16. Pleasant Good byes

Madam was alone in the Awfully Orange Drawing Room. She was sitting on the sofa dressed to the nines. A lovely purple silk gown, diamonds in her ears, black gloves. Hanna sat beside her.

"Was this some kind of test, Madam?"

"You're angry, and now I'm Madam instead of auntie, hm?"

"I didn't think auntie was appropriate. For me or his lordship."

"I promise that I do need the chocolate, Hanna. It will play a crucial role in one of my…business interests. I could have sent one of my people to get it once I learned that there was a local supply, but I thought I'd offer you the task. You're such an active young woman; I thought you'd be bored otherwise, spending weeks here with an old lady." She smiled in a way Hanna could only think of as a Vetinari fashion. "Besides, it was a real revelation to see you in action. Havelock did not overstate your abilities."

Hanna gave Madam a suspicious look. "Did he help you arrange all this?"

Madam hesitated.

"He did! I knew it! Have a nice holiday, my lamb!" Hanna stomped around the sitting room. "The bastard! The vile, miserable, scheming, rotten, filthy Dreckschwein! Hinterfutziger Rat! Schmallspur Betruger! Aufgeblasener Schnosel!..."

Sometimes only Uberwaldean was the proper language to cuss someone out in. (1)

Madam stuck a finger in her ear.

"My goodness. I'm sure Havelock can hear you all the way from Ankh-Morpork."

"I hope he does, the Schlapschwanz!" (2)

"That's enough." Madam said it in her normal tone of voice, but with a resonance that was so commanding that Hanna stopped in mid-curse.

"Sit down."

Hanna sat.

"It was my idea. Havelock was aware of it but was not directly involved until the iconographs made things more complicated."

"He knows I hate being used like this!"

"We didn't intend for you to find out. It was supposed to be a relatively simple treasure hunt. Map leads to treasure like A leads to B. Things would have gone more smoothly if Mr. Polk wasn't so ambitious. Or if you had chosen a less charming helper than Mr. Maltesi. As it is, things still turned out satisfactorily. And you, my dear," Madam poked Hanna gently, "have impressed me as much as you impress my nephew."

Hanna snorted. "Right. You have those lovely letters to Lady Margolotta."

"Oh…" Madam shrugged. "I wouldn't base too much on those."

"Why not? If they were forgeries, they were particularly bad ones."

"No, those were his words. Copies, as you guessed." She paused. "Almost all of my nephew's correspondence is, by necessity, diplomatic. Nothing he writes to anyone, especially anyone with political interests, is wholly personal. Even when he appears to be personal, he is being political. Do you understand?"

"I'm too intellectually inadequate."

"Stop sulking. You don't think clearly when you're angry but you must learn. Clear your head and consider the political ramifications of you."

"I don't have anything to do with politics," Hanna said stubbornly.

"So you haven't acquired any power in your own right as a result of your relationship with my nephew?"

Hanna didn't answer.

"Someone like Margolotta, who is interested as I am in the balance of power around the Disc, is naturally interested in the newer dynamics in Ankh-Morpork. There is quite a web of misiniformation around you to keep her from getting everything she'd like. Believe me, it irritates her to no end." Madam paused. "Now think of the potential impact of a set of compromising iconographs. Lady Hanna exposed, as it were."

"It would be embarrassing, but it would blow over. I am a seamstress."

"Miss Hanna Louria Stein is a seamstress. Lady Hanna is a baroness who sits at the left hand of the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork. Pictures are more powerful than words. Questionable pictures of you wouldn't just be embarrassing, they would rupture the image my nephew has so carefully created with your help the past two years. The enchanting Baroness of Khavos, the wealthy, sophisticated, influential, unshakably loyal intimate companion of the most powerful man in the world – and Havelock is, no matter what people say about the emperor of Agatea. It doesn't matter if it's all true or not; it's the image you have across the Disc."

"You forgot to add stupid, reckless, immature..."

"Those bits are for Uberwaldean consumption and are part of the little game between Margolotta and Havelock. Do you think they just play Thud? Use your head, Hanna. If you got letters from my nephew claiming repeatedly that someone was incompetent and foolish, what would you think?"

"The opposite." It dawned on Hanna what she'd just said.

"Exactly. And if you thought about it a little longer?"

Hanna knew this game. She played it sometimes with Vetinari under different circumstances. If he told her something, she considered the opposite to be true, then assumed on second thought that what he originally told her really was true because he expected her to think he'd lied. It kept her confused half the time.

Madam was nodding. "You see now. He could be telling the truth, he could be lying. Margolotta has to decide which is which based on the information she gathers and that, by the way, is not always accurate or interpreted accurately. We have the good fortune of dealing with a vampire, and vampires, even highly intelligent and insightful ones, have odd ideas about human relationships. I can tell you for a fact that she now thinks you're a physical weakness of Havelock's that he's embarrassed about, causing him to compensate by giving you a title, fortune and so on. It wasn't that long ago that she thought you really were a social experiment, a living breathing toy for my nephew."

Hanna made a face.

"And before that," said Madam, "she thought he was in love with you."

"Bollocks. And it doesn't matter now. I was angry and I slipped up with Anthony. His lordship can safely fire me and have one less thing to complain about."

"Ah, yes." Madam fixed Hanna with a severe stare. "You had a night of intense passion with Mr. Maltesi."

"That's right."

Madam's stare didn't budge. Hanna began getting flashbacks of Lord Vetinari's snake-like gazes.

"He's a fantastic lover," she said.

The silent stare was getting creepy. Hanna started fidgeting in her chair.

"He's what we seamstresses call a C5. That's code for clients who give pleasure instead of just taking it."

Madam finally blinked.

"Hanna."

"What?"

"You got sick on a golem."

"Dammit, have I had one moment of privacy this whole trip?"

Madam grinned. "No, actually."

What was meant to be a night of intense and, yes, spiteful passion with Maltesi turned into one of the lowlights of Hanna's professional career. She had every intention of seducing him. There were exciting kisses and lots of touching and initial reorganization of clothing. Then a series of waves on the ocean gripped her stomach, did a twist, and forced her to run to the edge of the upper deck and retch overboard. She thought it was overboard. There was actually a deck below her, where one of the golem crew happened to be gazing quietly out to sea.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Hanna had never been seasick before. She'd never got sick from alcohol before. She could only conclude, as Maltesi fetched an herbal tea for her stomach and some of his clothes to change into, that her stomach was being smarter than her brain. The hour of furious, grumbling nausea was dubbed "Vetinari's Revenge." Maltesi settled her in a deck chair with a blanket and the tea and told her old sailor's tales to keep her mind off it. She fell asleep around dawn.

"Frankly, I never expected such restraint and chivalry from a sailor," said Madam. "Mr. Maltesi is a very worthy gentleman. He will be rewarded for his decency." She sighed happily. "Yes, all of this was such a delicious way to get you both riled up. Shook your iron-clad professionalism, didn't it? And it did Havelock good too."

Hanna was slumped on the sofa, her head resting against the back cushion.

"A nasty thing to do, fiddling with the feelings of your own son."

Madam broke out laughing. "My son. Dear me..." She groped around in the sofa cushions for a stashed handkerchief she could wipe her face with. "Oh, Hanna, in a way you're right. I raised him, I taught him and I've supported him to this very day, even if some of my little plans have displeased him. I'm sure it's obvious that I loved his father. But it was that sort of unrequited love that's very irritating because it's so pathetic and romantic."

Madam folded the handkerchief carefully on her lap.

"I didn't think it such a terrible thing to give you and Havelock a little push in the right direction. He's always been so single-minded. He needs reminding that there are some things in life just as rewarding and important as a smoothly run city or a triumph in international affairs. He must realize this before it's too late."

"Too late for what?"

"Before Havelock came along, Stanwyck used to have the arrogance to say: 'After me, the deluge.' He discovered quite early that's not such a good idea. It's taking Havelock a tad longer, but I think he's coming around."

They stared at each other. Madam's arthritic cat took the opportunity to saunter into the drawing room, rub up against the ladies' legs and exit without further comment.

"Oh, no," said Hanna.

"You never know."

"No."

"It's best to keep an open mind about these things."

Hanna fixed Madam with a stare she hoped was firm and uncompromising. "No. It will not happen. Ever."

"Why not?"

"Where do I start? Because I'm not insane? Because your nephew is a ruthless tyrant you can't trust to lace your shoes, much less..." She couldn't even say it. Not the C word. It was linked so often in prudish circles to the M word.

"Besides, it wouldn't be me. I'm just a seamstress."

"I do hate it when you say that," said Madam testily.

"Well, it's true. And even he can't change that unless..." he gets me in breach of contract and expels me from the guild for life, leaving me nothing but a bankrupt unemployed baroness with government experience.

Madam had a peculiarly triumphant look on her face that made Hanna suspect that auntie had just read her mind.

"Does he know about all these grand plans you have for us?" she asked warily.

"He suspects, I'm sure. But these things are always better left to the women, aren't they?"

Hanna wasn't going to let it happen. She was going to watch out. From now on, she'd have two eyes on the back of her head. Three to be safe. If he ever wanted...the M word...he'd have to drag her kicking and screaming to the altar, and he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't sling her over his shoulder and force her. It'd be undignified.

If he did get her there somehow, he couldn't force her to agree to any of it, not in front of the wizards and guilds and nobles and her family. The whole city. The whole world. Even he didn't have the power to force her mouth open to spit out the word "Yes" against her will, even if there was the C word involved. Which there wouldn't be. She'd see to that. It'd take some massive, dirty, underhanded plot to force her to...

"Oh, gods," she moaned.

Then she ran her hands over her face and tried to get a hold of herself. This was Lord Vetinari they were talking about. The Patrician of Ankh-Morpork. Clever tyrant, benevolent despot, puppet master and poster boy for sang froid. He never did anything without a good political reason, and there was none for attaching Hanna to the old ball and chain. As far as M and C went, she was more than safe as long as he stayed the cynical bugger he was. She wasn't going to get herself ensnared in his aunt's brand of madness.

"Would you be offended, Madam, if I said I think you're going senile?"

"I wouldn't take that from anyone else but you, my dear. Now, listen." She extended her right hand. "If you promise to forgive your auntie for my little game and not blame my nephew for this episode, I will never interfere with you again. Things will take their course one way or another. Deal?"

Madam and Hanna shook hands. Then Madam hugged her while painfully trying to cross her fingers behind her back.

Note: (1) Instead of translating the curses from the Uberwaldean, think words like mean, detestable, worthless, pompous, small-time and fraud. In short, Hanna was expressing that his lordship was not a very nice person.

(2) This word implied that Hanna was not impressed by the functioning of his lordship's intimate anatomy.

oOo

The ship was the Star of Ephebie and it was not carrying prawns. Hanna asked Maltesi specifically about that before booking passage back to Ankh-Morpork. She was given the best cabin on board. Trolls carried her trunks up the gangplank. Two were filled with souvenirs she'd rustled up the past couple of days. A tank of Pseudopolis Air was reserved for Mrs. Palm. There were sweets for the Palace maids and the famous Carrack graphite pencils for the clerks. A slab of air-cured Pseudopolis ham was destined for the feeding bowl of Wuffles. A small barrel of the local beer was packed up for her family.

And for the Patrician, she bought the Pseudopolis flag in the shape of a neck tie. He didn't wear neck ties. That's why she bought it. It was the type of gift he gave other people, things they couldn't or didn't want to use. He deserved his own back every now and then. She would've preferred to buy him a noose, but she couldn't find any in the fashionable black that would match his robes.

"So, all settled, are you?"

Maltesi appeared in the doorway of her cabin, a clipboard in his hand. His face was healed enough for him to shave with only minor pain.

"It smells wonderful in here."

He followed his nose to the little dressing table. There was a vase full of lavender next to a pot of stomach-soothing tea.

"Had that brought in special. I didn't want to take any chances. Customer service, you know." He checked something on his clipboard. "You're not carrying any contraband, are you?"

She smiled. "Definitely not. Are you?"

"Definitely not. Maybe I'll ship some things now and then for Madam Meserole if she pays triple in-sewer-ants." He rattled the curtains and checked something else on his clipboard. "She's got to pay if I get involved in another one of her plots."

"I hope neither of us do."

Part of the reason Maltesi was being so thorough about Hanna's cabin was that it was an extremely expensive passage she'd booked. She paid quadruple the normal price and he took it, no questions asked. He felt he deserved it.

He tucked his pencil behind his ear and put his clipboard under his arm.

"Right. It looks like everything is ready to go. So…" He stuck out his hand. "Have a good trip, milady."

They shook hands. He combined it with a deep Pseudopolis-style bow that got gravity involved in making his glasses fall off his nose. He scooped them up off the carpet. Hanna smiled at him warmly.

"You're a real gentleman, Anthony."

"No, I'm a nice guy. We always get the short end of the stick. Universal law of nature. All right, I haven't been killed and at least my ships aren't confiscated, but I still think Vetinari's a bastard and you're making a mistake going back."

"I can't argue with that. At least you've got Rachel and Alison to keep you company."

"I'm done with seamstresses. Maybe I'll meet a nice nautch girl in Klatch."

Hanna gave him a long kiss. That was all right by Maltesi because last time, his lips had been swollen from that beating he took. It really wasn't a new kiss, it was more like a correction of an old one. When he wrapped his arms around her, he dropped his clipboard. A freak storm that grounded all ships on the docks until further notice would've been perfect just then, but it didn't happen. So eventually, he let go of her, muttering a last unflattering remark about that gangster czar of Ankh-Morpork who didn't deserve what he had.