Needless to say, people were upset.
The crowd in front of the palace was so thick that Commander Vimes had to fight to get through. The usual suspects, nobles and guild leaders, were already shaking their fists angrily at the Patrician in the Rats Chamber.
"Call out the regiments!" cried Lord Rust.
"Seal the border!" shouted Lord Selachii.
"Arm the people!" roared Boggis, head of the Thieves Guild.
The Patrician held up his hands for silence but the Council ignored him. There was a general air of stunned anger and confusion. With one exception, the members of the Council conducted themselves like headless chickens with the miraculous ability to still cackle. The exception was Mrs. Palm, head of the Seamstress Guild. She sat grim faced at the conference table, her arms folded across her chest.
As Vimes elbowed his way through irate council members, Lord Rust spun around and pointed like his was the finger of fate. "And what are YOU doing about this, Vimes? The city going to Hades and you strolling in late. Ha!"
"I haven't had a very nice day," growled Vimes, "and I won't listen to some laced-up piss pot tell me what--"
Lord Vetinari picked up his ebony cane and with a whoosh, whacked it on the tabletop. There was a sudden, startled silence.
"Thank you for your attention," he said. He turned to Vimes. "Report."
Vimes had spent some time putting elbows and boots to good use in the vicinity of the Ankh-Morpork-Ansbach border. A more physical technique was necessary for cutting through the crowds gathered in the Platz once he noticed that his preferred method of shouting "Get the bloody hell out of my way!" didn't yield the usual results.
"Doesn't look good, sir," he said to the Patrician. "There's no way to know how many Ansbachers are fleeing out of Morpork towards the Platz, but the way the streets are blocked, I'd say a few thousand."
"Let the traitors go," said Lord Venturii. "Sessies!"
Lord Vetinari stared around the table to ensure that Venturii's outburst wouldn't be followed by others.
"Continue, Vimes."
"There's been rumours of raids on Ansbacher-owned shops in Morpork, sir, and of riots up in the Shades. Anybody with an accent getting thumped, that kind of thing. We had a tip that Ansbachers had broken into the armoury but there was nothing amiss when we got there. There was also a report of some Ansbachers dressed in," Vimes thought about what Corporal Nobby Nobbs had told him, "I reckon it was traditional clothing, what with the short vests and fuzzy balls hanging from their hats. They apparently dumped a shipload of Winkles Old Peculiar into the river, but we haven't got any confirmation." He thumped a fist on the table. "That's the problem. I haven't got confirmation on anything. Watchmen all over the place and nobody's actually seen anything except Ansbachers loading up carts and heading hubwards."
"If your watchmen stubbed out their dog ends and peeked out of their comfortable alleys, they'd see the secessionists at their dirty work," said the head of the Butchers Guild. "Their carts are probably loaded with loot from Morpork shops. Mark my words."
"My watchmen have--"
"I'll give you confirmation, Vimes," said Mr. Smuech of the Tailors Guild. "The Ansbach members, former members, I should say, of my guild informed us tonight that they are forming their own guild just like the brewers did. Guild of Ansbach Tailors, they're calling themselves." His cheeks billowed. "What's next? Dwarf guilds? Troll guilds? This city will unravel like a badly hemmed skirt if we don't teach those Ansbach foreigners a lesson!" There was applause from around the table.
"Thank you for your viewpoint, Mr. Smuech," said the Patrician. "Vimes, what is happening on the Platz?"
"Some fighting, sir. Nothing much. People throwing things about. Some rocks, a few bottles and…" Vimes' grim face twitched, "…several cats."
"Anyone seriously injured?" asked Boggis.
"Besides the cats?"
"Proves their barbarity," Lord Selachii whispered to Lord Venturii. "Throwing poor defenceless cats in a fight."
"Actually," said Vimes, "they didn't thr--"
The Patrician rapped the table with his knuckles. "Vimes, are there barricades going up?"
"They're hammering away Ansbach side. But mostly people are milling around waiting to see what happens next."
"Hmm." The Patrician folded his hands on the table. "It would be helpful if you set a line of watchmen across the Platz. Elbow to elbow, commander. I don't want the situation to escalate. No throwing of puppies, parakeets, small lizards and so forth." He looked out across the conference table. "I suggest we send an embassy to the Ansbacher Council of Elders. This misunderstanding between—"
There was a snort from Lord Rust. Lord Vetinari turned his attention to him.
"You have an opinion, my lord?"
"I do." Rust rose from his chair like a self-righteous soufflé. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Council, it is clear that due to," he coughed, "personal considerations, Lord Vetinari will not do what needs to be done in the case of the Ansbach rebels. Things might not have got out of hand to begin with if it wasn't for that…" His voice trailed off when he realised he was speaking into a shocked vacuum that seemed to suck up every word he was saying.
He looked at the Patrician. Lord Vetinari was frowning, but not in an angry way. He looked like a schoolteacher aware that one of his dimmer students was about to give the wrong answer.
"We are all waiting with interest for the end of your thought, Lord Rust," he said.
Rust cleared his throat. "Well, it's that blasted seamstress," he said, looking around the table. Several council members, former clients of Hanna's, turned their gazes away.
"She's one of them," continued Rust. "Everyone knows she's behind the feud between the breweries, and there is some talk that she was instrumental in that explosion at Saltlik's a few days ago. An act of terrorism, ladies and gentlemen, that looks like a deliberate and calculated attempt to spark the very crisis we have now."
He turned to the Patrician. "It is my sad duty to point out to the Council, my lord, that this Ansbacher has deceived you. She has blinded you to the true intention of her traitorous plans. Furthermore, your…infatuat--" At the look on the Patrician's face, Rust back-tracked. "…indulgence in matters related to her will keep you from acting firmly and decisively against the rebels."
Lord Rust straightened as he addressed the Council. "I propose that Lord Vetinari be relieved of involvement in this issue and that Hanna Stein be arrested on sight. For treason."
Mrs. Palm slapped her hands loudly on the table as she stood up. For a long moment, she stared at the Patrician. Then she stalked out of the Rats Chamber, the slamming of the door as loud as the closing of a tomb in the silence. Council members seated around Rust very quietly lifted their chairs and moved them in slow increments away from him.
The look of mild annoyance on the Patrician's face hadn't changed all through Rust's speech, and that, to the Council, was far more disturbing than if he'd flown off the handle. Hanna Stein was his… None of them, especially those who'd had business with Hanna in the past, liked the idea of it, but she was the Patrician's…private seamstress. It was strange that he hadn't defended her. Or himself. It was practically an admission of her guilt.
The Patrician rose to his feet. Everyone in the room except Vimes and Rust shifted to the edge of their chairs in case a quick flight was needed.
"Are there others in the Council with Lord Rust's opinion?" he asked. The silence sharpened. "Is there anyone who wishes to voice an opposing opinion?" Lord Vetinari let his eyes wander over every face around the table.
"I see," he said. "This appears to be something of a vote of no confidence. If it is the will of the Council, I will obey it. Pro tempore." He picked up his walking stick. "I leave the matter of Ansbach in your capable hands." With a curt nod to the Council, he left the Rats Chamber. After sharing a moment of shock with the civic leaders, Vimes followed.
The Patrician strode rapidly down the corridor and Vimes stopped him only by sprinting in front of him, his arms spread out.
"You appear to be in my way, Sir Samuel."
"You aren't going to let those arseh--" at the frown on the Patrician's face, Vimes said, "honourable civic leaders run the show, are you? There'll be civil war!"
"They may find a peaceful solution to the Ansbach problem, Sir Samuel."
Vimes snorted.
"I am not a dictator," said Lord Vetinari, contrary to the political reality of the city. "I rule by the will of the Council. If it feels I am unfit in this one instance, it is my duty to step aside."
"They might ask you to step aside permanently."
"It is their prerogative to ask." Lord Vetinari started walking again but Vimes kept in step with him.
"If you think Miss Stein'll need protective custody, sir, we could--"
"Very thoughtful of you, Vimes, but I'm sure she will be fine." The Patrician halted suddenly and stared at him. "You did know her before, didn't you?"
To his alarm, Vimes felt a wave of heat start at the collar of his armour and work its way up his face.
"Then you should know," said the Patrician, "that she is an independent-minded woman capable of fending for herself." He side-stepped Vimes and continued down the corridor.
**
Rosemary Palm caught up with him in the hallway that lead to his bedroom. She'd been pacing angrily outside the Oblong Office, lost patience and went downstairs where she ran into Vimes. She was out of breath by the time she reached the Patrician.
"Hanna is many things but she's no traitor," she said. She pointed down the hall. "You're the only friend she had in that chamber. Why didn't you defend her?"
"I believe she had another friend there."
"It was your responsibility."
"Was it? I would counter any talk against Hanna's ability to fulfil the service for which I hired her, but anything else is not my concern."
"Nonsense, Havelock, and you know it."
Lord Vetinari gave her a stern stare, which Mrs. Palm matched without flinching. They had a long history; the seamstresses had been some of the Patrician's first allies.
"It has been said in other quarters, Rosemary, that I am a foolish old man dazzled by the mistress I've bought," he said. "That is only half true."
He closed his bedroom door firmly behind him.
**
Declaration of Independent and Sovereign Nationhood Separate in Name and Municipal Reality from the Oppressive State of Ankh-Morpork
"It doesn't exactly slide off the tongue," said Hanna over the edge of the paper.
Mr. Beezle nodded. "The title needs some work but the rest is quite polished."
They were in an upper room of the old Ansbach town hall. From outside came shouts, snatches of song and hammers striking wood as for the second day, Ansbachers built barricades across the Platz.
Directly below them they could hear more shouting. The Council of Elders had been in session downstairs for 48 hours and had succeeded in doing the following: 1) Advising Ansbachers with any extra room in their homes to offer it to the refugees fleeing Ankh-Morpork; 2) Ordering the ration of all foodstuffs; 3) Upsetting the guilds. The Ansbacher version of everything from brewers to assassins wanted at least the same kind of say in the Council of Elders as they'd had in the Ankh-Morpork Council. The Elders weren't inclined to give it to them. They never had to before.
The shouts had escalated that morning when an envoy had delivered a message from Ankh-Morpork: If the rebellion wasn't ended in 72 hours, Ansbach would be taken back by force. After a long session of enraged pounding on the tables and cries for the vengeance and honour of the ancestors, etc., the Elders had the presence of mind to notice that the order was signed Lord Rust, not Vetinari. They congratulated Hanna on her influence with the Patrician. With him out of the way, they thought, independence was halfway won. Her attempts to argue otherwise were waved down good-naturedly. She'd retired to the attic with Mr. Beezle.
Apart from his duties as secretary in the Ankh-Morpork Guild of Brewers, Mr. Beezle was secretary of the Committee for the Liberation of Ansbach, Morpork section (CLAMs), Ansbach's largest secessionist group. He'd held both positions for several years without either knowing about his post in the other. His instructions had been very clear on this point.
Mr. Beezle had been entrusted with writing the momentous document that would announce Ansbach's new place in the world. He was so efficient at his job that he'd started it a year before CLAMs had asked him to do it. It was a task he was well suited to. Contrary to his bow tie image, he was an agent who very much liked being provocative. It was, one could say, his job.
Hanna turned to the first page of the declaration.
When in the course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political suspenders which have connected them with the trousers of tyranny, and to assume among the Powers of the Disc, the separate and equal station to which they are entitled, a certain amount of respect to the opinions of halfway educated people requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to separation.
We hold these truths to be pretty reasonable if you think about it: that all people regardless of their ability to pronounce the letter "w" are created equal; that they are endowed by the Gods with certain rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of beer brewed to the Ansbach Purity Law of the Year of the Distressed Wombat…
Hanna looked up from the paper. "The trousers of tyranny," she said, smiling.
"At first I wrote the pants of persecution but thought the other sounded better," said Mr. Beezle.
"It's very inspiring."
"Thank you."
They sat for a moment and listened to the singing from outside. It was an old Ansbacher song about the freedom in the oak, fir and birch forests of the Old Country. A typical exile song. The rhythm of the words coincided with the blows of several dozen hammers on the wooden sections of the barricades.
"To be honest, I never had a particular opinion about trees," said Hanna.
"Me either," said Mr. Beezle. "Sometimes my mother sang that same song when she cleaned house. I could never get that worked up about birch."
"You're only half Ansbacher. I have no excuse."
"I suspect you're more Morporkian than I am." Mr. Beezle tucked the declaration into a satchel.
"Then why is there an arrest warrant out on me and not you?"
"I've been longer at my job," said Mr. Beezle. "And if I may be so bold," he gave her the mischievous, scheming smile common to tax accountants and spies, "I'm the best at it."
He offered Hanna his arm. "I must return to the madness downstairs. I'm to read in the ringing tones of liberty as Item F: Declaration of Sovereignty, on the day's agenda. Will you stay to hear it?"
"Sorry, Manfred," said Hanna. "I have a lot more work to do."
+++ Heh-heh...I know DW is very English and I've just showed myself to be very American! Oh well...Who wouldn't have fun ripping of the Declaration of Independence!? More to come...++