A-N: Fast update for the Vetinari fans... (smile) oOo

5. The Trouble with Seamstresses

Hanna thought Madam talked too much about Lord Vetinari, but didn't know how to tell her that. She kept quiet and listened and that might have been why she lay awake for a while that night remembering things she'd forgotten. In the early days of the contract, the Patrician needed to be, in various ways, trained. There'd been times when she didn't think he was taking her or her art seriously.

One time...

"Hanna."

"Yes, sir?"

"Is this all really necessary?"

She dropped the pose she'd struck against the far bedpost in his bedroom and folded her arms over the short gauzy robe that did nothing to hide the corset underneath. The Patrician sat up in bed, the blankets around his waist, arms resting on his knees. He looked amused.

That is not what Hanna wanted him to look like. He was supposed to look...stimulated. Aroused. Hungry.

He was not supposed to be suppressing a laugh. She could see it, there in the curl of his lips.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Am I laughing?"

"You're laughing inside."

"I am always laughing inside." He allowed a transient smile. "I only wonder what the purpose of this..." he waved at her lace garter belts and fish net stockings, "...theater is."

"You're supposed to be stunned by my sensual charms," snapped Hanna.

"At the moment, I am stunned by the superfluity of your clothing."

Hanna wore her hair down, something she only did in the bedroom. A woman's hair was a weapon in the arsenal of a seamstress, or of any woman whose goal was the private arousal of a man. It spread over her shoulders and down her arms like a veil. Irritated now, she flicked it out of her way.

"There is an art to all of this, you know," she said. "It's not just a matter of the mechanical act that--"

"Mechanical! Dear me." The Patrician cleared his throat. "Have I been mechanical?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Ah. I am relieved to hear that."

"I meant there are two sides to the coin: seduction is one of them."

"I was under the impression that seduction was a tool to achieve the...other side of the coin."

Hanna sat beside him. "Only sometimes. Seduction is an ongoing aspect of the relationship, a subtle play between a couple that happens all the time in a low-level way. It only reaches its higher stages in the bedroom or..." Hanna smiled, "...wherever. It's different from flirting; that's just sending signals. Seduction is a consistent, subterranean attitude between lovers."

The Patrician gazed thoughtfully at Hanna's corset. It was dark blue.

"If Mrs. Palm ever opens a guild school, you should lecture on Seduction Theory. I'd certainly have someone take notes for me."

The corset was a model that laced up the front. He tugged at the laces. The bow wouldn't give.

"I still find this gift wrap unnecessary," he sighed. He pulled a knife from under his pillow and sliced through the bow. Hanna squealed.

"If you didn't want a quality seamstress, you should have got someone cheaper, sir. I'm not going to just sprawl out on the covers at your command, that kind of thing isn't worth my time. Or yours either. You contracted for the whole nine yards, and that means seduction and--"

He snagged more laces with his knife and sliced them.

"Stop that!"

He raised his eyebrow. "Hm?"

"Stop that, sir. I paid a lot for this corset."

"I will reimburse you if you show me a receipt of purchase." He tossed the knife aside, pushed the gauzy robe back over her shoulders and peeled the corset open like a book. "I'm afraid this is all more trouble than it needs to be."

"You have no sense of the erotic, your lordship."

"At the moment, I have the sense that I am not paying you to talk."

Hanna's eyes widened. "You didn't just tell me that all you want out of one of the best seamstresses in the city is..." She almost choked, "commerce without conversation?" She threw up her hands. "Why am I even here? You could go down to the docks and find any number of ladies willing to oblige you!"

The Patrician had to lift her at the waist and move her up the mattress before she'd lie down. He lay beside her.

"There is no need to be upset."

"Why not? You've just insulted me, sir! I haven't practiced my profession this long and worked this hard to have some blasted Patrician --"

"Hanna..."

"Sorry, sir, some lord tell me that a third-rate beginner would do just as well. You said yourself on Hogswatchnight you wanted a companion, not just a--"

He leaned over her. "Hanna. Sssssshhhhhhhh."

"And now you're shushing me! Am I a child now too?"

He kept up the long, gentle shush until it cut through her irritation because, in the end, it was actually a rather soothing sound.

In her bedroom in Pseudopolis, Hanna pulled the blanket more snugly around her and tossed on the mattress a while, but she couldn't settle. The room was too cold. And she thought as she drifted fitfully to sleep that maybe Ankh-Morpork was too far away.

oOo

The Pseudopolis Bath House was built in the Klatchian style. It was a series of whitewashed domes with stars and moons cut out of the stone ceilings, allowing daylight to shine down into the bathing rooms. Respectable people went to the baths during the day.

Night time was for everyone else.

Inside, the bath house was a series of arcades around a large central room, where people in various stages of nudity frolicked and waded in what looked like a heated swimming pool. The bath tubs were lined up along the walls on two sides. They were wooden and square and had tablets built on the edges. The bathers needed somewhere for the wine and snacks. What the men and women were doing in the tubs was the kind of thing that would make anyone develop a powerful thirst and hunger. Squeals, shrieks, screams and laughter boomed through the hall. There were other noises of a more intimate nature.

It was Ladies Night so Hanna got in free. She glanced at Maltesi. He was walking hunched over, his coat collar up around his face.

An operatic voice burst out of the noise.

"Yoo-hoo! Anthony! Is that you, love?"

On the edge of the pool, a stocky red-head wearing a knee-length white shift soaked through and dripping soap suds waved in Maltesi's direction.

He hesitated, then straightened and gave the woman a wave.

"Evening, Alison."

She slapped across the tile floor, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

"We missed you. You been working too hard. Why don't you come and see us anymore?"

She noticed Hanna. "You don't have to bring your own, you know." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Or pay so much. Don't me and Rachel take good care of you? Rachel! Look who's here!" She waved toward the bath tubs.

A blond sprawled over the side of one of the tubs slapped the hands of her male companion off of her so she could look in peace.

"Anthony! Sweetheart! Where you been?"

Hanna was a professional and knew seamstresses when she saw them. In this case, relatively inexpensive ones. She folded her arms and gave Maltesi a closed-mouth smile.

He cleared his throat. "Been busy, lass," he said, pulling Alison's damp arms off his shoulders. "We'll get together some other time, right?"

Alison pouted. "Why not tonight? I'm free."

"He's busy," said Hanna.

"What's it to you? Some forn, high-priced tart comes walking into my place with my favorite client and thinks she owns the world."

"Alison, some other time," said Maltesi firmly.

Rachel untangled herself from her man and joined Alison in front of Hanna like a wall of indignant and damp flesh.

"You're takin' business from us, you over-priced bint."

"Stop talking like that," said Maltesi. "Come on. I'll be by next week, how's that?"

But Maltesi wasn't even a part of the equation anymore. The showdown was between the seamstresses.

It was hot in the bath house. And damp. Hanna unbuttoned her coat. Alison and Rachel pushed wet hair out of their faces the better to glare at her with.

"I'm just borrowing him," said Hanna. "And not for business. He couldn't afford me anyway."

Maltesi looked at her. "Hey, wait a minute..."

Alison and Rachel burst out laughing. "Did you hear that? He couldn't afford me anyway," they mocked. "Who do you think you are, princess?"

"She's the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork's baroness," said Maltesi, "so show some respect."

Hanna glared at him. Rachel positioned herself on one side of her and Alison on the other.

"I heard of you," said Alison. "I heard you used some kind of witches potion on that Lord Whatshisnamesoundslikeadog. I think you're a witch."

There was a sudden silence in the bath house, as if everybody had been waiting for the word. Witches weren't universally popular. In Pseudopolis they had to operate under the cover of health food stores and herbal specialists.

Maltesi grasped Alison's arm. "Stop this."

"Witch!" she shrieked. "Witch!"

It was picked up across the hall. Women began clapping and chanting it. Men took a break for a drink and a bit to eat.

"You know how we know if we got a witch?" asked Rachel.

"I'm not interested," said Hanna.

"Then we'll show you."

Rachel and Alison scooped Hanna up and carried her to the pool, swung once and tossed her in. A wave of water crashed across the floor. People scrambled out.

Weighed down by her overcoat and skirts, Hanna had a hard time kicking her way to the surface. It was a surprisingly deep pool.

Maltesi was at the edge, Rachel and Alison laughing beside him. "What the hell did you do that for?" he demanded. "Have you both gone insane?"

"She deserved it." Rachel took his arm. "We're your best girls, aren't we?"

He shook her off. "You're both bent. You know that?"

Hanna surfaced finally, her hair hanging over her eyes. She coughed up water.

Maltesi stooped and held a hand out to her.

When she reached the edge, she batted him away and tried to climb out by herself. It was hard. Her skirts were floating up around her. They weighed a ton. She slipped back into the water.

Rachel and Alison broke out laughing again.

"That's it," said Maltesi. "I'm never coming back here, you got that? You can both starve on the gods damn streets for all I care. You're a pair of petty little--"

All at once, the women pushed him. He flailed out and backward into the pool, missing Hanna by inches. Another wave of water slapped up and over the tiles.

By the time Maltesi and Hanna were out of the water, Rachel and Alison were crying with laughter into their wine glasses. They made several rude gestures before walking off.

Hanna's coat hit the floor like a lead weight. She tried to squeeze water out of her skirt but it looked like a hopeless cause. Maltesi patted his pockets and looked relieved when he found his glasses.

"You get what you pay for, you know," said Hanna. She poured water out of her shoes.

"I know. I know." Maltesi wrung out his jacket. "I heard you're getting a fortune. You must be damned good at--"

"That's different," snapped Hanna. "It's not a normal situation." She started squishing away, but turned back again. "And I don't want to talk about it. Don't bring it up ever again."

"All right, all right."

A rat-faced man called Mac Dibble had been hanging around in the wings watching the show. He slithered out onto the floor.

"Girls get frisky on Ladies Night, eh? Yep. Need to dry your clothes. We got a dry sauna. Dragon's breath. Get your things dry in a quicky."

"You were a great help, Mac Dibble," said Maltesi.

"Aw, I can't take sides. You know how it is. I got to work here."

Hanna said, "We thought Daneloo Sparks might be here."

"He always is. His second home." Mac Dibble grinned. He had sharp little teeth. "Not tonight, though. Maybe you can find him at home. Lives on, er, I think it was Minty Lane."

Hanna sighed. It looked like being thrown in the pool was all for nothing.

"Fine. Let's dry our clothes and get out of here."

"Try the sauna," said Mac Dibble.

They went into a side hallway. It was quieter there. And warmer. Hooks lined the walls, and at the end of the hall was a thick wooden door.

"Here we are," said Mac Dibble.

Maltesi had the door open and was about to go inside, but Mac Dibble stopped him. "You can't go in there dressed!"

"You said we could dry our--"

"You got to do it separately. It's dragon's breath hot in there. You'll sweat through. Put your clothes on the shelf and they'll dry in a jiff. But you can't wear them." Mac Dibble shook his head like he couldn't believe he had to explain this basic rule of sauna usage.

Maltesi looked at Hanna. "I'm not undressing."

"Then you'll catch your death outside," said Mac Dibble. "Look. Your lady friend's fine with it."

Hanna was already undressing. She'd kicked off her shoes and was loosening the sash on her skirt. Mac Dibble slapped her things over his arm.

When she was down to her underthings, she said, "Go on, Mr. Maltesi. I won't look if it bothers you." She turned her back to him and started pulling off her stockings.

Reluctantly, Maltesi took off his clothing, one piece at a time, hanging each one on a hook. He glanced behind him every once in a while to see what Hanna was doing. By the time he was stripped to his underpants, Hanna was waiting, facing the sauna door, her hands clasped behind her back.

Mac Dibble pointed. "The boots too, Mr. Maltesi."

"I'm not taking my boots off."

"Them's the rules if you're going in there! You could drag all sorts of dirt and droppings and bits in there on the soles of yer boots. Disgusting! This is a place of hygiene!"

Maltesi grumbled but he pulled off his boots. He did his socks quickly in case Hanna turned around and noticed the holes. A deep breath, a tug at his underpants, and it was done.

"There," said Mac Dibble. "Liberatin' feelin', isn't it?"

"Finished?" said Hanna. She turned around.

Maltesi lunged for a towel and wrapped it around his waist.

Mac Dibble pointed. "That can be considered clothing, Mr. Maltesi. Remember what I said, it--"

"Shut up."

Hanna had no problem with nudity. In the old days, many of her clients spent just as much time looking at her bare skin as anything else. She'd been in the seamstress business long enough to learn that gentlemen with a certain finer taste preferred her to wear a little something, even if it was just the garters and stockings, because a little mystery left on the body had the interesting effect of making her seem more nude. That was the power of the imagination.

She guessed Maltesi's tastes on that point. And that's why she didn't wrap a towel around her. It would have made things worse for him.

The problem was, the issue worked both ways. Maltesi with a towel around his waist was worse for her. It was obvious he didn't spend all his time sitting behind a desk. He had sail hoisting arms. A crate toting chest. His tattoo of some kind of coiling sea creature wasn't large, but it twisted its blue tail on his left forearm and made him look, Hanna had to admit, quite...interesting.

They went into the sauna and laid out their clothing piece by piece on the shelves. Then they sat down on opposite sides of the little room. Maltesi pretended to be interested in the wall.

"Minty Lane," he said. "We'll head up there tomorrow, right?"

"Fine."

She gathered her knees under her chin and stared at the door. Something was bothering her. What she'd said to Maltesi about Vetinari being a different situation. Different than what? Than any other client-seamstress relationship? Of course it wasn't different. Not basically. Companionship for money was what it was. No different than Maltesi paying for Rachel and Alison. She'd be a fool to forget that.

The sweat evaporated on her body almost as soon as it sprung up. She tried to sigh but it was too hot. She glanced at Maltesi.

He looked away from her abruptly.

When their clothes dried, they left the sauna and slipped down a side doorway and out into the night air.

They didn't notice Lester, an iconograph slung over his shoulder, slip out of the shadows after them.

Or Dennis, who slipped out of an even deeper shadow and followed Lester.