A-N: Cold and gray here in lovely Deutschland. Oh well... Frosteh - The song was a definite Marilyn Monroe reference to match Hanna glamming herself up as a blonde bomber. Intrikate – You have a soft heart, eh? Basically, so do I. Welcome Flamingo! So...now that the plot is as thick as it's gonna get, it's time to enter the home stretch...oOo

11. Pain All Around

The next afternoon, Lord Vetinari received one clacks message from Pseudopolis after another. He had ordered all Pseudopolis messages to be brought at once, day or night, meetings, appointments, meals – no matter.

He was getting information from various quarters because information was the fuel of decision making. A picture of the shipping businesses of Polk and Maltesi had already been built, their personalities too, their histories, relationships, families. An interesting fact arose out of the noise – Polk had been second in command under Anthony Maltesi's father, and had left abruptly under unhappy circumstances. Polk had a personal grudge against Maltesi; that was obvious from his visit. But Lord Vetinari's informants had also confirmed what Polk said. Maltesi was a smuggler and a privateer. Part-time at least. But then, in the shipping business, everyone was.

There was also a clacks from Madam. Among a good deal of interesting information, it included these lines:

Yesterday morning I found her room swimming in paper swans. By what you've told me, this indicates that something is weighing heavily on her mind. I will speak to her about it only if you wish it.

Paper swans. The Patrician considered it a mark of the stability of their relationship that since Hanna arrived at the Palace, her production of origami animals had steadily declined.

Yes, it was a bad sign indeed.

There was a knock on the office door. Lord Vetinari opened it himself.

"Ah, Mildred. Delighted to see you."

There were two things wrong from the perspective of the Palace maid Mildred Easy. First, Lord Vetinari had invited her to the Oblong Office. Not ordered. Invited. In a nicely worded invitation on gold-edged paper delivered a half hour ago by Drumknott.

The second thing wrong was on his lordship's face. The smile. He looked genuinely pleased to see her.

Mildred couldn't imagine why. She didn't even have the tea. She could only conclude that she was about to be fired. It occurred to her that he wouldn't bother to do this himself, but she couldn't think of any other explanation.

The Patrician pulled a chair out from the conference table and waved for her to sit. He took a place beside her, but it wasn't like he was about to have a meeting of some kind. The chair was angled so he could face her. He had his hands on his knees. The smile was still fixed on his face. He looked ready to have an intimate conversation.

Mildred braced herself.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," he said.

Various responses went through her head. She settled with, "I'm glad to be here, milord."

His smile deepened.

"I'm very happy to hear that, Mildred. It is true that I don't often have the opportunity to check up on my staff. To...assure that everything is in order. Is everything in order?"

"I put those files in alphabetical order just like Mr. Drumknott said, milord. The ones with the numbers had to be moved to the--"

"That is not quite what I meant." He paused. "Perhaps I should word it this way. Is there anything you find unsatisfactory about your work? Everything is negotiable. If any aspect of your life here at the Palace is bothering you, I will personally see that it gets corrected."

Mildred was confronted by the pleasant smile. It encouraged her to talk. She just didn't know what she was supposed to say.

"I don't have any complaints, sir, if that's what you mean."

"None at all? Really?"

He looked subtly disappointed.

"Well, maybe there was one thing, milord."

"Yes?"

"The sugar, sir."

The Patrician's determined smile wavered.

"Yes? What about the sugar?"

"Mrs. Dipplock said I was to bring in sugar with your tea every day regular. But you don't take sugar and neither does Lady Hanna. Every day I bring up the same sugar bowl but the sugar doesn't get used and now if you look close it's a wee bit...aged." She looked embarrassed.

"Aged."

"Yes, sir. Bits of lint on it. I tried to clean it but then the fleas got into the--" she put a hand over her mouth.

That happened to be the same gesture Lord Vetinari was making. He massaged the smile from his face and fixed her with a solemn expression. He looked like he was about to make an important announcement.

"As of today, you may stop bringing sugar in with the tea, Mildred. I will inform Mrs. Dipplock."

"Oh, thank you, milord. It just didn't seem to make sense to empty the old sugar bowl and fill it up new when you weren't going to use that either. It's perfectly good sugar. My mam always says--"

"Something grounded in the wisdom of the common folk, I'm sure."

He got up and wrapped his hands over the back of his chair.

"Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention. As you can see, I am happy to discuss anything that concerns you. Every man, woman and...miscellaneous at the Palace is important to me. This is not only a place of business; it is my home. Happiness begins with harmony in the home. Don't you agree?"

"Er...yes, sir."

"Indeed." The Patrician started strolling around the conference table. He gestured at nothing as he talked. "Harmony in the home is a function of the contentment of its members. It is only possible to be content if one knows that whether one is head of the household or a maid, he or she is an important and appreciated part of the whole. We are all connected in a tapestry of relationships that produces, when all is well, a pleasing pattern. When one member of the household is discontent, a snag occurs. The entire tapestry is in danger of unravelling."

"At home, when our carpet gets a snag, we just snip it, milord." Mildred wasn't one for metaphors.

The Patrician looked offended. "There will be no snipping in my household, Miss Easy."

She squirmed in her chair. "I only meant--"

"No matter. We were discussing the Palace, and that is a very special house indeed." The smile returned. "I wish you to know that your work here is appreciated by me and the rest of the staff. We appreciate your helpfulness, efficiency, thoughtfulness and punctuality. I thank you for the sterling work you've done. You are a crucial part of the tapestry that is the Palace of Ankh-Morpork."

There was silence. Something about his raised eyebrows tipped off Mildred that the Patrician was waiting for her to say something.

"Er...are you feeling all right, milord?"

His eyebrows descended.

"I am quite well, thank you," he sighed.

"Maybe I could bring you a new tea. It's got barley in it."

"Barley. Marvellous. Yes, that sounds quite nice right now."

He escorted her to the door.

"If you have any more concerns, feel free to bring them to my attention. My door is always open. When it is not closed."

He closed the door behind her.

It was opened a few moments later by Drumknott. He handed over a clacks.

"It came urgent, milord."

It was still in code. Lord Vetinari read it without having to decode it first.

From Griffin. There were quite a few numbers. Octiron Blonde hair dye – 200 dollars. White gown – 600. Accessories – 300. There were times and addresses.

And then, the Ankh. A description of the ship, a party. 9:13 p.m., the arrival of Hanna. What Griffin could see through a telescope – dancing, drinking, singing. Maltesi, of course. The words, To hell with him.

And then, the attack.

Lord Vetinari frowned at the paper.

Griffin admitted that he was unconscious for several hours, and when he awakened, the Ankh was gone with Hanna and Maltesi on it. He waited at the docks for its return. Shortly after noon. Hanna left the ship by herself dressed in men's clothing. Time she was unaccounted for: 8 hours.

Men's clothing?

The Patrician carefully folded the message in half. Then he folded it again. And again and again until it was a thick knob of paper that he could comfortably crush in his fist.

"Has Mr. Polk left the city?"

"Yes, milord."

"I will be visiting the Guild of Dock Workers at 3 p.m. Arrange it."

The Patrician got up abruptly and stared out the window for a while.

"Invite Mrs. Palm for 5." She was head of the Seamstress Guild.

"Yes, milord." Drumknott went to the door, but hesitated to leave.

"Wait."

Drumknott waited.

"Only the Dock Workers. For now."

"Yes, milord."

The Patrician scribbled a note at his desk, handed it to his clerk with a grimmer look on his face than usual, then went back to the windows. His hands were clasped so tightly behind his back that the knuckles were white as a corpse.

oOo

"Cecil! Get a doctor!"

The servant didn't have to be asked twice. He was out of Madam's bedroom and down the hall while Hanna sat on the edge of the bed and gently slapped Madam's cheek. She wouldn't wake up. She had a different pallor than before, something a bit bluish that made Hanna fear the worst. At least Madam was breathing. Barely.

She'd been fine when Hanna got back from her night on the Rim Ocean. Madam admired her hair and asked if she had a good time last night but didn't ask details despite the strange fact that Hanna was dressed in men's clothing with her evening gown over her arm. Hanna slept till dinner and they spent a quiet evening in front of the fire staring at books they weren't really reading. They both decided on an early night and went upstairs together. Madam made it to the landing before she collapsed into Hanna's arms.

"Auntie?" she whispered. "Please wake up."

No reaction from Madam.

"Gods..." Hanna looked around for something to do. She was trained in basic medical care in the matter of "preventatives" and "accidents" as prescribed by the Seamstress Guild, but that kind of thing wasn't going to help Madam. She was a bit beyond that. The only thing she could think of was to get a glass of water that Madam couldn't drink at the moment, and a warm wet towel that for all Hanna knew would have no effect on her.

Hanna touched her cheek again. Cool. She checked her pulse. Weak.

Panic was not going to help, but it was wriggling around inside Hanna, waiting to break out. Along with the guilt.

She adjusted the blanket and tried to keep her hands from shaking.

Too late, she was thinking. It was too late...

oOo

Nothing much went on at the Maltesi ships that day seeing as most of the staff was getting over a terrible beer or schnapps-induced hangover. Nobody thought much of the Ankh and Maltesi being gone half the day. Frankly, it was good news. Employees everywhere were glad when the boss was out.

He stumbled into his office mid-afternoon and shut himself up without talking to anyone. Anybody who knocked was told to go away. Old Pete got in and stayed for ten minutes and left with a worried look on his face. Maltesi didn't leave his office until after sundown when the staff had gone home.

Hands shoved in his pockets, head down, he walked along the pier toward the Ankh. There was so much to think about that he couldn't think at all. The Rim Ocean, that was an image in his mind. And the stars. Reflections on the water. It was a calm sea last night off the coast. All they heard was the water lapping a little against the side of the ship. The rattle when a breeze disturbed the rigging. There wasn't a more peaceful place anywhere else in the world.

The ocean and stars and Hanna crowded his mind so well that he didn't see the shadows shift along the wall of the warehouses he passed.

Behind him, there was a crunching sound. A footfall.

Maltesi turned. The pier was empty.

He turned again and walked into a fist.

oOo

Hanna always thought it was suspicious that doctors wouldn't let loved ones stay in the room when they were doing their examination. It seemed like an accountability issue. How could she know if he was doing his job right?

Pacing, she waited in the hallway with Cecil. The doctor was twenty minutes with Madam already.

"What's he doing?" she demanded.

"We must let him practice his art, milady. Dr. Bayles is the most competent doctor in the city. That is not saying much when the rest of the doctors are pompous idiots, but he is at least marginally better."

Hanna paced some more.

"I don't care what she says; I should clacks the Patrician. He should know what's going on."

"Have no fear, milady. I did it myself when I fetched the doctor."

Hanna looked surprised, then nodded with relief. She didn't want to be the bearer of bad news. She didn't want to contact him at all, really.

"I wonder if he'll come," she said.

"I will inform you immediately of a reply, milady."

The bedroom door opened. Dr. Bayles was a rather nondescript man with a plain face but a pleasant smile if he chose to use it. It was a smile that had charmed Syd, though that wasn't hard to do.

"You may come in now," he said.

Hanna pushed past him.

oOo

All of the men wore a kind of gray-green that made them blend into the shadows. It was dark enough that at first, Maltesi only knew he was being hit. He couldn't see who was doing it.

He threw a wild punch at a moving shadow and got a fist in the stomach. He doubled over. Somebody else hit him on the back and he dropped to his knees.

"You know," said one of the assailants. This was Joe. He was a smiling man with a baby face. "This hurts us more than it hurts you, Mr. Maltesi. It really does."

One of his buddies, Bruce, pushed Maltesi to the ground.

"Of course, you have to look at the application of meanings of the word hurt," said Joe. "It's an interesting word. Linguistically, we use it as both a noun and a predicate. For the sake of argument, we'll look at the predicate."

Joe gave Maltesi a thoughtful kick in the ribs. The others followed with less thoughtful kicks in other parts of Maltesi's body. He turned over and caught one of Bruce's boots and hauled him over but that was it. The others pinned his arms, and when he tried to shout for help, they smacked him across the mouth.

"As you can see here, it's possible to hurt someone physically," said Joe. "It's very unpleasant but I would argue that it's not half as damaging as hurting someone mentally or emotionally. Wouldn't you agree, Tom?"

Tom's leg paused in mid-kick. "Definitely. The body is wonderfully resilient. Cuts and bruises and even breaks heal. Mental hurts, on the other hand, are something else. There's no branch of medicine to help heal those."

His boot found a soft bit. Maltesi groaned on the ground.

"What about that Dr....Sigfried Frued...of Borogravia?" said Bruce. He casually slipped on a pair of brass knuckles. "I thought he was doing some good work in treating mental pain."

"It's Dr. Fred," said Joe. "And it's a new field. I'll reserve judgement until there've been more clinical studies. My point is..." He held up one of Maltesi's arms so Bruce could punch him without obstruction in the ribs. "...that everything we're doing to you, Mr. Maltesi, is nothing compared to the hurt we're experiencing mentally. We don't like doing stuff like this. We're not common thugs. And four lads to one; it's shameful. Not fair at all. We're hurting inside, aren't we, lads?"

The lads nodded.

"Why do you think we have conversational talking points while we do this? It's because we want a distraction. This demeans all of us, Mr. Maltesi." Joe paused. "Mr. Maltesi?"

He wasn't moving anymore.

There was one shadow that hadn't left the safety of the darkness.

Griffin watched from his hiding place. He was feeling rather bad about having to stay out of it. Maltesi really didn't have a chance.

He glanced across the pier at a stack of barrels by the water. A pair of eyes glittered out from behind them.

That was Lester. He wasn't feeling bad about it at all.

oOo

"...and absolutely no excitement," Dr. Bayles was saying. He was Dr. Dennis Bayles. For this occasion, at least. He had many names, titles and occupations. He was passably good at all of them.

Hanna sat on the edge of the bed. Madam was awake but she wasn't saying much. Her eyes were dull.

Dr. Bayles tucked the last of his medical instruments into his bag and snapped it shut.

"Did something happen today that upset her?" he asked.

Hanna looked at Madam. The pallor was still there, and a little distressed frown. "I don't know," she said.

"Any kind of shock could be more than her heart can stand. So please, don't allow anything to upset her. Give her fennel tea and dried toast in the morning, and some fruit. No citrus. Keep her in here until she can walk this room without needing help."

He gave Hanna and Madam a deep Pseudopolis bow, nodded at Cecil and left.

Madam smiled weakly.

"Don't worry, my dear." Her voice was faint. "I'm a survivor." She closed her eyes. "Will you stay with me until I go to sleep?"

She took Hanna's hand. The grip was surprisingly firm.

oOo

Maltesi was aware that he was no longer on the ground. The consciousness thing was still questionable; he could've been dreaming. His face felt swollen but that might've been because, he saw when he pried his eyes open for a moment, he was slung over someone's shoulder. The blood – whatever he had left in him – had rushed to his head.

Eventually, he felt himself being settled onto the ground. He slumped back with a sigh. Breathing. Air. It was very, very good.

A wall was at his back. A building. He didn't have the energy to look up and see which one. He didn't even have the energy to look up at the man who'd carried him. His knees were as far as his line of sight went. He was wearing a kind of a gray-green.

The man took something out of his pocket and stooped beside Maltesi.

"Open up," he whispered.

The words didn't quite make sense to Maltesi. He stared at a pair of black eyes that seemed to have a flash of compassion in them. Maltesi tried to say something but his lips felt stuck together.

The man gently, but painfully, pried open his jaw and poured something in his mouth. It was some kind of powder that started dissolving on his tongue. Maltesi coughed but decided to stop when a shooting pain went through his chest. He would've spat but that was more effort than he could stand. He let the stuff dissolve and closed his eyes and decided that being beat up and poisoned wasn't nearly as bad as being locked up in the Patrician's scorpion pit. Maltesi didn't like crawly creatures with spiked tails.

Yes, poison. It was nice and immediate if it was the right kind. And painless. His body didn't feel like such an open sore anymore.

He tried to think of a few momentous last words. Something about women and weakness and damn fools. He abandoned the whole thing when he remembered that he couldn't talk.

His head slumped against his chest.

Griffin patted him on the shoulder. Then he pulled the cord connected with the bells at the Sailors Barracks, and slipped off into the darkness.