Thanks for the reviews, but for everyone who wants more Vetinari, all I have to say is patience- his lordship does things in his own time, not in yours.

The markets of Ankh-Morpork were bustling with business, people calling out greetings, stall owners trying to attract attention to their wares, and children playing1 underfoot. To sum it up nicely, it was all one noisy, colorful mess.

"Fish, get your fish, right here nice and fresh, just caught! Fish, come and..."

"Too high, too high! Who do you think you are to charge that much for such shoddy work as this, I won't give more than..."

"Thief! He didn't show me his guild card. And in broad daylight too!..."

"Credit? You want credit, you horrible little debtor? I'll give you credit..."

"Sausage inna bun, reasonably priced and mostly identifiable meat! Genuine sausage inna bun, quite cheap and that's cutting me own throat."

"Good morning Mr. Dibbler."

Cut-me-own-throat Dibbler nodded to the thin young woman herding her group of children toward their empty corner of the market. "Morning Miss Mariel, fancy a sausage for the little ones? Eh, Miss Grace, would you like a sausage?" He winked conspiritaly, "I guarantee a special deal for friends."

"No thank you, I don't wish to make her sick."

"Are you insinuating that my sausages would make this lovely child sick?"

"Why Mr. Dibbler," she said, looking aghast. "I meant no such thing, I apologize if my poor word choice would ever let you think that your sausages would make anyone merely sick. I ought to have said violently ill." Giving him a sweet smile she ushered her siblings to the poorer corner of the market by the fountain, where they laid out all of their whittled figures, salvaged scraps, and spun yarn.

"Jonathan, I want you to keep an eye on Sophie and Tessa, I'll keep Gracie here with me. Remember to stay out of the bars, don't break anything, and be back by noon for dinner." Mariel fixed them with a stern eye, "And if I hear even a whisper that says you've been thieving..."

"Yes mother..." Jon spit out in that exasperated tone adopted by twelve year olds everywhere. "We'll behave ourselves."

"Alright, I'm through. Now scat."

Mariel spent a frustrating morning, trying to sell their wares over the more bountiful harvests of her neighbors. The few customers who stopped by were only interested in giving a small pittance for the goods and Mariel refused to accept charity.

"We are not beggars ma'am, nor are we thieves. I bought the wool and spun it myself and I assure you as to its quality."

"But I wanted to do my charity for the week. The priest said "Thou shalt go out and distribute your earthly possessions, keeping some for yourself of course..."

"Look," Mariel said with a touch of impatience "Foul Old Ron is over there, you could give it to him. Otherwise I'd be more than willing to sell you something." At last the woman chose a small carved comb in the shape of an owl, his outstretched wing feathers making the teeth. Mariel sighed, rubbing her temples as the lady left, after insisting on giving an exorbitant price for such a small trinket.

"Why is it that every time I see you, long day is written all over your face?" a sympathetic voice spoke from behind her.

"Next time you man the booth then, Tom, and I'll find work for the day." She paused then continued a rant that had been building up steam all morning, "I just don't understand these people. First they haggle over the price till it is practically nothing, then they try to hand me charity. This is Ankh-Morpork, generosity is unnerving!"

"Well to brighten your day- I found a reasonable job for the afternoon, won't be back till late but I should make five or even ten dollars." He could not keep the excitement out of his voice at the chance to earn real money rather than scraping by with a handful of pennies at the end of the day.

"Can you do a favor for me Tom?"

"Sure, anything."

Pulling a leather purse from her pocket she weighed it in her hand before handing it to him. "Take this to Mr. Samson, it's for the gambling debts and the rent."

Tom handled the pouch reverently as he tucked it away, "how did you manage it without da's paycheck?"

"I didn't, that is da's pay. I went down early and talked to Mr. Jones at the shipping company and he gave it to me once I convinced him of the need."

"You shouldn't have, he'll be furious."

"Let him be." She jutted her chin out stubbornly, "there is no other way if he fritters it away on ale so I kept it safe." Mellowing slightly at the alarmed look on her brother's face she softened. "Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself. Now run along and drop that money off safely. Supper will be ready when you get home." With slight protests Tom allowed himself to be ushered off to his errand and new job.

As the morning gave way to the noontime heat, both customers and merchants began to filter out of the market and head for home or a bar to get a refreshing lunch. As the market was abandoned Mariel tried to find the children who had conveniently lost themselves. By the time everyone was gathered it was rather late to go home for lunch so Mariel proposed a picnic in the deserted market, a choice which the children seized upon with glee.

The table scraps picnic was just finishing when someone staggered into the plaza. "Da!" Mariel exclaimed jumping up.

"Where is it girl? What have you done with it?" He was in a partly drunken rage, angrier than a mad bull and most likely more dangerous as well. Unobtrusively Mariel motioned the children to hide, and they did, all except Grace who clung to the back of Mariel's skirts.

"Done with what da?"

"The money wench. Dammit you stole my money!"

Squaring her shoulders Mariel faced him. "I did no such thing. I took the money that's true," she paused for his inarticulate bellow of rage, "but I gave it over to pay for the rent and your debts. Your gambling debts and bar debts, that's where the money is..."

"Shut up!" He struck her across the face. His drunken eyes took on a calculating look and he snatched little Grace from behind Mariel. Looking at her he tried to sound coaxing and threatening at the same time, "I'll bet you know where my money is? Tell your da..."

"She doesn't know, and I told you I paid the debts with it. Let her go!" Mariel took a step towards them, stopping only when he pulled Grace closer and lifted his hand in readyment for a blow.

Mariel watched Grace's struggle and sluggish tears, feeling her anger grow. "Here!" she cried, pulling a second pouch from her pocket. "This is it, just let her go!"

Catching Grace as she ran to her she threw the purse with her other hand and watched as he opened it greedily. The few pennies earned from market that day fell into his open palm, a scant offering he eyed with disgust. Dashing them to the ground he inspected the empty pouch before speaking, this time soft and dangerously, his eyes glittering with barely suppressed rage.

"Where is it?" he hissed.

"I told you, it's gone to pay off your debts, gone!" She screamed back at him, all of her hatred boiling through. And at last she could see that he believed her, his money, his drink was gone.

In two strides he was next to her, and instinctively she bent over Grace, protecting her from the blows that began to rain down on her own unprotected head and back. Biting her tongue against the pain she clutched her sobbing sister to her chest.

Corporal Nobby Nobbs of the watch was doing a routine stroll through the empty market, thieving or scavenging if you prefer, the fallen and left behind items. Suddenly hearing the shouting he ran to investigate, cautiously peering out from behind a wall.

"Hey," he yelled at the drunken man, "you can't do that! I arrest you in the name of the watch." A backhanded swing caught him and threw him into the brick wall of a bakery. "Right," he said picking himself up, "I'll settle you." He turned and ran for the watch house and Commander Vimes.

Mariel vaguely heard the intervention of some little titch of a watchman, but used the intervention to thrust Grace away from her. "Run!" she commanded as she shoved her away. Grace hesitated and took a few steps when Jonathan burst from the shadows, scooped her up and carried her back to their hiding spot. Mariel was almost sobbing with relief as Grace escaped and tried to collect herself to run when a hand wound into her hair and pulled.

"Oh no you don't, you little slut!" The blows came even harder this time; she could taste blood in her mouth and wetness seeping from a cut above her eye. A sharp pain shot up her back, and she couldn't hold in the small scream that cut through her throat. She was sobbing now, tears mixing with blood. Let it end, she prayed. Let him tire of it soon. Make it stop, make the pain stop. Oh please, please, please, let it be over...

A sharp tug on her arm made her gasp as he half lifted her prone form. She stared into his maddened face, gasping as a wrench to her arm caused her shoulder to pop with a splitting pain. Slowly her vision began to go dark, and just before she fainted, Mariel realized he wasn't going to stop. He's going to kill me this time. I'm going to die.

1 Or stealing, this is Ankh-Morpork after all.