Author's note: Sorry this has taken so long to update – been horrendously busy between working and getting ready for a sci fi convention. On a lighter note, I found the perfect sewing pattern for an Inverness coat [Sherlock Holmes cape, but you knew that]. If anyone is interested in the pattern number, just ask!
Disclaimers: See Part 1.
*****
::London::
Once I'd overcome my shock at seeing the young man in the brilliant purple suit and his pet orangutan (also in a suit of well-tailored clothing – though I can't imagine how they'd convinced the tailor to take on such a project), I noticed the abrupt disappearance of Mrs. MacAvoy (who had fled back into the hospital in fright at seeing the orangutan), as well as the fact that Vetinari seemed not to be bothered in the least by their appearance.
"Skazz, was it?" Vetinari enquired of the young man, "I trust you have a *very* good explanation for this entire chain of events." Vetinari's tone had a potentially lethal edge to it.
"Aye, yer Lordship," the man who was apparently Skazz said, bowing to Vetinari. He had until a few moments ago been apparently engaged in an argument with his pocket-watch, but now was shaking it and tapping the side of it in between deferring to Vetinari. "We're just experiencing, er… a few technical difficulties right now. I think Ponder might have dropped his omniscope."
"Dropped his what?" I interjected, trying gallantly to keep up with the conversation.
Skazz sighed heavily. "And who are you?" he asked me, as though I was an intruder to the conversation.
"This is Dr. Watson," Vetinari supplied, "A friend to the man currently in Ankh-Morpork."
"Oh – right. Doc, you'll be happy to note that Ponder's found your friend. I don't know what's happened, but…"
"Is he all right?" I asked, naturally concerned for Holmes' well-being.
"He'll be fine, just as long as he doesn't piss off any trolls or dwarves."
I opened my mouth to ask the natural question, but Vetinari overrode me. "As soon as you re-establish contact with Mr. Stibbons, you inform him that I am near the end of some local business. I have only a few more issues to resolve before I leave."
"Er, begging your pardon," Skazz said, "But how could you have business *here*? I mean, you're not the Patrician of London, so—"
"It's complicated," Vetinari understated the obvious, "I expect we shall be done by this evening. Meet us back at the Baker Street residence around eight."
"But, sir – do you know how long it's taken us to find you?"
"Not so long that you didn't have time for some extracurricular anatomy studies along the way," Vetinari hissed. Skazz shrank back under the force of Vetinari's annoyance, and I started to wonder how accurate Vetinari's assertions of his own rank were – once upon a time I had dismissed them as the delusional ravings of a madman, but something about seeing a man with purple hair and an orangutan in menswear tends to rearrange one's preconceived notions of madness.
"Watson, would you be so kind as to fetch Mrs. MacAvoy from the lobby once again?" Vetinari presently said, without taking his eye off Skazz, "I believe our Morporkian assistants were just about to leave us to our business – weren't you, Skazz?" The razor-edged tone returned as he addressed the unfortunate Skazz, who pocketed his strange watch, bowed convulsively and ran off. The orangutan offered me a broad grin and a tip of his slightly abused-looking hat as he knuckled off after his strange handler. I wondered once again under what circumstances he had come by his clothing, but finally concluded that I wouldn't like the answer.
It took some convincing to coax the poor woman back outside, along with repeated reassurances that the "circus people" were really gone.
*****
::Ankh-Morpork::
Sherlock Holmes had the sort of effortless, ground-devouring lope generally found in certain species of wild dog. This trait was perfectly suited for following a standard tracking dog across, say, a field or along an urban thoroughfare. It was not, however, well-suited for following Gaspode through the streets of Ankh-Morpork. It was, however, very well-suited for nearly dislocating one's shoulder repeatedly with the leash, as Gaspode tended to change directions rather abruptly, not to mention stopping for long periods and then breaking into a run again without warning. Ponder followed to the best of his ability(a), though he was soon out of breath and had a stitch in his side. He paused, leaning against a wall to rest, only to have Holmes charitably double back and urge him onward.
"Dammit Holmes," Ponder snarled, "I'm a wizard, not a runner."
"Then why am I the one tracking our subject and not you?" Holmes shot back irritably, "I expect someone of your profession has his own methods for doing things. Otherwise, stop complaining. We've already had enough of a delay whilst you re-located your pocket-watch."
"I *told* you, it isn't a pocket-watch, it's my omniscope!" Ponder spat, "And I can't co-ordinate the transfer with Skazz without it! Has anyone ever told you how big a jerk you are?"
"Listen to me, Stibbons," Holmes said, a bit less harshly, "We are very close to finding this man. I can smell it just as well as Gaspode can, despite the fact that my nose has shut down entirely since I arrived here. I know that you must be just as eager to find him as I am. You have that certain spark of curiosity about you, the drive to find out why, that won't let you rest until we've found him, am I right?"
After some consideration, Ponder nodded. "It's driving me nuts trying to figure out how he has this ability. I can't think of any spells like that, so it must be a curse of some sort."
"I suppose we'll find that out when we find our man," Holmes responded noncommittally, "Do you think you can run for a bit longer?"
Ponder groaned. "I don't suppose I have much of a choice in the matter."
"No," Holmes said brightly, "I don't suppose you do. Come along then." He pulled the younger man upright by one arm.
"If it helps," Ponder added, "I might be able locate any magical signature he has – if of course that's the nature of his ailment."
"Magical signature?" Holmes cocked an eyebrow.
"In layman's terms, he'll glow in a certain colour that wizards can see, depending on how powerful the signature is." He noticed the detective's blank expression. "The exact mechanics would take entirely too long to explain. Could you just take my word for it? Please?"
"I don't suppose I have much choice in the matter," Holmes sighed, "Just be sure to shout if you see anything of the sort. Gaspode, searAAARGH—"
*
(a) which wasn't all that difficult, considering that Holmes tended to be taller and rather more apologetic than the average Morpork crowd.
*****
::London::
We returned to the Cavitz residence in mutual silence: Vetinari's of deep meditation, Mrs. MacAvoy's of slight bewilderment, and mine of sheer uncertainty. So many of my preconceived notions about Vetinari had come apart during that bizarre encounter outside the hospital, and I wondered what other surprises the man had up his sleeves. For much of the return journey he had sat motionless, his arms folded and his chin upon his breast, so that were I a braver man I might have suspected him of taking a nap. He didn't immediately move as Mrs MacAvoy and I disembarked from the cab, so I reached up to touch his shoulder in case he was in fact asleep.
I didn't even see him move – yet my wrist was caught in his grip all the same.
"Don't touch me," he said simply, before releasing me and dismounting from the cab. He clasped his hands thoughtfully behind him and sauntered up the front steps, leaving me (as it has always been with Holmes) to pay the cabby. I caught movement from the tail of my eye and thought at first that another cab was approaching the manor after us, but dismissed it as it turned down a side street.
I entered the parlour in time to find Vetinari in the parlour.
"I have sent Mrs MacAvoy to gather here the players of this little melodrama," he announced to me, "I expect they'll be here shortly."
"What are you planning?" I asked.
"I plan to make a small announcement," he replied, "A small announcement with a potentially significant impact. I advise you to be ready."
"Be ready for what?"
"Mr MacAvoy." It took me two seconds to realise that he was now looking past me to the entryway. "So good of you to join us. I trust that the lord and lady of the house are forthcoming?"
"Aye," MacAvoy said, looking a bit baffled, "Have you found out anything yet?"
"How is your daughter? Is she well?"
"Well – yes, but—"
"Good, good," Vetinari overrode him, "Make sure she stays away from here for the time being. It may get a bit exciting within the next several minutes, unless I miss my guess."
"I'll have Kathleen stay with her in the servants' quarters," MacAvoy said.
"No – I wish Mrs MacAvoy here as well. Have Mrs Morris stay with little Rebecca."
"Mr Holmes, I really—"
"Good evening to you, Mr Cavitz, Mrs Cavitz," Vetinari announced as the indicated entered the parlour, "And Mrs MacAvoy, I would appreciate it if you would stay." As Mrs MacAvoy glanced to her husband for an explanation (and of course he had none), Vetinari turned his attention to Mr Cavitz. The amiable hint of a smile the offered was alarming.
"I expect that right now you're wondering why I have requested this meeting," Vetinari pronounced, at the exact moment Cavitz opened his mouth, ostensibly to ask precisely that, "I shall tell you. You see, in this very parlour, three murders didn't occur. Not for lack of trying, of course, but there you have it. An elaborate murder plot nearly unfolded, to the certain detriment of three innocent victims, but it didn't happen because one man… lit a cigarette." He paused, letting this baffling preface sink in. "I only have one question… for Mrs MacAvoy." He turned on his heel to face the unfortunate woman.
"This may be a difficult question to answer, but it is very important that you answer truthfully," he said to her, "How long have you been afraid of your husband's employer?"
"What--?" Mr MacAvoy began, but Vetinari cut him off with a gesture.
"I don't have to listen to this!" Cavitz announced, and turned to leave, but Vetinari turned and fixed him with such a stare as a mongoose might use to hypnotise a snake.
"I suggest that you stay where you are, Mr Cavitz. Otherwise you might miss something important."
I turned back to Mrs MacAvoy, and saw by her expression that Vetinari's question had struck her to the quick – but not, it seemed, because of its inaccuracy. Vetinari glanced back at her, noted, her expression, and nodded in satisfaction.
"The length of time is not overly important," Vetinari assured her, "I saw the look of fear you gave him when Watson and I were speaking with him. You are a lovely woman, and any man with eyes in his head can see as much, so it would make that he would focus upon you as a solution to his own domestic dilemma, to wit, the inconvenient presence of Mrs Cavitz. Mr MacAvoy said that Mrs Cavitz could not abide tobacco smoke, and I saw few ashtrays in the house, but I noticed a distinct odour of cigars upon Mr Cavitz's clothing and a fluff of cigar ash in the soil of a houseplant in the foyer. I expect, Mr Cavitz, that she banished you and your habit outside. How did that feel? Frustrating? Grating? Infuriating? What other elements did she control? Did she decide to hire the MacAvoys as part of the household staff? The shade of purple you're turning tells me everything I need to know. No, Mr Cavitz, I shall not be quiet. You lost any claim to privacy when you enlisted the woman's own brother in your plan." Vetinari's lips curled back savagely from his teeth, as though disgusted by this detail. Mrs MacAvoy burst into tears at the implication that her brother nearly helped destroy her family. Vetinari continued relentlessly, pacing the length of the parlour between the Cavitzes and the MacAvoys like a border guard.
"I expect Mrs MacAvoy, being the faithful woman she was, rejected your advances towards her, Mr Cavitz, because she was already married and had a daughter to consider. They, too, were obstacles to your happiness in the same way your own wife was. When you met Nathan Llewelyn and found out who he was, you saw your chance to rid yourself of the three people who stood in your way – Mr MacAvoy, Mrs Cavitz… and little Rebecca MacAvoy."
"Lies!" Cavitz roared, "It's all a pack of lies!" The unfortunate man glanced at his wife, but the distance already in her eyes was damning.
"No," said a voice from the doorway, "It's true."
Everyone turned to see Nathan Llewelyn in the entryway, leaning against the doorjamb like some vengeful soul back from the dead, his exposed and swollen face a horrible mask of blisters and pain and his arm trailing a grotesque streamer of bandages. He was wearing a robe over his hospital clothing, and a pair of boots on his otherwise bare feet. I realised that, whatever Vetinari had written on that note, it had spurred the burned man to ignore his injuries and travel after us to the Cavitz estate.
My attention was drawn back to Mr Cavitz by the sound of a revolver's hammer being pulled back. He had drawn a handgun from his pocket while everyone was distracted and now aimed it at Llewelyn.
I shouted a warning a split second before he fired.
*****
End Part 19.
Disclaimers: See Part 1.
*****
::London::
Once I'd overcome my shock at seeing the young man in the brilliant purple suit and his pet orangutan (also in a suit of well-tailored clothing – though I can't imagine how they'd convinced the tailor to take on such a project), I noticed the abrupt disappearance of Mrs. MacAvoy (who had fled back into the hospital in fright at seeing the orangutan), as well as the fact that Vetinari seemed not to be bothered in the least by their appearance.
"Skazz, was it?" Vetinari enquired of the young man, "I trust you have a *very* good explanation for this entire chain of events." Vetinari's tone had a potentially lethal edge to it.
"Aye, yer Lordship," the man who was apparently Skazz said, bowing to Vetinari. He had until a few moments ago been apparently engaged in an argument with his pocket-watch, but now was shaking it and tapping the side of it in between deferring to Vetinari. "We're just experiencing, er… a few technical difficulties right now. I think Ponder might have dropped his omniscope."
"Dropped his what?" I interjected, trying gallantly to keep up with the conversation.
Skazz sighed heavily. "And who are you?" he asked me, as though I was an intruder to the conversation.
"This is Dr. Watson," Vetinari supplied, "A friend to the man currently in Ankh-Morpork."
"Oh – right. Doc, you'll be happy to note that Ponder's found your friend. I don't know what's happened, but…"
"Is he all right?" I asked, naturally concerned for Holmes' well-being.
"He'll be fine, just as long as he doesn't piss off any trolls or dwarves."
I opened my mouth to ask the natural question, but Vetinari overrode me. "As soon as you re-establish contact with Mr. Stibbons, you inform him that I am near the end of some local business. I have only a few more issues to resolve before I leave."
"Er, begging your pardon," Skazz said, "But how could you have business *here*? I mean, you're not the Patrician of London, so—"
"It's complicated," Vetinari understated the obvious, "I expect we shall be done by this evening. Meet us back at the Baker Street residence around eight."
"But, sir – do you know how long it's taken us to find you?"
"Not so long that you didn't have time for some extracurricular anatomy studies along the way," Vetinari hissed. Skazz shrank back under the force of Vetinari's annoyance, and I started to wonder how accurate Vetinari's assertions of his own rank were – once upon a time I had dismissed them as the delusional ravings of a madman, but something about seeing a man with purple hair and an orangutan in menswear tends to rearrange one's preconceived notions of madness.
"Watson, would you be so kind as to fetch Mrs. MacAvoy from the lobby once again?" Vetinari presently said, without taking his eye off Skazz, "I believe our Morporkian assistants were just about to leave us to our business – weren't you, Skazz?" The razor-edged tone returned as he addressed the unfortunate Skazz, who pocketed his strange watch, bowed convulsively and ran off. The orangutan offered me a broad grin and a tip of his slightly abused-looking hat as he knuckled off after his strange handler. I wondered once again under what circumstances he had come by his clothing, but finally concluded that I wouldn't like the answer.
It took some convincing to coax the poor woman back outside, along with repeated reassurances that the "circus people" were really gone.
*****
::Ankh-Morpork::
Sherlock Holmes had the sort of effortless, ground-devouring lope generally found in certain species of wild dog. This trait was perfectly suited for following a standard tracking dog across, say, a field or along an urban thoroughfare. It was not, however, well-suited for following Gaspode through the streets of Ankh-Morpork. It was, however, very well-suited for nearly dislocating one's shoulder repeatedly with the leash, as Gaspode tended to change directions rather abruptly, not to mention stopping for long periods and then breaking into a run again without warning. Ponder followed to the best of his ability(a), though he was soon out of breath and had a stitch in his side. He paused, leaning against a wall to rest, only to have Holmes charitably double back and urge him onward.
"Dammit Holmes," Ponder snarled, "I'm a wizard, not a runner."
"Then why am I the one tracking our subject and not you?" Holmes shot back irritably, "I expect someone of your profession has his own methods for doing things. Otherwise, stop complaining. We've already had enough of a delay whilst you re-located your pocket-watch."
"I *told* you, it isn't a pocket-watch, it's my omniscope!" Ponder spat, "And I can't co-ordinate the transfer with Skazz without it! Has anyone ever told you how big a jerk you are?"
"Listen to me, Stibbons," Holmes said, a bit less harshly, "We are very close to finding this man. I can smell it just as well as Gaspode can, despite the fact that my nose has shut down entirely since I arrived here. I know that you must be just as eager to find him as I am. You have that certain spark of curiosity about you, the drive to find out why, that won't let you rest until we've found him, am I right?"
After some consideration, Ponder nodded. "It's driving me nuts trying to figure out how he has this ability. I can't think of any spells like that, so it must be a curse of some sort."
"I suppose we'll find that out when we find our man," Holmes responded noncommittally, "Do you think you can run for a bit longer?"
Ponder groaned. "I don't suppose I have much of a choice in the matter."
"No," Holmes said brightly, "I don't suppose you do. Come along then." He pulled the younger man upright by one arm.
"If it helps," Ponder added, "I might be able locate any magical signature he has – if of course that's the nature of his ailment."
"Magical signature?" Holmes cocked an eyebrow.
"In layman's terms, he'll glow in a certain colour that wizards can see, depending on how powerful the signature is." He noticed the detective's blank expression. "The exact mechanics would take entirely too long to explain. Could you just take my word for it? Please?"
"I don't suppose I have much choice in the matter," Holmes sighed, "Just be sure to shout if you see anything of the sort. Gaspode, searAAARGH—"
*
(a) which wasn't all that difficult, considering that Holmes tended to be taller and rather more apologetic than the average Morpork crowd.
*****
::London::
We returned to the Cavitz residence in mutual silence: Vetinari's of deep meditation, Mrs. MacAvoy's of slight bewilderment, and mine of sheer uncertainty. So many of my preconceived notions about Vetinari had come apart during that bizarre encounter outside the hospital, and I wondered what other surprises the man had up his sleeves. For much of the return journey he had sat motionless, his arms folded and his chin upon his breast, so that were I a braver man I might have suspected him of taking a nap. He didn't immediately move as Mrs MacAvoy and I disembarked from the cab, so I reached up to touch his shoulder in case he was in fact asleep.
I didn't even see him move – yet my wrist was caught in his grip all the same.
"Don't touch me," he said simply, before releasing me and dismounting from the cab. He clasped his hands thoughtfully behind him and sauntered up the front steps, leaving me (as it has always been with Holmes) to pay the cabby. I caught movement from the tail of my eye and thought at first that another cab was approaching the manor after us, but dismissed it as it turned down a side street.
I entered the parlour in time to find Vetinari in the parlour.
"I have sent Mrs MacAvoy to gather here the players of this little melodrama," he announced to me, "I expect they'll be here shortly."
"What are you planning?" I asked.
"I plan to make a small announcement," he replied, "A small announcement with a potentially significant impact. I advise you to be ready."
"Be ready for what?"
"Mr MacAvoy." It took me two seconds to realise that he was now looking past me to the entryway. "So good of you to join us. I trust that the lord and lady of the house are forthcoming?"
"Aye," MacAvoy said, looking a bit baffled, "Have you found out anything yet?"
"How is your daughter? Is she well?"
"Well – yes, but—"
"Good, good," Vetinari overrode him, "Make sure she stays away from here for the time being. It may get a bit exciting within the next several minutes, unless I miss my guess."
"I'll have Kathleen stay with her in the servants' quarters," MacAvoy said.
"No – I wish Mrs MacAvoy here as well. Have Mrs Morris stay with little Rebecca."
"Mr Holmes, I really—"
"Good evening to you, Mr Cavitz, Mrs Cavitz," Vetinari announced as the indicated entered the parlour, "And Mrs MacAvoy, I would appreciate it if you would stay." As Mrs MacAvoy glanced to her husband for an explanation (and of course he had none), Vetinari turned his attention to Mr Cavitz. The amiable hint of a smile the offered was alarming.
"I expect that right now you're wondering why I have requested this meeting," Vetinari pronounced, at the exact moment Cavitz opened his mouth, ostensibly to ask precisely that, "I shall tell you. You see, in this very parlour, three murders didn't occur. Not for lack of trying, of course, but there you have it. An elaborate murder plot nearly unfolded, to the certain detriment of three innocent victims, but it didn't happen because one man… lit a cigarette." He paused, letting this baffling preface sink in. "I only have one question… for Mrs MacAvoy." He turned on his heel to face the unfortunate woman.
"This may be a difficult question to answer, but it is very important that you answer truthfully," he said to her, "How long have you been afraid of your husband's employer?"
"What--?" Mr MacAvoy began, but Vetinari cut him off with a gesture.
"I don't have to listen to this!" Cavitz announced, and turned to leave, but Vetinari turned and fixed him with such a stare as a mongoose might use to hypnotise a snake.
"I suggest that you stay where you are, Mr Cavitz. Otherwise you might miss something important."
I turned back to Mrs MacAvoy, and saw by her expression that Vetinari's question had struck her to the quick – but not, it seemed, because of its inaccuracy. Vetinari glanced back at her, noted, her expression, and nodded in satisfaction.
"The length of time is not overly important," Vetinari assured her, "I saw the look of fear you gave him when Watson and I were speaking with him. You are a lovely woman, and any man with eyes in his head can see as much, so it would make that he would focus upon you as a solution to his own domestic dilemma, to wit, the inconvenient presence of Mrs Cavitz. Mr MacAvoy said that Mrs Cavitz could not abide tobacco smoke, and I saw few ashtrays in the house, but I noticed a distinct odour of cigars upon Mr Cavitz's clothing and a fluff of cigar ash in the soil of a houseplant in the foyer. I expect, Mr Cavitz, that she banished you and your habit outside. How did that feel? Frustrating? Grating? Infuriating? What other elements did she control? Did she decide to hire the MacAvoys as part of the household staff? The shade of purple you're turning tells me everything I need to know. No, Mr Cavitz, I shall not be quiet. You lost any claim to privacy when you enlisted the woman's own brother in your plan." Vetinari's lips curled back savagely from his teeth, as though disgusted by this detail. Mrs MacAvoy burst into tears at the implication that her brother nearly helped destroy her family. Vetinari continued relentlessly, pacing the length of the parlour between the Cavitzes and the MacAvoys like a border guard.
"I expect Mrs MacAvoy, being the faithful woman she was, rejected your advances towards her, Mr Cavitz, because she was already married and had a daughter to consider. They, too, were obstacles to your happiness in the same way your own wife was. When you met Nathan Llewelyn and found out who he was, you saw your chance to rid yourself of the three people who stood in your way – Mr MacAvoy, Mrs Cavitz… and little Rebecca MacAvoy."
"Lies!" Cavitz roared, "It's all a pack of lies!" The unfortunate man glanced at his wife, but the distance already in her eyes was damning.
"No," said a voice from the doorway, "It's true."
Everyone turned to see Nathan Llewelyn in the entryway, leaning against the doorjamb like some vengeful soul back from the dead, his exposed and swollen face a horrible mask of blisters and pain and his arm trailing a grotesque streamer of bandages. He was wearing a robe over his hospital clothing, and a pair of boots on his otherwise bare feet. I realised that, whatever Vetinari had written on that note, it had spurred the burned man to ignore his injuries and travel after us to the Cavitz estate.
My attention was drawn back to Mr Cavitz by the sound of a revolver's hammer being pulled back. He had drawn a handgun from his pocket while everyone was distracted and now aimed it at Llewelyn.
I shouted a warning a split second before he fired.
*****
End Part 19.