A-N: Special hello to Vilya (waves). Stanwick Ghost, cool name, Frosteh. And thanks all for the reviews. Enough fluff for now. It's action we need!oOo

7. The Brotherhood

The landlord of the house on Minty Lane was a man who looked like he'd been put together by stacking several wine barrels and attaching the assorted limbs later. He had a large mustache. The tips drooped past his chin.

Hanna and Maltesi stood with him in an empty room. There wasn't a stick of furniture. Nothing on the walls. No carpets. It could have been a prison cell. A depressing place, but that wasn't why Hanna and Maltesi were looking disheartened.

"Sparks was a strange'un," said the landlord. "Wasn't surprised to hear the news."

He'd told them right when they asked about Daneloo Sparks, supposed owner of the second piece of the Hershebian chocolate treasure map.

Dead. The landlord spat the word out along with his chewing tobacco. Dead 24 hours. Rent was backed up so the landlord immediately confiscated everything left in Sparks' rooms, which wasn't much. A lot of strange pamphlets about the undead taking jobs away from the living, that sort of thing. No treasure maps. Even when Hanna offered a large sum of money for the half a map, the landlord shrugged and said he didn't have it.

He stroked his mustache. "Maybe he had it on him. He always had on one of those coats with a heap o' pockets. Didn't know what he was always carryin' around."

"Do you know where he is now?" asked Hanna.

"Graveyard."

Maltesi put a hand over his eyes.

"Probably got him laid out on a slab outside the Temple of Finna," said the landlord. "She takes in all the ones what can't pay."

Hanna and Maltesi left the house on Minty Lane and paused outside for a short consultation. Maltesi was the first to make his opinion clear.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I didn't get into this to go crawling around graveyards. If we'd have done this yesterday, maybe we would've caught him before he died."

"Could've, would've, maybe. We can't do anything about it now. I can't see how it hurts to go to the temple and ask the priests nicely if they emptied his pockets."

"Priestesses. And I'm not going." Maltesi folded his arms.

"Why not?"

"I said. And the priestesses of Finna are about as ornery as the goddess. It's like being around a temple full of mother-in-laws."

"Then we'll just take a look in the graveyard. He said they lay the bodies on slabs, right?"

"Vigil, in case anybody wants to visit the dearly departed."

"Well, there you go. He's waiting for us."

The graveyard of the Temple of Finna wasn't large. About a dozen stone slabs were laid out. Only one of them had a body on it. Actually, a cot with a thick carpet-looking shroud draped on a body-shaped thing that Hanna and Maltesi assumed was a body. The body of Daneloo Sparks.

Maltesi hung around in the background, his eyes roving to the door that led to the temple, and the little gate that led to the street. Everything was locked up for the evening. They'd shimmied over the wall, a moment when Maltesi had the interesting experience of being blinded by Hanna's skirts when he gave her a leg up.

"Hurry up," he whispered.

Hanna rubbed her hands. It was cold outside, but graveyards always had a special kind of extra cold. Something damp and penetrating. She shivered. The shroud over the body was a dark red landscape of bulges. It wasn't moving. Of course.

She reached out.

"Duck!" hissed Maltesi.

They both dropped to the ground just as one of the priestesses of the goddess Finna stepped out the temple door and relaxed against a stone column. She was a massive woman who looked like she could tuck one of the stone grave slabs under her arm if she wanted. She smoked a cigarette and gazed out over the yard.

A few minutes passed. Hanna was huddled up against Sparks' slab worrying about sneezing.

The priestess flicked the cigarette butt into the graveyard and disappeared in the temple.

"Right." Maltesi, a few feet away, waved at Hanna. "Get this over with."

She took a breath and lifted the shroud.

Daneloo Sparks looked too young to have died of a heart attack but Hanna was no medical expert. His face was a shade of blue white. He was nearly bald.

"Sorry about this," she whispered. She pulled the shroud down lower and was relieved to see he was still wearing his clothes. The jacket full of pockets that the landlord talked about. She swallowed and held her breath and reached into the right breast pocket.

"Get your stinking hands away from there."

Hanna let out a little scream and tumbled backwards into Maltesi.

Daneloo Sparks opened his eyes. They were a kind of milky, cataract blue. He blinked at the sky, then pulled himself up.

"Great," he said. "Just great. I'm dead, aren't I?" He addressed the question to Hanna, who was still shaking. She nodded.

Sparks swung his legs out from under the shroud. He pulled up the sleeve of his jacket and looked closely at the skin. It looked in need of a good moisturizer.

"Zombie," said Sparks. He rolled his eyes. "Do you know what I hate? Poetic justice. It's the worst justice there is. I work ten years for the rights of the living against the undead and now look. Bleeding cosmic irony."

He got off the slab and straightened his coat.

"I could probably rip your head off and eat your brains, seeing as I'm a zombie and you were trying to pick my pockets."

"Brain eating is a, er, cliche," said Maltesi. "You don't have to follow it just to fit in."

"I don't want to fit in. I want to be dead." Sparks looked angrily across the graveyard. "What am I supposed to do now? The League for the Living, of which I am vice president, isn't going to like this. I can't go home. I can't stay here. Those priestesses of Finna are like having a bunch of mothers-in-law around."

Hanna had recovered enough from the shock to think. "You could go to Ankh-Morpork."

"What for? It's overrun by the undead. A disgrace to our species."

"I wouldn't say it's overrun, but... Look, the undead are very politicized there. They have something called the Fresh Start Club. It helps newly, um, changed people get back on their feet and cope with a new life after death." She thought a moment. "I think that's what the marketing literature said."

Sparks drew himself up. "Me? Ally myself with the undead? Never!" He pierced the air with a demonstrative finger. Which wobbled, then flapped backward. It hung from his hand on a bit of skin. Sparks tried to fit it back on. It flopped over again.

"They can help with that too," said Hanna. "Sewing and so on."

The bravado faded from Sparks' face. "I don't want my limbs to fall off."

"I think they can be sewed back on," Hanna assured him.

Sparks sighed and nodded. But carefully. He was afraid the next thing to fall off would be his head.

"Maybe I'll check the place out. Fresh Start, you said?"

"If you go to Watch Headquarters, that's at Pseudopolis Yard, ask for Reg Shoe. He'll fix you up."

"Maybe I can hitch a ride." Sparks wriggled his thumbs to be sure they could be used without incident.

Maltesi cleared his throat. "Glad we got that sorted. Maybe you could help us out. We were interested in the half a treasure map you have."

"Had," said Sparks.

Hanna and Maltesi exchanged glances.

"Where is it now?"

"I gave it to my brothers."

"Where are they?"

"Be here any moment now, I reckon. They probably want to pick up my body for sacrifice."

Those kind of brothers, Hanna was thinking. She imagined some secret priesthood. The world was full of little sects that worshipped obscure little gods or ideas or just wanted an excuse to get together and drink beer in an atmosphere of holy contemplation.

"Women aren't allowed, so you might want to hide when they come around," said Sparks. He looked at Maltesi. "And they don't like strangers. You might want to hide too."

"But where would they keep the--"

"Ssshhhh!" Sparks put his nose up. "I hear them all right. I can't let them see me like this. The shame of it! The shame!"

He sprinted to a shadowy corner and jumped up and over the graveyard wall. Noises started up outside. Shuffling feet, the rustle of robes, low, bickering voices.

I told you we should've done it earlier.

We had to have dinner first. Do you like cold dinner?

Mum could have left it in the oven for us. It was just a casserole.

You got to eat it fresh.

Maltesi took Hanna's arm.

"We have to hide."

There weren't many options. The stone slabs around the courtyard weren't that big. There weren't many trees. Maltesi pointed to a slab in the shadows in the far corner.

"Come on, we can--"

The door to the temple of Finna opened. Hanna and Maltesi dropped to the ground again. The same priestess as before, obviously a problem smoker, lit up again. The noises on the other side of the wall stopped until she was done and was back inside. Then they started up, right on the other side of the wall. Hanna and Maltesi could hear shoes scraping on the stone.

Hanna pulled herself out of Maltesi's hands, threw herself onto the slab vacated by Sparks and pulled the shroud over her. It smelled muffy, but not as bad as she'd feared.

Maltesi pulled it back.

"Are you insane?"

"I need that map."

There was bickering again at the wall.

Oof! I need a better leg up.

Why do you always get to go first?

Because I'm the leader of the team. The Grand Moony sent me.

He sent us.

Oh, come on.

A hand slapped over the top of the wall. Maltesi pushed down the creative curses he really wanted to be saying right then and scrambled into the shadows.

Two men in rough black robes with large cowls dropped into the graveyard. They paused to look around. Then one of the men whistled. There was an answering whistle on the other side of the wall. Ropes were lowered over.

"Good," he whispered. "We'll take old Sparky and that's that. Easy as roast beef."

"Easy as pie," said his companion.

"Whatever. You take the feet."

They lifted the cot.

"He's lighter than he looked, eh?" said the second brother.

They bundled Hanna and the shroud to the cot and attached it to the ropes. Brothers on the other side of the wall lifted everything over.

Maltesi was having a crisis in his shadowy corner. Every bit of him wanted to rush at the men and get Hanna back, but she was the one who climbed on the slab to begin with. Whatever happened, she deserved it.

The cowled men prepared to hoist themselves back over the wall.

"I'm hungry," said the second brother.

"We just had dinner."

"Brother Rupert kept stealing off my plate."

"All right, all right. But after the sacrifice. These things have to be done right."

The leader was lifted onto the wall. He paused in the moonlight.

"Off to the sanctuary, brothers!"

Maltesi gritted his teeth and grunted over his part of the wall. Dried out vines and creepers made it hard to be stealthy, but the brothers didn't seem to notice. They carried Hanna away.

Maltesi followed. In his mind he was still cursing meddling seamstresses and Hershebian chocolate and contraband weapons and life in general.

oOo

In the Palace of Ankh-Morpork, the Patrician accepted the clacks from his clerk Drumknott and read it while finishing up his dinner. Drumknott hovered with files in his arms.

"I trust Lady Hanna is enjoying her holiday," he said.

"My aunt seems to think so. She mentions walks in the open air, relaxing evenings at home and heart-to-heart talks." He set the message aside. "Holidays are important. It is refreshing to see new places, new faces, that sort of thing. You know how it is."

He was looking thoughtfully into space. Maltesi. Maltesi. No, he didn't recognize the name. It was nowhere in the card catalogue of his mind.

Until now.

Drumknott cleared his throat.

"Actually, I don't, milord. I've never had one."

"Hm?"

"A holiday, sir. I've never had one."

"You were gone several days once, I seem to remember."

"My father died, milord. That was four years ago."

"Ah." There was a pause. "I did give my condolences at the time, I assume."

"Yes, milord."

"Good. Good. I would not want it to be known that I was insensitive."

The Patrician's mind was elsewhere, as it usually was. He stroked his beard and considered that having someone on the ground in Pseudopolis was, perhaps, not an unwise thing. Out of respect for Hanna, he hadn't put her under surveillance. He assumed his aunt would handle that.

But things appeared to be taking an interesting turn. Madam gave only one sentence about this Anthony Maltesi in her message.

Showing Hanna the maritime side of the city. Indeed.

"Send a clacks to Griffin," said the Patrician. "Tell him to keep an eye on Mr. Anthony Maltesi, a shipping director in Pseudopolis. I want daily reports."

oOo

In the Holy Sanctuary, the Grand Moony spread his arms wide and addressed the assembled brotherhood around the altar.

"The time has come, brothers, to show our dedication to our Lord, the Defender of the Living, the Accursed of the Undead..." He threw back his head and gave a messianic stare at the low ceiling. "...the God LENNY!"

The Brothers of Lenny twittered in the torch light.

"Ravager of nations!"

The brothers nodded.

"Scourge of the Good!"

There were some "here-here's."

"Enemy of the Undead!"

The Grand Moony's arms descended. He was a middle aged man with a protruding chin and bushy eye brows. He had what looked like a deflated sheep's stomach on his head. A smiley face was painted on the front and back of his robe. By the time the God Lenny got around to getting a symbol, most of the really terrifying ones were taken.

A stairway in a corner of the Holy Sanctuary led up to a door. The door led to a large and cozy kitchen. The sweet smell of baking cookies hung in the air. A thin little old woman with a polka dot apron hefted her spatula at the man who'd barged -- rather politely, but it was still barging if he wasn't invited -- into her kitchen.

"If I says it once, I says it a hundred times," she said, "You got to be on time. I ain't a doorman and my kitchen ain't the Rimward Road. If ye want to belong to the sect you got to be on time."

She glared at Maltesi.

"And ye forgot yer robe, didn't ye? How many times do I have to remind the boys not to forget their robes?" She shook her head and hustled to the walk-in pantry. "This is the last time. I won't have it anymore. If one more of ye come in here late with no robe, I'm sending ye back into the streets. This is a respectable kitchen."

She emerged with a black robe that she shoved at Maltesi.

"Git on down there. Yer probably missing the whole thing. And don't be coming to complain to Mum if you do."

The plan of action from Maltesi's perspective had involved a stealthy entrance into the brotherhood's headquarters -- which appeared on the outside to be a cottage with obscene weather vanes stuck in the front lawn – and a stealthy entrance to the Holy Sanctuary, where he would save Hanna whether she liked it or not.

He hadn't counted on Mum.

He shimmied into the robe while Mum fussed around him, tying the cord a tad too tight, positioning the hood, slapping off some invisible dirt on the shoulder.

"There ye go. Now git on down there. Tell my boy his Mum'll be down with the milk and cookies quick as pie."

She hustled back to the oven.

Maltesi eased down the stairs. The last step groaned loudly.

The assembled brotherhood turned to stare at him. The Grand Moony was frowning.

"Er..." Maltesi bowed his head in hopes that his cowl was big enough to hide his face. "Mum says she'll be down with the milk and cookies."

There was a moment of silence.

Then one of the brothers said, "Did she say what kind? She promised oatmeal tonight. The kind with the big fat raisins."

"It smelled like oatmeal."

The brothers sighed happily. Mum made great oatmeal cookies.

When the Grand Moony went back to preaching, Maltesi dared to raise his head. The Holy Sanctuary was obviously a potato cellar. A spacious one, yes, but it's true use was obvious by the mound of potatoes scooped up in a corner. There was the earthy smell of worms and slowly rotting organic substances.

A dozen robed brothers gathered on one side of what was obviously the altar, but which was apparently once used as some kind of work table. The cot was laid out on it, and the thick shroud. And Hanna underneath.

Maltesi hung in back but strained to see her. She wasn't moving, but it also didn't look like the sacrifice had happened yet.

The Grand Moony had a knife in his hand.

"We are gathered here to make the sacrifice of our dear departed Brother Daneloo to the Lord Lester, as is the custom of our holy community. As the living are sacrificed to gods of the dead, so are the dead sacrificed to a god that respects only the rights of living people against the insidious machinations of the undead."

He closed his eyes.

"A prayer to Lord Lester. Oh, Lord, who art righteous in the things that we want you to be righteous about, who smites those we want to be smitten, who--"

"Here they are, boys! Piping hot and fresh!"

Mum descended the stairs with a large tray piled with cookies and a pitcher of milk.

The Grand Moony glowered.

"Mum! We were in the middle of a very important prayer."

"Tosh! There's always time for hot cookies, eh?"

Some of the brothers moved toward her.

"We have to finish," insisted the Grand Moony.

Mum stomped up to the altar, set the tray on Hanna's stomach and pinched the Grand Moony's cheek. "You're so cute when yer being a leader of the brotherhood. But ye got to take a break sometimes. Have a bite and then you'll all be fresh for the sacrifice, eh?" She held up a cookie. "Have just one. Fer yer old Mum."

The Grand Moony frowned.

"Later."

She frowned back. "Suit yerself. They'll be upstairs getting cold while yer down here with yer nonsense."

"It's not nonsense, Mum! It's important holy business!"

"Hmmph." Mum lifted the tray and went back to the stairs, muttering. "Slave away over a hot stove and look at the thanks I get! Important holy business. Hmmph!" She slammed the door behind her.

The Grand Moony got on with the prayer. It lasted a good ten minutes. The brothers got fidgety and thought of the cookies cooling upstairs. Maltesi eased along the wall toward Hanna.

"And so we come to the sacrifice itself," the Grand Moony announced. He reached into his robe and whipped out a knife.

The brothers whispered excitedly.

Formulas were spoken. Some more prayers. The knife was blessed and dunked in salt water, which was only going to make things worse for Hanna.

"So!" cried the Grand Moony as he brandished the knife. "It begins with--"

"Er, sir?" Maltesi raised his hand.

"What? I'm in the middle of a sacrifice, here."

"Why do we have to do it in here? Wouldn't it be nicer outside somewhere? In the open air?"

There was muttering. The Grand Moony frowned.

"We always do it in here."

"I know," said Maltesi. "But maybe it'd be nice to do it different this time. At a holy hill, for instance. You know. Moonlight and stars and the wind and...stuff."

The brothers considered this. The potato cellar was a bit cramped. And the idea of a sacrifice in the moonlight, well, it would certainly be more dramatic.

"There is a Holy Hill right outside of town," said one of the brothers.

"That wacko group that worships the Disc, or something, they're usually there."

"What are the odds they're there tonight?"

"I still think it's a bad idea."

The Grand Moony lowered the knife.

"We'll do a vote. Raise your hand if you want to do the ritual at the Holy Hill."

Maltesi raised his hand. He had no idea where the Holy Hill was, but he was all for getting Hanna out of the cellar. Escape possibilities would be better. Most of the other brothers raised their hands too.

Sighing, the Grand Moony tucked the knife away and nodded at Maltesi. "Brother, go tell Mum to pack those cookies to go."

Upstairs, Maltesi delivered the message and Mum got started wrapping up the cookies.

"Ye look down in the dumps, boy. What's wrong? My son won't let ye have a go with the knife?"

"It's not that."

"Jock itch? I got ointment for that."

"Not that either." Maltesi pushed back his hood and sighed. "There's too many things to talk about."

Mum got a transportable pitcher and poured milk into it. "Pick one, then."

Maltesi watched her stomp around the kitchen getting things together and thought, what the hell.

"I'm a weapons smuggler conned into helping a seamstress find a treasure, but the guy with the other half of the map is dead and I don't know which of the brothers has it now."

He considered saying something about the seamstress being about to end up as a sacrifice under the knife of Mum's son, but he left it.

Mum tucked a towel over the cookie basket, went to a kitchen drawer, pulled something out and handed it to Maltesi.

"Found it in my son's room. The bad boy. I don't want him messing with that kind of thing. Bad enough he smokes behind the wood pile and thinks I don't know."

Maltesi stared at the second half of the Hershebian chocolate treasure map. He let out a whoop and scooped Mum up in his arms.

She grinned. "Yer all good boys at heart, eh?"

The door opened and the brothers started filing out, their heads bowed, hands folded. They passed with an "Evening, Mum" out of the house. Four brothers carried Hanna on the cot. Maltesi took up the cookie basket and milk and hustled after the brothers out into the night.