A-N: Thanks to all reviewers and lurkers, as always. The story continues! oOo
8. Mingling
The Holy Hill was just rimwards of town. There were hills all over the place, but this one had a circle of upright stones that looked like a few trolls had purposefully arranged them as some kind of astronomical clock a millennium ago. In the center of the circle was a convenient horizontal stone slab. Prime altar material.
The Brotherhood of Lenny were arrayed in a circle around Hanna again. All agreed that the moonlight and the stones made everything a lot more, well, holy. The potato cellar couldn't hold a candle to it. Even the torches looked more religious, what with the fire flickering in the breeze.
The Grand Moony was so pleased by the change of venue that he named Maltesi (Brother Anthony) to be his assistant for the sacrifice. He stood next to the altar, the map tucked into his pocket, and tried to form a plan. Something along the lines of snatching the knife out of the Grand Moony's hand at the operative moment and using it as a threatening weapon until he and Hanna could make a run for it.
The formulas were said again. There were chants. The Grand Moony spread his arms to the moonlight.
"Oh, Lord Lenny! We honour you in the open air! We give this sacrifice in the knowledge that you will do us the--"
"Hey!" The angry voice wafted up from the side of the hill. "This is our spot!"
A clutch of people dressed in white robes stomped into the stone circle. Wreaths of flowers sat on their heads. Leafy vines dangled from their hemp belts. Silver jewelry flashed in the starlight.
The Grand Moony lowered his arms.
"We were here first!"
More of the white robed people appeared. They surrounded the brotherhood like an angry ring of oversized fairies. One of them stepped forward. She was a priestess with flowers knotted in hair that looked like it hadn't seen a comb or a pair of scissors in years.
"This is the gathering place for the worshippers of Eartha, goddess of the Disc," she said. "Why do you trespass here?"
"We aren't trespassing," said the Grand Moony. "This is a public hill."
"This Holy Hill belongs to Eartha."
"No, it doesn't. I don't see a sign that says: No trespassing. Private Property."
The priestess looked uncomfortable. "We've been meaning to put one up."
"Well, you haven't yet." The Grand Moony looked triumphant. "Brothers! We will proceed with the sacrifice!"
The priestess grabbed his arm. "No you won't. There won't be sacrifices to any other gods here."
One of the white robed people edged over to the cookie basket that sat on a small stone table. He lifted the towel, looked around, and took a cookie.
One of the brothers pointed at him. "He stole one of the holy cookies!"
"Er... I was just..."
Who threw the first punch wasn't clear, but within 60 seconds, black and white robes collided on the Holy Hill, fists flying. Not many sectarian battles began over a stolen baked good, but it was as good a reason as any.
Maltesi ducked behind the altar.
"Hanna," he whispered. "I got the map."
"Oh, gods," she moaned.
"What is it?"
"I've had to go to the loo the past hour."
"All right. Just hold it a while longer." He peaked over the altar. The sects were still fighting it out. He loosened the shroud. "Run!"
He pulled her off the altar, she untangled herself from the shroud and they sprinted out of the circle. And then they made a small mistake. They looked behind them to see if anyone was following.
That meant they didn't see the large, dark hole behind a boulder and a clump of bushes just over the crest of the hill.
Hanna was the first to fall in with a surprised scream. She scrambled out of the way in time to miss being crushed by Maltesi, who fell in right after her.
It was a deep hole. Even if Maltesi gave Hanna a leg up, she wasn't going to reach the ground above. He took off the black robe and tried to use his cord as some kind of rope but it was too thin and didn't reach.
He threw it on the ground.
"Did I tell you I've had enough for one night?"
Hanna was hopping in place.
"It wasn't the smartest thing to do, but we have the map now, don't we?"
He patted his pocket. It was still there.
"Aye, we have it."
She let out a relieved sigh and then scampered away into a passage that led off into the darkness.
"Where are you going?" shouted Maltesi.
Hanna found a dark and secluded spot for the business with the bladder. Finished, she was able to look at her surroundings with less of a sense of urgency.
There wasn't much to see. It was completely dark. She couldn't see her hand in front of her face.
"Mr. Maltesi?" she called.
She wandered further down the corridor, her hands on the walls. They were hard dirt and had knobby roots sticking out.
"Mr. Maltesi?"
He was groping around in the passage too.
"Where are you?" he called, knowing full well that it was a brilliant question in a pitch black underground tunnel.
"I'm here," said Hanna. "I'm not moving anymore. I'll just keep talking till you find me, all right? Follow my voice. Um...I don't know what to say. I'm exhausted. I've never been almost sacrificed before. That was really stupid of me to do, you're completely right about that. And, I'm sorry I got you into this."
"Me too."
He was right behind her. She found his hand and they continued down the passage together, step by step.
It was slow going. Hanna felt her mind drifting. Walking in total darkness cut off the senses. Sound was dampened. She could feel the dirt wall with one hand and Maltesi's fingers with the other but that was it. Once or twice she snapped awake, and it was the only way she knew she'd been dozing on her feet.
"We have to stop."
"We're going downhill. Maybe we'll hit town if we keep going."
Hanna leaned against the wall, then slid to the ground. "Maybe just a rest then. Short." She closed her eyes and listened to Maltesi settling down beside her.
oOo
Ankh-Morpork, the Big Wahoonie, the economic, political and cultural center of the Disc – according to 98 percent of Morporkians. The rest of the world had different opinions about that, but what forn parts thought wasn't relevant to the average Morporkian.
It was to Lord Vetinari. As Patrician, he was the one little stone on the top of a classical arch that created the equilibrium that allowed the rest of the stones to carry each other's weight without collapsing.
The stone metaphor was an apt one. It's how his face was looking now as he sat at his desk in the Oblong Office, his fingertips pressed together. He was listening. Intently.
He'd been listening intently to his visitor for fifteen minutes without comment. What he was hearing was far too interesting to say anything.
His visitor wore gray. He was gray. Gray hair perfectly creamed down on his head, gray eyes, a gray moustache, a gray tie and a gray suit. He wasn't a zombie or a ghost but he had a sort of undead flair about him.
It was Phineas Polk, owner of Polk Shipping of Pseudopolis, Ankh-Morpork, Al-Khali, Genua etc. His was one of the fastest growing fleets in the world. But he hadn't come to the Oblong Office to talk about ships.
"...and the latest episode is the most alarming, your lordship," said Polk. "I received word that Lady Hanna was seen with Mr. Maltesi at the most disreputable location of all. The Bath House of Pseudopolis, a notorious center of lurid goings-on. They apparently shared the sauna. Alone."
Polk fanned himself with his bowler hat.
"I can not stress to you enough how upset this has made me. Lady Hanna is of course known throughout the world as your valued companion. The last thing a friend of Ankh-Morpork wants to see is this good lady fall into the clutches of a man like Anthony Maltesi. He is a smuggler, a privateer and a notorious rake. I thought it my duty to alert you to Lady Hanna's connection with this unsavory character."
Lord Vetinari waited. He was a waiting sort of man, brimming with patience. He steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair and fixed his patient gaze on Polk. And waited.
Polk seemed to know the trick. He crossed his legs and stared back.
Five minutes passed in silence.
Then Drumknott slipped into the office, set a file in front of Lord Vetinari and slipped out without a word. The Patrician skimmed through the papers, closed the file and looked up.
"You appear to be well informed, Mr. Polk."
"It is necessary in my line of work, your lordship."
"I am always pleased to meet a true friend of Ankh-Morpork, especially one brave enough to deliver such difficult news."
Polk dipped his head modestly.
"Unfortunately," said the Patrician, folding his hands on the file, "your journey here was unnecessary. Lady Hanna is on holiday. The company she chooses to keep while away is her business, not mine."
"But surely, your lordship, you care if she traffics with such a cad as--"
The Patrician held up a hand.
"I have heard your opinion of Mr. Maltesi already, Mr. Polk. Yet I must remind you that I do not keep Lady Hanna on a tether. She may meet with whomever she wishes in whatever places she wishes."
"You don't intend to do anything about it, then?" asked Polk.
Lord Vetinari lifted an eyebrow. "Whyever should I?"
Polk opened the briefcase at the foot of his chair and took a paper he found in it up to the desk. It was a clacks image based on an iconograph of Hanna and Maltesi leaving the Pseudopolis Bath House. Their hair was in disarray and their clothing was haphazard.
The Patrician glanced at it.
"Mr. Maltesi looks like a lively gentleman." He pushed the paper back across his desk.
Polk left it there.
"There are others, your lordship," he said carefully.
The Patrician was silent.
"I believe," said Polk, "that in light of the public's interest in Lady Hanna and yourself, there would be an interest in printing these images in the newspapers."
"I admit she is a charming lady," said Lord Vetinari calmly, "but I have yet to see anything here that anyone would care to look at."
Polk set a second image on the desk.
Inside the bath house. Hanna had her back turned but she was clearly nude. Maltesi was in the foreground on the point of removing his underpants.
The Patrician stared at it for a full minute. Polk closed his briefcase with a snap.
"Newspapers are just one option, your lordship. There are certain foreign interests open to acquiring these images. To protect Lady Hanna from scandal, of course."
A tight little smile flashed behind Vetinari's steepled fingers.
"The good name of Lady Hanna should not be besmirched by that rogue Maltesi, your lordship. He must be stopped. I don't wish to do it by making these images public or passing them on to foreign interests, but if you choose not to undertake something quietly, I'm afraid I'll have no choice."
"You are touchingly concerned with Lady Hanna's good name, Mr. Polk."
"And yours, your lordship." Polk put on his hat. "My only concern is for continuing good relations with Ankh-Morpork."
After Polk left, Lord Vetinari wrote two short notes, then whistled into the dragon-shaped mouthpiece on a hook near his desk. It was connected to a tube that was connected to the desk of Drumknott. He appeared a moment later.
The Patrician handed him the notes. "Both urgent. And I want more about Phineas Polk."
Lord Vetinari opened the file again and settled back.
A minute passed.
"Drumknott?"
"Yes, milord."
"I suggest you insert your eyeballs back into your head and go send those clacks."
The clerk blinked and tore himself away from the nude image of Hanna.
"Yes, milord."
When he was alone, the Patrician slapped the file onto his desk, and went to the window.
He wasn't angry. More...irritated. At the general situation, of course, not at Hanna. He'd told Polk the truth about that. Who she chose to mingle with while on holiday was her business.
Though of course...
His frown deepened.
...there was mingling and there was mingling.
oOo
The tunnel ended, surprisingly enough, at a door. It was so dark that they didn't know they were at the end until Maltesi knocked into the wood.
"Shi-- crap," he said, rubbing his forehead.
They had no idea how long they'd slept, or what time it was, or if the sun was already up in the outside world. They only knew that they were hungry and cold and badly in need of a bath, a few hours of quiet and maybe a nice soothing cognac. To pass the time as they walked, they talked about that. What they'd do when they got out of the tunnel. A long, hot bath was first on Hanna's list. Maltesi was for a large glass of something as alcoholic as possible. The map needed to be examined in its entirety, yes, but that could wait.
Hanna felt the wooden door with her hands and found a handle. It turned.
Relieved, they stumbled into the room beyond.
The candlelight was a shock. At first, they could only make out a half dozen blotchy figures in front of them that gleamed here and there.
When their eyes adjusted, the half dozen armed and angry-looking dwarves became perfectly clear.
Maltesi wasn't going to hold back in front of Hanna anymore as per the Rude Words Not to Be Said in Front of a Lady list as outlined in the Gentleman's Guide to Pseudopolian Etiquette.
"Shit," he said. "Great heaping masses of stinking shit."
The dwarves raised their axes.
Maltesi turned on Hanna.
"Can things really get worse? I was wondering that when you were about to be sacrificed to a god named Lenny, and I wondered that all through that blasted tunnel. And looky here." He waved at the dwarves, who were looking at each other with slight confusion. Usually people acted more scared of their brandished battle axes. "Now we've got friendly dwarves ready to chop off our heads."
"Stop complaining," said Hanna. "It's not helping."
"I'm not being positive enough for you? Should I look on the bright side of things? We're already underground; nobody'll need to bury us after we've been chopped to bits."
"They aren't going to chop us to bits." Hanna addressed what looked like the head dwarf because he was a head taller than the others. "Are you going to chop us to bits?"
"Well, actually..."
Maltesi pointed. "See? We're doomed. I never thought I'd ever say those words. I'm not that pessimistic normally. But I think in a cellar surrounded by six dwarves with sharp axes and a long dark tunnel at our backs, that we are, in fact, doomed."
Hanna folded her arms. "You're cranky because you're hungry and sleepy."
Maltesi's mouth dropped open. He looked at the six dwarves. Their battle stance was a lot less threatening now.
"Cranky? Cranky, am I? No, I can't possibly be looking the situation in the face and accepting it for what it is." He rubbed his face. "Bloody women. I'm through with them. I'm through with all of you. I'd rather be a monk! I'd rather shack up with Syd!"
It was fatigue. Hanna knew it was. Otherwise, she wouldn't have ever started laughing in face of the obvious danger that surrounded them. She laughed long and helplessly until she was crying into her hands.
Maltesi's anger drained away. It never stayed long. At first he was ticked about her laughter but then it caught him and he was doing it too, cracking up like he'd just heard the funniest joke ever told.
Soon, the dwarves lowered their axes and joined in. They liked a good laugh as well as anyone, even if they didn't quite know what they were laughing about.
Finally, Hanna wiped her eyes and let the last few chuckles die away.
"I know we're in your cellar," she said to the dwarves, "and we're trespassing and all, but can you just let us go? We didn't mean to be here. We just want to go home."
The head dwarf shrugged.
"We were going to kill you for discovering our secret escape tunnel but that laugh was really cathartic, wasn't it, lads?"
The other dwarves grinned and nodded.
"We're feeling pretty good right now so we'll let you live."
Hanna and Maltesi smiled at each other. Luck seemed to be reversing direction at lightning speed.
The head dwarf led them up the steps. "You want lunch before you go? You look like you haven't eaten in days. We aren't just the best dwarf thieves in Pseudopolis, we also cook a mean spaghetti al forno."
That was no lie. Hanna and Maltesi left the thieves' hideout stuffed with the best spaghetti they'd ever had. The thieves were a lively lot. All through lunch they told stories about their escapades. They even stole off of one of Maltesi's ships, but he didn't say who he was. He did suggest that the security on ships owned by a certain Phineas Polk didn't look too tight. The dwarves would be welcome to practice their art on any of them. They thanked him for the tip and waved goodbye from the doorstep.
For Maltesi a day had been lost at work and in the planning for his father's Deathday Party, scheduled for the next evening. He asked Hanna if the continuation of the treasure hunt couldn't wait a couple days.
"All right," she said. "But not too long."
"I just need time to get over the hangover." He smiled at her, wished her a nice day and took off down the street.
She stood there and wondered if she'd been very pointedly not invited to the party.