This isa little set of sequels for the angsty little fic called 'Keys to a Kingdom'. I had mentioned that originally I had planned to write a second chapter that's a bit more happy. People said I was right to end where I did, but one (coughBlankNedcough) suggested I post it as a sequel. Soon, one chapter led to two, and will keep going unless I'm stopped. So reading 'Keys to a Kingdom' is required, if you want to meet Sara and James for the first time.

Discworld is Pterry's, please don't sue me. Sara and James are my archtypes. They like being farmed out on occasion. Just make sure to feed James. See my deviant gallery for sketches of everyone.

Locks and Doors

By Jess Idres

There were thousands of houses in Ankh-Morpork; some were small, cheek and jowl, segmented houses of the Shades, while others were huge free standing structures on the Ankh side of the river. Every single one had a story to tell, about those who had managed for brief periods to call these places 'home'. But the purposes of this tale, one house stands out in particular, holding in the details of its inhabitants' personal lives.

The house stood as it normally did on Moss Street, enjoying a rather quiet afternoon, at least by Ankh-Morpork standards. Occasionally the muffled sounds of CMOT Dibbler attempting to sell another thing wrapped in a bun could be heard, or the Watch running after an unlicensed thief, followed by the sound of said thief running head long into the wall of polite policing known as Captain Carrot.

But inside this house, the majority of the sound came from the occasional opening and closing of a few doors, and song being hacked away on a battered piano. It was a perfectly nice song as it was, but the songwriter was a bit of a perfectionist and didn't know when to stop beating a dead muse. Dozens of sheets with musical notations scribbled every which way littered the top of piano, several of the pages smudged by absent-mindedness. The player moved his fingers around an impressive set of chords, before groaning in frustration and letting his head fall onto the keyboard. The piano shrieked in protest.

"Are you alright?" The songwriter looked up and around his mussed hair to see his wife standing halfway down the stairs, a look of mild alarm on her features. She looked about as harried as her husband, strands of her bun falling every which way, and dust clinging to most the hems of her dress.

"I'm fine, save for the fact that the muses have abandoned me, leaving me trapped halfway through a piece with just enough to hang myself with." He dramatically played a set of minor chords on the piano, to illustrate his woe.

"And this is different, how?" She grinned as she was rewarded with a glare. Her eyes, while not frozen in pain as they had been for the past two years, did not extend the smile. They were empty, bottomless things, channeling the hole buried in her. He was used to this look about her- it had been a hard time for both of them. They both had their ghosts, locked away under golden keys.

Balancing against the railing, she curled down to look under the piano. "Drat, not there either. Where could she be?" She sat down on the next step up, unsure to be cross or worried. "James, you haven't seen Hooligan, have you? I've been looking all over- she's going to have her kittens any day now…"

"No, Sara, I haven't. Did you check the bedroom? She's been leaving hairballs on my pillows lately." He looked back down at the music in front of him, letting his wife deal with the little menace.

It wasn't that James didn't like the calico cat; after all, it was amusing to watch her bat the keys while he banged out another symphony or curl up on his lap while he read. But, she had a problem with authority, as she was so aptly named; namely, him. Between the hairballs in his slippers and the need to use him as a scratch post, James had come to the conclusion the cat didn't like having to share Sara with him. He put up with it as best her could, though. After all, Hooligan filled a little bit of the hole that had threatened to swallow them both.

Losing an only child was worse than fighting a war in many ways, but the victims often exhibited the same features of anguish.

Sara padded down the steps and turned into the little hallway to the bedroom, but stopped before she got to the doorway. An old floorboard lay broken under a section of the wall, leading into a dark space beyond. It wasn't much, just leaving enough space for a pet to crawl under to the other side.

It had been a room much like the rest of the house when they had bought it. Only pain and despair had been piled up like unwanted furniture, and the room had become to the outside world nothing more than an odd brass keyhole on the wall. Sarah sighed, not wanting to face the sorrow that lay beyond, but knew she'd best get the cat out now and fix the floorboard, so the contents weren't disturbed.

She grasped the key around her neck and gingerly pulled the chain over her head, careful not to catch her hair. There was no doorknob, just a brass keyhole flush against the wall. There was nothing worth stealing in there, anyways, but sometimes you need the barrier to buffer the pain it contained. She twisted the key and pulled the door open slightly, all the while trying to keep herself from bursting into tears.

The former nursery was relatively dark, the only illumination coming from a few magic globes that lined the walls. Forgetting her task for the moment, she stepped past the pile of toys to the small casket at the other end, touching the ebony wood reverently. She was never entirely sure why, but she had suspected the child had not fully understood his fate, and had followed his body with his parents all the way from their homeland, still playing with the shadows. Ghostly hands would tug at her skirt every now and then, and the toys would always be arranged a little differently. For Sara, it was like losing him all over again.

Priests had told her to bury him, Theologians had told her he had moved on, and advisors had told her there were more important things. She knew better, and until he moved on, she would keep him with her.

A mewl collided with her cart of thought and turned it over, scattering dark thoughts about the past back into the recesses of her mind. Looking to the side of a small rocking chair, she could see a limp body shuddering against the wall. Hooligan had just finished giving birth to four small kittens, and was working on the fifth with obvious difficulty. Sarah rolled up her sleeves and sat next to the mother, rubbing her stomach gently. She guided the tiny babes to their mother side, letting them gum her fingers until they found that wasn't a food source. The calico relaxed and turned to her handiwork; the fifth was the last one. The mother nudged it, trying to get it to respond, but no air worked into its lungs. Sara rubbed the tiny belly as Hooligan licked its face, but it was too late.

The room's temperature dropped, and Sarah shivered, recollection telling her that she was not alone. She didn't even jump as the black robes swished beside her, the end of a scythe knocking against the floor.

"Hello, Death."

She rose, still holding the stillborn kitten. The visage of the skull under the hood with its iridescent eyes sent shivers down her back. But she had seen him once, before. After you see Death once, you learn to deal with shivers and the feeling you were being judged.

I WAS HOPING HE WOULD GET THE HANG OF BREATHING, BUT SO IT GOES. Death stroked the head of the stillborn for a moment. YOU ARE MUCH MORE…SUBDUED THAN I REMEMBER, SARA.

"The last time you saw me my only son had just died. I was willing to try anything to get him back. Even," She looked to the silent box in sadness, "face down Death if I had to."

EVEN I CANNOT CONTOL WHEN PEOPLE COME AND GO.

"I know that, now. I didn't then- can you really blame me? You can punish a plague. But…did he understand? I still feel him, on occasion. Is he doomed to wander forever?" A part of her mind was in awe that she was having a conversation with Death that normal people might have with a confessor. "I just don't want him to be alone."

HE DIDN'T KNOW WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO HIM. MOST CHILDREN DO NOT, BUT HE COULD NOT MOVE ON. HE ASKED TO STAY WITH HIS PARENTS. I DID NOT REFUSE; HE WAS TO STAY HERE WITH YOU UNTIL YOU COULD BE REUNITED.

"So he is still here. Oh, gods…" She clutched the small body to her chest, trying not to let the tears of frustration burst out.

NOT ANYMORE.

She turned to face Death, eyes large and confused. "What? I don't understand…"

SOMETIMES IT JUST TAKES A WHILE TO GET BACK, SARA. THANK YOU FOR TAKING FOR CARE OF THE KITTEN. PERHAPS YOU SHOULD BURY IT WITH THE BODY.THEY'VE BOTHHAVE MORE IMPORTANT JOURNEYSAHEAD OF THEM, NOW.

A bony hand patted her shoulder as she stared at the casket, confused. Death was long gone before a spark leapt into her eyes, and a gasp caught in her throat. Slowly, her eyes filled, then overflowed; a kitten skittered away as a drop of saltwater splashed next it.

James found her there, her dress damp from tears. He stood at the doorway for a moment, unsure just how to reach out to her. He touched a shoulder softly, drawing her around to face him. But when she looked at him, her eyes were alive for the first time in ages, understanding passed like a spark between them, her hope becoming theirs. He gripped her in an embrace known only to a very few; those who have gotten back what they thought was impossible.

Had a priest or a wizard been present, they'd be babbling for ages as to the conclusive proof of reincarnation. But all that was there to witness two people's joy was one calico cat and her four kittens.

And they already knew all about that, thank you very much.

To be Continued…..