A-N: More drama for intriKate! Ivy – you're far too smart for your own good. (smile). icyinferno – Once every week or so is pretty respectable for updating, though this story has taken forever to post. It's almost done, though. Enjoy! oOo

14. Big Choice #1

"Death," said Maltesi firmly.

"What?" Hanna pulled him away from the Ghost. "You can't answer just like that! We have to think about it."

"What's there to think about? I saw an iconograph of the old Prince of Eternity. No eyes, no brain, and I couldn't see under the robe but I assume he didn't have a heart. He's known for being patient, right? He waits around with his scythe until somebody dies, and you never know when he's coming. There."

Maltesi looked over at the Ghost. The Ghost gave a "could be" shrug.

"Is that your answer?"

"Wait," said Hanna. "People don't seek Death. He said he's always sought."

"Soldiers," said Maltesi.

"Soldiers don't want to die. That's why they kill people, isn't it?"

"Don't know. I don't like soldiers."

"It could be Io," she said. "Blind Io. I've heard he hasn't got much in the brain department and he can't see very well."

"He's got eyes, they're just not attached to his face."

Hanna and Maltesi fell silent, thinking. The Ghost sat on a convenient rocky ledge and looked on with interest. His left arm floated to the middle of his chest and pierced it like an arrow.

A couple minutes later, Maltesi said, "Is there a time limit?"

"Oh, no." The Ghost smiled. "That would spoil the fun, wouldn't it? I've been sitting here for years and years waiting for somebody to brave the Vicious Mountain Goats. Do you think I'd put a time limit just when things started getting interesting?"

Hanna rubbed her face and paced to the entrance to the cliff and tried to think.

No eyes, no brain, often heartless. Often. Not always.

She looked out over the landscape, the valley laid out below, other mountains reaching higher the further back they were in the range. Somewhere beyond there was the Hub. The top of the world.

Not always heartless, she was thinking. Maybe they'd been taking this too literally.

So, no eyes – can't see. No brain – can't think. Often heartless...Well, people who are heartless could be called mean, evil, merciless, cruel. Vetinari.

Maltesi spoke up. "I heard there's a kind of mountain troll that doesn't have eyes and they're --"

"Anthony! I'm trying to think!"

The longer I live, the more patient I am. Hanna leaned against the rock entrance, her arms folded. Who got more patient with time? It reminded her of something Mrs. Palm had told her once, that people either got harder or softer with age. But patience? Hanna had come across a lot of ornery, impatient old people. It had nothing to do with age. Skip it.

Always sought and found when no one was looking.

Always sought. What were people always looking for? Money. But that turned up in normal places. Treasure, but that didn't fit with the other parts of the riddle.

Happiness.

Hanna blinked. She didn't know where the thought had come from, but she knew she was on the right track. She was too practical. So was Maltesi. Riddles were never literal.

She looked at Maltesi. He was sitting on a rock with his head in his hands. She didn't know if he was thinking or nursing his pains. He really shouldn't have come along. He should've stayed in bed. That he did come was just proof that he was hard-headed and slightly mad and...

"Oh, am I dumb."

The Ghost got up. His left arm began a slow journey lower on his body that promised to end in interesting anatomical places.

"You look like you have an idea," he said happily.

Maltesi looked up.

Hanna was shaking her head. "Yes, yes, yes. It all makes sense. Dense stupid idiot me." She sighed.

"What?" demanded Maltesi.

"The answer is Love, right?"

The Ghost grinned.

"Are you sure?" asked Maltesi. "I thought it might be this one Great White Whale they're always trying to catch off the coast of--"

"I know I'm right." Hanna nodded. "Love is blind, it makes us act stupid, it's heartless, and people are dumb enough to always look for it." She paused. "The patience part... Well, I suppose that could be the quieter, sort of domestic love that comes after the flashy bits at the start of a romance are gone."

She braced herself.

The Ghost trotted over to a large pyramid-shaped outcropping in the cave, waved his hand in front of it and said, "Voila!"

The peak of the pyramid wavered and disappeared. What was left was a shelf. It contained several interesting items. But that wasn't half as arresting as the cloud of fragrance that rushed through the cave. It was a thick smell, but not sweet. It sang of darkness and jungles, tangled vines and carnivorous plants, soil and long rains. Hanna had never smelled anything like it.

The smell could be pinpointed relatively accurately to a tablet, several inches thick, the size of a large ledger and wrapped in what looked like banana tree leaves.

Maltesi stepped up to the shelf but looked afraid to put out his hand.

"Hell. Hershebian Chocolate. I never thought I'd see the stuff." He took a deep whiff of it.

"It's a rather concentrated smell, I'm afraid," said the Ghost. "It'll go away in a few minutes. It has been capped up for a hundred years, you know." The ghost shrugged. "Gets muffy in the old treasure chamber."

Next to the chocolate was a necklace. Nobody could ever wear it, as far as Hanna could make out, because the thing looked like it weighed a ton. Of diamonds.

On the shelf, there was also a chamber pot. It wasn't gold or silver or jewel encrusted. It was just a chamber pot.

"What's that for?" asked Maltesi.

"I thought some people that, you know, traveled a long way, they might treasure decent facilities." The Ghost smiled brightly. "So. You can only take one thing with you. Go ahead and pick." His smile widened. "Go ahead. Pick anything you want."

Hanna and Maltesi exchanged glances.

"Is this another test?" he said.

The Ghost looked at the roof of the cave. "Oh. Maybe."

Hanna reached out for the chocolate but Maltesi stopped her.

"That necklace'd keep Madam in champagne for the rest of her life. Who needs the chocolate?"

"She does. That's what we came for."

"The necklace has got to be worth..." Maltesi stared at it. There was a sparkle in his eye. "Three, four hundred ships. Loaded."

"I'm not interested in ships." Hanna reached out for the chocolate again.

Maltesi grasped her arms.

"Hanna, listen, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. Don't let them push you around. Make your own decisions for once."

The Ghost sidled up to them, his transparent arms folded.

"Think about how you live," said Maltesi, "Ankh-Morpork and the Patrician and all of that crap you told me about. And then, I want you to imagine finally getting one over on him."

Hanna frowned.

"You're not trapped," he said. "You can just leave. That necklace would pay for a hundred broken contracts. If the Patrician can't appreciate you, find someone who can."

Just pay out the contract and leave. It sounded easy to Hanna. Maybe it would be better to cut it all short. She shouldn't give the Patrician the satisfaction of having his little seamstress to be condescending to. His lamb.

Maltesi folded his hands over hers.

"You don't have to go back at all if you don't want to. Pseudopolis isn't bad once you get used to the traffic. I travel a lot for business, but...maybe you could come along. If you wanted. I was planning to go down to Al-Khali next month. Have you ever been to Klatch?"

Hanna looked at the Ghost. He raised his milky eyebrows. The ghost parrot on his shoulder stirred, squawked weakly, and fell back asleep.

In her professional life pre-Patrician, a lot of men had come her way. Various proposals had followed not far behind. Marriage proposals, a prominent spot in a harem, permanent "companion" kept in a secluded chateau, all expenses paid. She'd refused everything until Lord Vetinari had conned her into accepting his "mutually beneficial business arrangement."

And now there was Maltesi with a new one. Sail away. Hit the high seas. With the proceeds from the sale of a diamond necklace that must be worth millions. It was tempting. She'd got a whiff of freedom on the salt air that night on the Rim Ocean.

She looked at the necklace, and then back up at Maltesi. The bruises were still obvious and his upper lip was still slightly swollen, but his eyes were inflamed with something that looked like a mix of hope and madness. He'd taken quite a bruising for her, that was a fact. Come to think of it, she'd taken a bruising for Vetinari when he was overthrown. Would he ever take one for her?

No.

There must have been some change on her face because Maltesi started to smile.

It would certainly show the Vetinari-Meserole faction that Hanna was not to be trapped. Manipulated by business or emotions. She could turn her back on the intrigues. Make a choice for herself, for once. The Patrician wouldn't really do anything to them because she wasn't important enough to warrant it. There'd be some damage control, public opinion spinning and so on, but in the end, he would wash his hands of her and that would be that.

Wouldn't it?

But then, Madam was an old woman with a strong will and a weak body. No wonder she wanted the best for her nephew. No wonder she pushed Hanna toward him. Havelock seemed to be her last connection to Stanwyck, who she obviously loved...

"Idiot!" she cried.

Maltesi dropped her hands. "You don't have to be that way about it."

"No. I meant...me..."

Maybe auntie wasn't auntie at all. All the concern for her and the Patrician could just as well be called...motherly.

Hanna hauled the bar of chocolate from the shelf and shoved it into her pack.

"It's all tempting, Anthony, but... I can't really explain it."

"Right." He sighed.

The pack with the chocolate was strapped onto Hanna's back. She shimmied back into her coat only then, and buttoned up. She wanted the chocolate pack as protected as possible until she got it back to Madam. It felt like she had an encyclopedia strapped to her back.

The Ghost clapped his hands. It didn't sound like anything.

"Good show. The necklace is cursed, you know." He shrugged. "You have to have cursed treasure. It's part of the rules."

The hand Maltesi held out to touch the necklace froze.

"I can't even touch it?"

"Unless you want your hand vaporized."

"Anthony, come on!"

A teenage boy put down his dime novel when he saw the tiny figures of Maltesi and Hanna scrambling out of the cave in the distance. Her Octiron blonde hair was like a beacon. The boy climbed on a rock and started waving his red and white flags in a particular pattern.

oOo

In Ankh-Morpork, the burliest members of the Guild of Dock Workers spread out across the piers.

The head of the group was getting restless because he couldn't let his men loose yet. He was missing a vital piece of information: Which ships his lads were supposed to confiscate indefinitely until the contents of the cargo holds were recorded, collated and reported.

The Patrician had made a friendly request to wait until one of his agents delivered the news. Friendly requests were all right by the dock workers, who were really hoping to find some contraband. They were drawing lots on who'd get to do the finger chopping.

oOo

Lucy's dance number still mesmerized the Vicious Mountain Goats of the Carracks. Hanna and Maltesi made a thumbs up sign at Mountain Man Griz, and scrambled down the side of the mountain without the goats so much as turning their heads.

At the entrance to the mountain pass, they paused to catch their breaths. Hanna looked like a hunchback with the chocolate pack under her coat.

"Let me carry that," said Maltesi.

Hanna hugged herself. "It's not heavy."

They started off again. Double-marching through the pass, around the snaggle-toothed bushes, out into a boulder meadow. Maltesi was in the lead. He went around an upright boulder bigger than a house...and stopped short. Hanna walked into him.

"What's wrong?"

The crossbow answered her question.

Lester was on a brown horse that looked as drab as he did but much more energetic. He looked like he knew how to use a crossbow (he did) and he was smiling.

"Well, Anthony. How are you old chap? Still profiting from your father's memory?"

"At least my father's worth working for. Yours is a right prick, you know that?"

"You never get tired of telling me."

Lester's last name was Polk. He didn't have a mind for business like his father Phineas but he had talent in the sneak around causing other people trouble department.

"Lady Hanna," said Lester, "I'd like to say how nice it's been watching you during your stay in Pseudopolis. I was happy to see you develop a taste for sailors."

He grinned. Maltesi made a move toward the horse but Lester pointed his crossbow at him.

"I should tell you that the safety catch is in the off position." He waved the crossbow. "You might want to get your hands up."

"You always were a slimy bastard, Lester."

"Hands up, Anthony. That's a good lad. See? Co-operation is nice. Oh, you don't need to bother, milady. I see you have something interesting under your coat. Besides the usual, ha ha. So, if you could please hand over the--"

There was a hissing sound and a zing as something metallic glanced off the side of the rock just behind Lester. The horse yanked at the bit, but he got it under control again.

A short throwing knife lay on the ground.

Another hiss, another zing and Lester, his head down, suddenly brought the horse around and scooped Hanna over the saddle. He took off down the hill.

Maltesi lunged for the knife and ran after them, shouting curses and trying to take aim. He wasn't trained in knife throwing, which was why his one attempt missed the mark by a long shot.

A word about Hanna and horses.

Catastrophe.

She was a city girl. She never needed to actually be on a horse. The animals were used to pull carriages or carts. As far as she was concerned, she had no business on the back of one. The one time she'd tried to ride a Palace thoroughbred had ended in a rather embarrassing episode the Patrician now referred to only as "The Incident."

She was screaming because she was slung on her stomach, her head bouncing near a front leg of Lester's horse, and she didn't have anything to hold onto except the saddle straps or Lester's leg. She opted for his leg. Her own legs flailed out on the other side of the horse and she was sure, dead certain that when the brakes were pulled, she'd go flying off. Lester held her by the belt on her breeches but this promised to cause other problems.

Maltesi tripped down the hill. He wasn't in a condition to run very far, adrenalin or no. The horse with Lester and Hanna was off in the distance already. He stopped and doubled over, coughing. He hurt like hell.

Hoof beats came up behind him. They'd been there all along, he just hadn't noticed.

He was holding his side, gasping. "Get it over with, you jackals. But I'll tell you this..." He straightened up, "...somebody'll go down with me this time."

"Steady, Mr. Maltesi."

Griffin held up his hands.

A flashback. Boots, knees, black eyes. Maltesi didn't drop his fighting stance but he also didn't rush at the horse.

"You were on the docks, weren't you? When they jumped me. You helped..."

"Yes, sir. I was able to do some small service. I'm Griffin. This is Dennis."

He waved at the second horse. Dennis bowed politely in the saddle.

"We're on your side, sir," he said.

"I wouldn't say that exactly," said Griffin. "Let's just say that we all want Lady Hanna back safely."

"You're not Polk's lads?" asked Maltesi suspiciously.

"I was sent by the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork," said Griffin.

"I thought he sent the bastards who ambushed me."

"I can assure you, he didn't. It wasn't very sporting."

Dennis stayed silent until Maltesi confronted him.

"And you? Let me guess. You belong to Madam Meserole."

Dennis smiled. "A very good guess."

"Right." Maltesi got beside Dennis' horse and got a grip on the back of the saddle. "I wouldn't trust either one of you in a dark room, but we got to get Hanna back. Lester's a right bastard. Who knows what he'll..."

Dennis helped him up. Maltesi sprawled uncomfortably behind him.

Griffin had a soothing smile on his face.

"No rush, sir. Slow and steady wins the race"

"The hell it does. Why didn't you nail Lester with those knives, anyway?"

"He isn't very useful dead."

"You wanted him to take her? What kind of game--?"

"I think we've given them enough of a sporting start, hm?" said Griffin.

He and Dennis spurred their horses.