A/N: Sorry about the delay, but I've been without Internet and had a case of writers block. I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed. It's much appreciated.
The pot bubbled noisily as Azzie stirred, the spoon getting a little hard to move as the broth thickened. In fact, the broth was getting a little too thick. It was starting to look decidedly unappetizing.
She decided it was finished. The stew sizzled as she poured it into the bowls.
"Here." She said, handing Henry a bowl.
"Are you sure its done?" he asked, poking at it with a spoon.
She nodded, moving the pot to the side so the remainder wouldn't burn. "I'm sure."
She turned to gauge his reaction. He was looking apprehensively at the concoction. "Its not that bad…" he mumbled through a mouthful.
She sighed. So much for the fail-safe recipe.
"You don't have to eat it, you know." She said, pulling up a chair at the table.
He put it down with the barest show of relief and sat down across from her. "I leave tomorrow." He said, suddenly interested in what the floor looked like.
"I know." She picked at a spot on the tablecloth and thought frantically for a way to change the subject. She found none.
"Where will you be staying?" she asked at last, succumbing to the topic of conversation.
"A boarding house." He replied, "I'm not sure which. I'll find one when I get there, I guess."
"Oh." She said. "That's nice."
"Azzie, are you sure you'll be okay when I'm gone?"
"I'm not that desperate for companionship." She said lightly, leaning back in the chair and avoiding his eyes.
"You know that's not what I meant." He said quietly.
"I should be fine." Azzie was struck with the sudden urge to describe the vision. The way the air had felt, the alley had looked. The way the blood had formed tiny rivers on the rain soaked ground.
So she did.
It helped somehow.
"The papers of a regular sort, sir, just like the ink." Cheery said, holding the letter up for inspection. "Nice penmanship, though, and good spelling."
She handed it to Angua, who sniffed gingerly along the edge. She shook her head. "Nothing."
Vimes pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you sure?"
She nodded. "Sorry."
He sighed, looking down at the slip of paper on the table before him. Two weeks.
The words kept coming back to haunt him. Each passing day brought them that much closer to the deadline. It was bad enough working under your own timeframe. Having one set by a murderer was bloody torture.
The worst part was the fact that the little bastard was taunting him. He was enjoying this little game, setting the rules…
"I want you and Carrot on the case." He said to Angua. "Find out what you can."
In the meantime, he would wait. He had to.
Agnes set the teapot on the table, and eased herself into the chair with the wobbly leg, gingerly expecting a collapse. She had a feeling Perdita was looking forward to it. Nanny Ogg poured herself a cup. The spoon clinked as she stirred it.
"How's the young Seer getting' along, Esme?" she asked Granny Weatherwax, who sat across from her.
"Haven't heard anything." Granny replied.
Neither had Agnes. She'd been keeping an ear out for local gossip, but it seemed to have quieted. Or people just aren't telling you, Perdita insinuated.
"Been a long time since there was one in these parts." Nanny Ogg said. "Last time was when I was just a girl. Can't seem to recall what happened there. Didn't she marry that fellow from Skund?"
It was hard to believe that there was one now. Azzie was an unlikely candidate, with her flaring temper and bountiful freckles. She seemed very anti-mystical, somehow. The universe had a strange sense of humour, Agnes decided.
"No." Granny said in response to the other witches question. "She hung herself."
A silence filled with too much meaning stretched out between them. We can only hope for such a happy ending, muttered Perdita in the back of Agnes mind.
She told Perdita to shut up and went to get the biscuits.
The carriage was a wobbling, rattling heap that looked as though it was about to fly apart at any moment. It was parked at the side of the road, accompanied by an impatient driver that kept pointedly looking at his watch.
Henry stood in front of it, the few boxes that held his belongings scattered around his feet. Clothes, and some of his paintings. He was only taking those that he liked best. Azzie wasn't sure what would happen to the rest of them. Get thrown on the trash heap, probably.
"Well," she said, looking around. "Have a nice trip."
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'll try."
She kicked at a stone on the ground. This farewell thing was a lot harder than it looked. And more awkward.
He fidgeted about, seemingly in the throes of some important decision. He looked as though he was on the verge of saying something, and then stared at his feet instead. "Azzie?" he said finally.
"Yes?" she prompted.
He straightened up. "I …well, that is… never mind." He finished with a sigh. He stepped forward and hugged her instead.
"Make sure to write me." She said, her voice slightly muffled against his shirt.
"I will."
"You'd better." She said in a mock scold. "Or I'll hunt you down in that city myself." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, grinning when his ears started to turn pink.
The coachmen had loaded Henry's luggage onto the carriage. He made an irritated noise.
It pulled away in a torrent of creaking, leaving Azzie alone on the roadside. She waved until the carriage was out of sight. Turning, she walked slowly back up the path, in no hurry to get back to the empty cottage.
She felt aggravated with herself for being so sentimental, but it was amazing how quickly you could miss someone.