Infinite Secrets of the Sacred Homiehood
Chapter 6
Disclaimer: I own practically nothing, excepting Frederick Rust. Everything belongs to the esteemed Terry Pratchett and the plot . . . well . . . it used to belong to the author/writers of 'Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood,' but I'm afraid the whole thing has gone wahooni-shaped and I'm really not sure anymore.
~
Frederick Rust was prowling around the mansion. It had been three days since he'd been escorted from his home to the decrepit mansion that Lord Vetinari owned. Someone would come round, once a day, and make sure he had all the supplies he required. It was usually Sybil, as she had the least to do. Fred had even had the chance to meet young Sam Vimes, and had felt a small kinship with the boy. Perhaps it was because he'd been isolated for four days.
But despite the loneliness, he was rather enjoying himself. He'd noticed this after Vetinari had dropped in* the previous day. He'd realized that no one had shouted at him, spoken to him beyond a few words, and nothing more derogatory than a comment about the state of the bedroom from Lord Vetinari. All in all, Frederick decided, life wasn't bad.
And so, when he heard the knock at the back door, he thought nothing of it. Sybil was using the back door because it would not do for her to be seen in front of an abandoned house knocking, and Vetinari and Downey had usually materialized out of a wall. He as really actually very surprised when he opened the door the see his mother's face poking out from behind a towering pile of laundry. "Mum?" he asked, stepping out of the doorway to admit her.
"Oh, yes, Fred." Sybil entered behind Caro, grabbing young Sam by the back of the shirt and pulling him inside. "I'd assumed you'd need fresh clothing by now, so I brought over some of your wash from last week. I do hope you don't mind. We're trying to hide you from your father, you see."
"I'd kind of figured," Fred replied.
"Uncle Fred!" A small mass of flying toddler hit Frederick at about stomach height. Rust nearly collapsed backwards onto the carpet as all of his wind was knocked out of him.
"Hello, Sam," he wheezed. Sybil tsked slightly and pulled her son off of 'Uncle Fred.' "So how are the negotiations going, then?" Sybil sighed, her shoulders sagging.
"Your father never was the cooperative type, Fred." Caro nodded sympathetically and set the wash onto the small table in the hall. "Havelock spoke to him once, if you didn't already know that, and he hasn't even said anything to your mother in the past few days."
"Banananana?" Sam asked, thrusting the fruit into Caro's face. There were small smiles all around.
"No thank you, dear." There were several minutes of thoughtful silence as the three adults worked on figuring out how to get an uncooperative Rust to . . . cooperate. It was difficult.
"Aha!" Sybil exclaimed finally, snapping out of her trance. "I have just the thing. Would you be a dear and watch Sam for a minute while I run back to the house?" Sybil bustled out, and Sam watched her curiously before continuing to use his banana as a crayon on the walls of the house.
"So dear," Caro said, scolding the young Vimes and pulling him away from the wall, "have you been washing regularly? Keeping Havelock's house nice? Now, now, bananas don't go under the floorboards, Sam."
"Mum . . ." Frederick sighed and leaned against the wall, running his fingers through his hair. "Could you not nag for a few minutes? This is the first time I've seen you in days and the first thing you ask me is if I've washed? Of course I've been washing!" The look on his mother's face made him think about the words he'd just said. "Sorry, Mum."
"You get it from your father, you know." She set young Sam back on the floor, watching him and monitoring the toddler's proximity to the walls. "I hope you realize that."
"I'm really sorry, Mum."
"Fix it." There were several more minutes of silence until Sybil re-entered the house, her arms full of a book. The book had things hanging out of it, and gave off the general appearance that it was falling apart.
"Here we are," she said, handing the wreck of pages to Fred. "This book contains all of our tidbits from when we were children. I'm sure this will help you understand a lot of what's going on right now." She saw the beautiful banana art her son had created on the wall. "Oh, Sam, what am I going to do with you?"
"Wanna 'nuther bananananana," Young Sam pouted from his position on the floor.
"Oh, come on, we ought to get you home . . ." She gave Fred and Caro an apologetic look. "I'm sorry; I think it'd be best if I took him home. It's time for his nap." She said a friendly goodbye over her son's howls of 'I don' wanna nap!' and left. Caro gave her son a hug and a kiss.
"You've been forgiven for today, Fred." She smiled in a way that only mothers are able to. "Find some sense in that book though, will you?"
"Yes'm." His mother gave him a peck on the cheek and left Fred alone with the book. He watched her walk across the back lawn and into the conservatory. He was alone again. Finding nothing better to do, he went into one of the many parlors and sat down, setting the gigantic book in his lap.
It was - or rather, had been - bright green. On the front, in black wax crayon, in a hand that he recognized to be Lord Vetinari's pre-teen scrawl was:
"The Infinite Secrets of this here the Sacred Homiehood".
Rust couldn't help but grin. Perhaps the Patrician did have a sense of humor, after all. He most certainly did, Fred realized, after the way he had behaved during and directly following the kidnapping. With a slight grin, he opened the book, and a short list of rules fell out. The odd thing was, all but one was crossed out.
~**
"Right!" Faustus screamed above the amazingly loud argument Sybil and Ron were having. Havelock was burning ants with sparklers. "Can we all at lest agree that rule number one is that a Homie in need is helped by other Homies?" There was a chorused 'yes.' "Okay, now what were we arguing about?"
"Equal rights for girls!"
"Kids to be in charge of grownups!"
"The rites of ants!" There was a brief silence. "I was only joking, geeze," Havelock muttered and continued torturing the small workers of the mounds surrounding the shed. Downey put his hands over his eyes.
"So we have to argue over what we were arguing about? That's marvelous."
"Rust and I were arguing over the current pressing events in Ankh-Morpork. That doesn't count as all of us." Ron nodded in agreement. Downey sighed.
"No, everyone was arguing. I was moderating and Havelock's insane, so he doesn't count."
"I resent that comment!" Havelock stood up out of the dirt and brushed the dust off of his front. "I think I have a solution to our issue."
"A tissue?" Sybil giggled. Havelock glared.
"No, actually, it isn't a clever rhyme or anything. While I was observing the ants it seemed like they were all doing the thing the thought to be right while at the same time following one simple order. Perhaps a leader is not what we really need, but simply one rule that's easy to follow." The only one not staring at Havelock was, well, Havelock. And the ants.
"You will never cease to amaze me, I'm sure," Ron said. "How do you come up with something that ingenious by burning ants?"
"He's Havelock," Sybil said simply. "So shall we think of one rule?"
"It's so hard though!" Faustus almost wailed. "The more rules, the more organized things are!" The words 'future educator' flashed through the minds of the other Homies."
"How about," Havelock said slowly, "The Homies shall do what the general consensus feels to be right?" There was another long pause as eleven-year- old minds grasped this concept of total freedom.
"I like it."
"S'brilliant!"
"How about just one more rule? No burning, that sort of thing?"
There was a general sigh. "No, Faustus." There was revered silence as Ron wrote down in barely legible handwriting the One Rule. Then, Sybil spoke slowly and clearly.
"Shall the general consensus be going out and torturing Selachii?" There were several extremely evil grins around the group.
"I'll get the fireworks."
~
*When dealing with Assassins, this must be taken in a very literal sense.
**Cue the flashback to the childhood, ladies and gents.
Disclaimer: I own practically nothing, excepting Frederick Rust. Everything belongs to the esteemed Terry Pratchett and the plot . . . well . . . it used to belong to the author/writers of 'Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood,' but I'm afraid the whole thing has gone wahooni-shaped and I'm really not sure anymore.
~
Frederick Rust was prowling around the mansion. It had been three days since he'd been escorted from his home to the decrepit mansion that Lord Vetinari owned. Someone would come round, once a day, and make sure he had all the supplies he required. It was usually Sybil, as she had the least to do. Fred had even had the chance to meet young Sam Vimes, and had felt a small kinship with the boy. Perhaps it was because he'd been isolated for four days.
But despite the loneliness, he was rather enjoying himself. He'd noticed this after Vetinari had dropped in* the previous day. He'd realized that no one had shouted at him, spoken to him beyond a few words, and nothing more derogatory than a comment about the state of the bedroom from Lord Vetinari. All in all, Frederick decided, life wasn't bad.
And so, when he heard the knock at the back door, he thought nothing of it. Sybil was using the back door because it would not do for her to be seen in front of an abandoned house knocking, and Vetinari and Downey had usually materialized out of a wall. He as really actually very surprised when he opened the door the see his mother's face poking out from behind a towering pile of laundry. "Mum?" he asked, stepping out of the doorway to admit her.
"Oh, yes, Fred." Sybil entered behind Caro, grabbing young Sam by the back of the shirt and pulling him inside. "I'd assumed you'd need fresh clothing by now, so I brought over some of your wash from last week. I do hope you don't mind. We're trying to hide you from your father, you see."
"I'd kind of figured," Fred replied.
"Uncle Fred!" A small mass of flying toddler hit Frederick at about stomach height. Rust nearly collapsed backwards onto the carpet as all of his wind was knocked out of him.
"Hello, Sam," he wheezed. Sybil tsked slightly and pulled her son off of 'Uncle Fred.' "So how are the negotiations going, then?" Sybil sighed, her shoulders sagging.
"Your father never was the cooperative type, Fred." Caro nodded sympathetically and set the wash onto the small table in the hall. "Havelock spoke to him once, if you didn't already know that, and he hasn't even said anything to your mother in the past few days."
"Banananana?" Sam asked, thrusting the fruit into Caro's face. There were small smiles all around.
"No thank you, dear." There were several minutes of thoughtful silence as the three adults worked on figuring out how to get an uncooperative Rust to . . . cooperate. It was difficult.
"Aha!" Sybil exclaimed finally, snapping out of her trance. "I have just the thing. Would you be a dear and watch Sam for a minute while I run back to the house?" Sybil bustled out, and Sam watched her curiously before continuing to use his banana as a crayon on the walls of the house.
"So dear," Caro said, scolding the young Vimes and pulling him away from the wall, "have you been washing regularly? Keeping Havelock's house nice? Now, now, bananas don't go under the floorboards, Sam."
"Mum . . ." Frederick sighed and leaned against the wall, running his fingers through his hair. "Could you not nag for a few minutes? This is the first time I've seen you in days and the first thing you ask me is if I've washed? Of course I've been washing!" The look on his mother's face made him think about the words he'd just said. "Sorry, Mum."
"You get it from your father, you know." She set young Sam back on the floor, watching him and monitoring the toddler's proximity to the walls. "I hope you realize that."
"I'm really sorry, Mum."
"Fix it." There were several more minutes of silence until Sybil re-entered the house, her arms full of a book. The book had things hanging out of it, and gave off the general appearance that it was falling apart.
"Here we are," she said, handing the wreck of pages to Fred. "This book contains all of our tidbits from when we were children. I'm sure this will help you understand a lot of what's going on right now." She saw the beautiful banana art her son had created on the wall. "Oh, Sam, what am I going to do with you?"
"Wanna 'nuther bananananana," Young Sam pouted from his position on the floor.
"Oh, come on, we ought to get you home . . ." She gave Fred and Caro an apologetic look. "I'm sorry; I think it'd be best if I took him home. It's time for his nap." She said a friendly goodbye over her son's howls of 'I don' wanna nap!' and left. Caro gave her son a hug and a kiss.
"You've been forgiven for today, Fred." She smiled in a way that only mothers are able to. "Find some sense in that book though, will you?"
"Yes'm." His mother gave him a peck on the cheek and left Fred alone with the book. He watched her walk across the back lawn and into the conservatory. He was alone again. Finding nothing better to do, he went into one of the many parlors and sat down, setting the gigantic book in his lap.
It was - or rather, had been - bright green. On the front, in black wax crayon, in a hand that he recognized to be Lord Vetinari's pre-teen scrawl was:
"The Infinite Secrets of this here the Sacred Homiehood".
Rust couldn't help but grin. Perhaps the Patrician did have a sense of humor, after all. He most certainly did, Fred realized, after the way he had behaved during and directly following the kidnapping. With a slight grin, he opened the book, and a short list of rules fell out. The odd thing was, all but one was crossed out.
~**
"Right!" Faustus screamed above the amazingly loud argument Sybil and Ron were having. Havelock was burning ants with sparklers. "Can we all at lest agree that rule number one is that a Homie in need is helped by other Homies?" There was a chorused 'yes.' "Okay, now what were we arguing about?"
"Equal rights for girls!"
"Kids to be in charge of grownups!"
"The rites of ants!" There was a brief silence. "I was only joking, geeze," Havelock muttered and continued torturing the small workers of the mounds surrounding the shed. Downey put his hands over his eyes.
"So we have to argue over what we were arguing about? That's marvelous."
"Rust and I were arguing over the current pressing events in Ankh-Morpork. That doesn't count as all of us." Ron nodded in agreement. Downey sighed.
"No, everyone was arguing. I was moderating and Havelock's insane, so he doesn't count."
"I resent that comment!" Havelock stood up out of the dirt and brushed the dust off of his front. "I think I have a solution to our issue."
"A tissue?" Sybil giggled. Havelock glared.
"No, actually, it isn't a clever rhyme or anything. While I was observing the ants it seemed like they were all doing the thing the thought to be right while at the same time following one simple order. Perhaps a leader is not what we really need, but simply one rule that's easy to follow." The only one not staring at Havelock was, well, Havelock. And the ants.
"You will never cease to amaze me, I'm sure," Ron said. "How do you come up with something that ingenious by burning ants?"
"He's Havelock," Sybil said simply. "So shall we think of one rule?"
"It's so hard though!" Faustus almost wailed. "The more rules, the more organized things are!" The words 'future educator' flashed through the minds of the other Homies."
"How about," Havelock said slowly, "The Homies shall do what the general consensus feels to be right?" There was another long pause as eleven-year- old minds grasped this concept of total freedom.
"I like it."
"S'brilliant!"
"How about just one more rule? No burning, that sort of thing?"
There was a general sigh. "No, Faustus." There was revered silence as Ron wrote down in barely legible handwriting the One Rule. Then, Sybil spoke slowly and clearly.
"Shall the general consensus be going out and torturing Selachii?" There were several extremely evil grins around the group.
"I'll get the fireworks."
~
*When dealing with Assassins, this must be taken in a very literal sense.
**Cue the flashback to the childhood, ladies and gents.
