Ienska stood, unmoving, in the shadow of a doorway. She was watching for movement in the shadows, a patch of darkness just a little too black to be natural. She had been watching since sundown.
The distant city clocks began striking midnight.*
[*The clocks in Ankh-Morpork ring individually and time is established by general consensus. Firstly, the clock at the Teacher's Guild will strike, followed by the multitude of clocks throughout the rest of the city until the whole place rings with the sound of clocks** until, finally, the clock at the Assassin's Guild strikes its final chord. The Assassins always have the final say.
**Except, of course, when the University clock, Old Tom, tolls out its silences. Then the whole town rings intermittently with the sound of striking clocks.]
Ienska tensed, thinking she heard the fall of footsteps on the deserted street. After a moment, though, no one appeared and she went back to her motionless vigil.
Usually, of course, it would be pointless to wait for an Assassin by the front door. The house she was guarding, however, had been designed by Ankh-Morpork's infamous Bloody Stupid Johnson, the worst designer in history. The three story building was built with intricate detail, the interior molded lovingly and the craftsmanship was flawless. The design, on the other hand, was not. No where inside was there a stair case or, indeed, even a hole in the floor of the upper stories that would allow passage with a ladder. Johnson had also forgotten a few other details. Such as doors or windows to the outside.
The single passage that Ienska stood by had been gouged out of the wall by the workmen who had found themselves trapped inside the building once they finished the job and was later equipped with an ill-fitting door.
A light breeze brushed Ienska's cheek. If she hadn't been dead still already, she would have froze. This was Ink Street. The whole street had been designed by B. S. Johnson and, as a freak accident, the structures had formed a perfect windshield. No breezes blew here.
Slowly, deliberately, still willing herself unseen, Ienska stuck her leg out across the entryway at ankle height and squinted. Something kicked her leg and fell against the door.
There, just barely visible against the old, rotting woodwork, was a human form. Wearing something that most definitely was not black. Ienska straightened.
"Good evening, Mr. Vetinari," she said, allowing herself to be seen.
He stood up, rubbing his forehead. "Good evening to you as well," he said. "I don't suppose you're going to let me by, are you?" he sighed.
"Not a chance," she said, laying her hand lightly on the sword that hung from her waist.
Vetinari blinked and dropped his hand to his side. "Ms. Tineshan, I believe we need to talk," he said.
"What about?" she asked. Talk? With an Assassin?
"We seem to have a mutual problem," he said. "Allow me to buy you a cup of coffee while we discuss it?"
Her eyes narrowed. "I don't drink coffee…especially not when I don't know what exactly might be in it."
"Now, that's not fair," he said in a hurt voice. "There are such things as ethics and professional morality."
"You kill people for a living," she said in a calm, measured voice.
"We prefer the term inhume."
"I bet you do. I prefer the term fair fight."
"Regardless of your personal feelings toward the members of my profession," said Vetinari. "The fact remains that I would never kill someone that I was not specifically contracted to. And we do need to talk."
Ienska glanced at the door. "And no one else is going to come for him?"
"Of course not, he is – was my assignment," said Vetinari.
Well, at least if she went with him to talk he wouldn't be killing anyone. And this was her last assignment tonight.
"Fine," she said. "But I would much prefer if we held this discussion outdoors."
"As you wish," he said and motioned for her to lead. Why's he have to be so polite? She wondered bitterly as he fell into step beside her.
There was a moments silence as each waited for the other to speak.
"You seem quite adept at concealing yourself, Miss Tineshan," he said once it was evident that Ienska was not going to start the discussion.
"As do you," she said, trying very hard to sound polite yet uninterested. It wasn't working very well.
"May I inquire where you learned your skills, Miss Tineshan?" he asked.
"You may," she said, remembering exactly why she had hated speaking with nobility so much. They made everything into a game of parry and thrust. And still, there was something about this young man that wouldn't allow her true disinterest.
Quite suddenly, he broke into a low chuckle. "You also seem very adept at the games the higher class play to make themselves feel important," he said. She looked up at him, startled.
He was only a little taller than herself but something about him made his presence seem enormous. Except, she reminded herself, when he didn't want it to be.
"Thank you." She finally gave up. It was quite obvious that he wasn't going to leave her alone and it was becoming apparent, if the past few weeks were any indication, that she would be seeing him constantly. "And please call me Ienska," she said.
He nodded. "And you may call me Havelock, if you must," he said. "I would, however, prefer it if you could say it without laughing." He paused as they reached a main street and steered her toward an arcing bridge. "Now, to the matter at hand. We seem to be running into each other far more often than is particularly convenient."
"I'd noticed," said Ienska. "But unless your superiors are willing to let you…" She trailed off as a desperate, late night vendor trundled up to them.
"Sausage in a bun, sir?" he asked hopefully, waving something through the dark air.
Vetinari gave the man a distasteful look. "I think not," he said.
"What about for your young lady?" the man asked, a glint in his eye.
Ienska turned on him, eyes flashing against all logic, since there was no light for them to reflect. "His what?" she said in a very low voice.
"I – I…" the man stammered. Then he did something that no street vendor in the history of Ankh-Morpork had ever done without the threat of cold steel at their throat: he turned and ran, pulling his lopsided cart behind him, from what could still be considered potential customers.
Ienska glared after the man, but Vetinari watched him go with an odd expression on his face.
"There was no call to be quite so…forceful," he said at length.
"I didn't do anything to him," said Ienska, still fuming.
"Ah," said Vetinari and paused. "I'm not sure whether I should be insulted by your reaction to his mistake. It was quite an honest one, after all."
Ienska shrugged. "Your choice, I don't really care either way."
"Of course." Vetinari began strolling toward the bridge once more. "Now, about our…difficulty. I don't suppose you could be persuaded to split the assignments fairly?"
"What, like you get to kill half and I get to save half?" He nodded. "No! That's disgusting. I will not barter with human life." She turned to face him, they were in the center of the bridge now. "Not ever. So you'd best come up with another solution."
He waited for her to finish quite patiently. "I expected as much. However, I believe I have more than human life to barter with. My superiors at the Guild would be most interested to hear about you, and would be very pleased indeed to meet you personally."
"You haven't told them yet?" she asked, surprised.
"It didn't seem prudent at the time," he said.
"You're threatening me, aren't you?" asked Ienska, her voice hard. Vetinari didn't move a muscle. "It won't work."
"Oh?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Because, you see, I have other things to bargain with as well."
"Oh?" he said again.
"Oh yes," said Ienska, relaxing slightly and allowing her hands to fall to her side. But still very near her sword hilt. "For instance, I was very much under the impression that Assassins wear black. I might go so far as to say that I thought it was a requirement. Perhaps your superiors will explain to me the sudden change in policy."
"Ah," he said, glancing down at his own, dark green and gray clothes.
"Yes."
Both of them stared into the river for a few moments. Eventually, though, they looked away in disgust.* In the middle of the bridge, however, there wasn't much else to look at except for each other.
[*Before entering the city of Ankh-Morpork, the river Ankh flows quite clearly and freely. This is not the case, however, once it enters the city. Within the city boundaries, the river doesn't so much flow as it slowly congeals as it oozes along its bed. It's the only river in the world whose surface can be marked with footprints.]
"Any more solutions?" asked Ienska.
Vetinari frowned. "I didn't think I would need more," he said.
"Right," she said. "Well, in that case, I'll see you at the next assassination."
But Vetinari had been waiting for her to vanish, and he had a very good memory. His arm shot out to where she had been standing a moment before and, as if the touch was all it took, she snapped back into clear focus.
"Let go of me!" she said, quite loudly.
"I don't think so," said Vetinari, infuriatingly calm. "You have a tendency of vanishing."
Footsteps echoed across the bridge as someone ran toward them. As the sound grew nearer, the footsteps slowed.
"Who in their right mind is out at this hour?" hissed Ienska.
Vetinari looked at her, eyebrows raised. "In Ankh-Morpork?* But it's probably the Watch. Your screaming might have caught someone's attention. Don't move." She glared at him.
[* They say the city never sleeps. They're right, it hardly even dozes. This is because it is afraid to close its eyes and, considering its inhabitants, this could be seen as a very wise choice.]
It was one thing to make herself blend into the surroundings, it was something totally different to do so with someone clinging to her arm. She thought for a moment of going the other way, attracting the attention of everyone in the area, but decided not to. They'd never be able to find Vetinari anyhow. She faded.
"Well?" said Vetinari in a quiet voice.
"Well what?" she hissed.
"Are you going to vanish or not?"
She rolled her eyes. "I'm vanished already."
"I can still see you."
"It's hard not to notice someone when you're holding them prisoner!" she whispered.
"Ah."
The footsteps crept out onto the bridge now, very slowly. Slowly enough to give anyone truly dangerous time to run. A man crept out to the center of the bridge and looked owlishly around.
"Hello?" he called. "Anyone there?" No answer. He straightened, seeming to gain confidence in the lack of response. "This is the City Watch! Anyone who needs help should scream now!" He paused, listening for an answer. Then, apparently satisfied, he continued across the bridge, careful not to look to either side in case he saw something or someone slowly sinking into the river.
He passed right by the two young lurkers, near enough for them to smell cheap soap and polish on his armor.
The footsteps faded.
Ienska was still glaring at Vetinari.
"Well?" she said.
Vetinari sighed. "There does not seem to be a mutually beneficial resolution to our problem," he said.
"No, there doesn't."
"Perhaps, then, we could simply consider it a friendly competition?" he suggested.
What sort of person is he? wondered Ienska.
"Mr. Vetinari," she began.
He held up his free hand. "Havelock, please," he said.
"Kindly unhand me," she continued, ignoring him. "I do not think we have anything further to discuss."
His face assumed a calculating expression. "I will let go," he said. "If you agree to remain here for a few moments more."
She tugged suddenly, trying to free her arm, but his grip was steady. She relaxed. "Very well. Let's hear what you have to say."
***
Vetinari watched the girl's retreating back, right up to the point where it vanished, anyhow. He sighed. He had hoped she would prove more reasonable regarding their current situation. As it was, the only thing that had kept her on the bridge after he released her was the promise she'd made.
She seemed to have very definite ideas about the sanctity of life. Pity.
Other than that, however, she seemed to be a quite reasonable individual. Perhaps, in time, she would come round and see the logic of an arrangement. For now, he would just have to out fox her.
Which proved difficult.
It didn't seem to matter which window, door, or more original entrance he found to access his quarry, it was always the one that Ienska chose to stand guard at. More often than not, he would trip over her, run into her, or otherwise be injured by her on his way into a job. At that point, there wasn't much he could do. It was obvious from the way her hand rested on her sword that she knew how to use it and, besides, he couldn't kill her without a contract.
Sometimes, though, he would get there first. Every time he exited from a completed job he held his breath, expecting to see her there, waiting. When he didn't, he breathed out and went happily about his day. When he did, there were a few more issues. For example, the look on her face. She always looked so upset. And it wasn't as if the recently inhumed were personal friends of hers, they hadn't even known she existed, she'd said so herself. And she would never talk to him, not when he came out.
As time wore on, they came almost close to being friends, at least by the Assassin's definition of friends. They didn't try to kill each other, for one thing. They even held some interesting conversations, usually after Vetinari picked himself up off the ground. But she would never talk to him when he came out from a job. She just looked, eyes bright, and vanished.
It was, almost, disquieting.