The Author wanders onto the stage, Vetinari's cane in hand. "Hullo, all! Welcome back to Locks and Doors. I'm still reeling that you people haven't tried to lynch me for my horrid attempt of slapstick the last couple of chapters. Or for beating up Carrot. I apologize, but he really needs to be beaten repeatedly with the Garden of Delights. Or a riding crop." She glances offstage before continuing.

"Egleriel, sorry to brand you. James is just always jumpy around werewolf deaths, the wuss." She rolls her eyes. "And keep up with the conspiracy theories! They keep you from seeing that I'm running completely on a plot-what-plot? series of silliness."

"Frosteh, I'm not worthy. And currently, I think Angua's waiting for a flame to brand Carrot with. Mrs. Palm's girls are getting uppity again, I hear. Anyways, anything I can do to keep you writing, I will attempt. Yay for C/A!"

"Stephen, thank you for your kind words. Again, I know the line sucks, I'm too lazy to change it."

"ihadanepiphany, thank you for the drive by review. I think."

There are the sounds of a muffled yelp offstage. James walks over to the Author and hands her a note. She scans it, and her eye begins to twitch. "You're kidding." He shakes his head. "We're about to start! And how'd Carrot get into the S&M closet anyway?" James shrugs.

"Damn. Ok folks, I have to leave you. It seems that Carrot and Angua are barricaded in the green room for an Out of Character moment." She twirls the cane menacingly, and walks offstage.

Locks And Doors, Chapter 4

Intimate Thorns

It was a situation all assassins trained for; waiting within the shadows of several buildings until the proper time. This was no exception, for his instructions had been explicit. Strike only when both are home. We need to send a message. We know where they live, we can control their lives.

It didn't matter that there had been a setback when he found only one home; it was only a matter of time before the other returned. Assassins were good at waiting.

In the meantime, he watched the woman; she occasionally traversed the small garden in the back of the house, humming some nonsensical tune. He had held his breath out of practice, but there was no way she could see his spot, hidden on the top of the wall, or have heard his breath over the noises of the city. She would be clueless to his presence until it was much too late.

For all his careful observation, the assassin failed to notice the rose vine next to him stir slightly, restless.

The door handle turned on the Myrrna Embassy with careful precision; it was imperative that no one heard. There was a soft slick noise as the lock slipped out. The door creaked into the darkened room hesitantly, as if expecting to be caught. When no repercussions came, a sigh of relief escaped from the would-be intruder. The door swung in further, casting moonlight into the front room and outlining the figure of a man. He took a soft step over the threshold…

…And was promptly soaked by a bucket upended onto his head. He sputtered a few curses that were both highly colorful and rather descriptive, before wiping the hair from his eyes and blinking against the light of several lamps that were being turned on.

"Sara!"

James, now significantly wetter than he had been, scowled at his attacker. She continued to relight the lamps of the receiving room, as if nothing had happened. "Hello, dear. How was the pub?" She shook the match out and smiled at him. The bucket rocked at the end of her fingers, like a purse.

He looked down at his vest and dress shirt, shaking his arms in a futile attempt to remove the offending liquid. All he managed was to flop a wet piece of hair into his eye. "What the bloody hell was that for!"

"I've told you half a dozen times you can't come into the house smelling of stout and cigarettes. So I decided to take matters into my own hands." She put the bucket down by the door frame. "Oh, hello, Captain Carrot! I hope my husband hasn't been too much of a trouble." She shot her husband a look, asking him why a Watchman had followed him home, before smiling back at their visitor. "Do come in!"

James was still looking at her incredulously. "You're complaining about the way I smell? Lovely, have you gone outside and taken a whiff of this fair city?"

"That's out there. This is in here, and I think I have a fair say on what I have to put up with." She shoved him lightly towards the bed room as he pulled the vest and shirt over his head.

Carrot felt quite out of place in this careful dance of married life. He'd seen his commander interact with Lady Sybil, of course, but that was hardly a good control to compare others to. Then again, what little he did know about these two should have tipped him off that they were hardly normal, anyway. He stood in a corner, trying to be unassuming, and failing in the ways only a six and a half foot red head can. "Er…"

"Oh, that's right. Do we have any raw meat to spare?" James called out from the confines of his shirt, which was currently attempting to remind its wearer that it was not made to be pulled over one's head.

Sara looked suspiciously at her husband's retreating form. "Do we have- what the blazes do you need that for?" She turned back to Carrot, only then noticing the slight swelling of his left eye. "Excuse me, Captain." She smiled at him graciously before picking up the empty bucket at his feet and sent it hurtling towards James. He had just managed to free his head from his shirt when it caught him straight in the jaw. "You punched the poor Captain of the Watch!"

James rubbed his jaw painfully. "Poor? I warned him, fair and square. So would you stop picking on me?"

Sara looked back to Carrot. "Is this true?"

He nodded absently, eyes still on the retreating figure of the ambassador; specifically, the collection of thick, nasty scars that laced the man's upper torso. Scars one would normally get from running into sharp, pointy things repeatedly. He returned his attentions to Sara when she tugged at his arm, leading him to an overstuffed armchair.

"Sit down here for a minute while I get the poultice together, would you? I apologize for my husband's behavior. James is… well, he's not much for gentlemanly behavior. He's a bit of a work in process." She began opening several mason jars in the small doorway between the sitting room and what Carrot could only assume was a kitchen. "Oh, drat. I need to pop out to the back, seems I'm out of fresh frostbright. I'm so sorry, Captain."

Carrot's protests against assistance were unheeded by the raven haired lady, who knocked on the bedroom door. "Dearheart, I'm out to the garden for a moment. Just need to pick a plant and deal with an unwanted visitor. Be a decent man and entertain your victim, will you?" Not waiting for an answer, she sang a string of nonsense words as she stepped out to the back.

James leaned out of the bedroom to look out to the closed door, a towel wrapped around his shoulders. "Unwanted visitor?" He asked no one in particular.

The assassin grinned at his luck. Another hour and he would have had to come back tomorrow. The woman was the preferred target, and now she was coming to him. He shifted the crossbow into position.

The strains of her little tune drifted by his ears. Was she communicating by some foreign language? He concentrated on the words for a moment, listening for a message…

"En nim blad mos mof mor mitta tang, netille tang litterar…" Bah, nothing more than nonsense. Too bad they were to be her last, at least for a while.

But as he cocked the crossbow, the happy tone of her song seemed to take on a slightly sinister tone, her sway a little more rhythmic.

He didn't even know he had lowered the crossbow until the rose vine wrapped around his empty palm, snaking up his arms.

The last words he heard was spoken in Morporkian, but he was unsure if it was directed at him or the thousand of thorny vines that now surrounded him.

"Take root."

Carrot looked around the sitting room, a bit uncomfortable in such a foreign room. Unlike his room at the Watch, this one was lined with little pieces of history of the owners of the house. Dozens of books he had never heard of lined a bookcase; some of history, music and stories from all over the disc. Intermingled were several framed iconographs, mostly of people he had never seen before, caught in casual moments that spoke of great intimacy.

One, larger than the rest, was a formal picture at what must have been their wedding. James, in what could be taken for a soldier's uniform of complete black, looked to the camera with a wise smile that seemed to threaten to break into a grin at any moment. On his arm, Sara's grin was wider, dressed in a white silk dress that was rather plain in design but overwhelming in embroidery. Surrounding them were those focused upon in the other iconographs, each smiling at the couple in the center. No one wore a crown, but there was no need; even in the iconograph one could feel a power that these people held.

The silence around Carrot was broken by a tiny noise behind him. He turned as it sounded again, coming from the battered piano. Now, he was by no means familiar with such musical instruments, but he was quite sure they generally did not make sounds on their own without human assistance. It sounded again, and he was quite sure pianos did not sound like that. He peeked under the lifted cover.

It took him a moment to notice the source the sound was a small ball of orange fluff balanced haphazardly on two brakes. Further inspection revealed it to be a kitten, very young and not very used to moving. It sniffed experimentally at his hand, then gummed an index finger. Finding it satisfactory, it allowed Carrot to pick it up gingerly.

"They all seem to like the piano- seems to be a cat thing." He started at the ambassador's voice.

The older man sat down at the piano's stool, playing a few notes carefully before taking a small wrench to adjust the strings around the kitten's former spot. He then began to let his fingers dance out a soft little tune. The kitten purred in Carrot's large hand. "Seems it's the only thing I can do properly in their eyes. Anything else and I end up with claw marks in my shirts." James shrugged.

"Here we go. Just keep this on your eye for an hour and it won't even discolor." Sara walked into the sitting room, carrying a small cloth steeped in an herbal concoction.

Carrot placed the kitten in Sara's hands and thanked her, and they said their goodbyes. Sara promised she'd stop by the Watch house, to properly thank everyone. As the Captain set off down the road, James turned to his wife. "So, about this unwanted visitor?"

She smiled a smile that seemed more at home on an Agony Aunt. "Oh, taken care of for now. But you'll have to take the trash out later."

He balked. "Surely you didn't…"

Her hand made a cutting motion through the air. "Hardly. But even Downey needs to learn that roses have thorns." She turned back into the house, and he followed, the handle clicking back into place.

To be continued….

The 'nonsense words' are actually fake words lifted straight from 'Grey Ghost' by Mike Doughty.