing Havelock needed was The Times printing an iconograph of his wife's exposed posterior.
6) A groan each, obviously.
