Sara, dressed in a sunflower blue dress and a white apron walks into view. She waves politely. "I guess it's my turn to respond to all the wonderful reviews we've been getting. We really can't thank you all enough for enjoying us. The Author is a review whore, and you folks have got her through a good deal of her graduate workload lately." She puts her hands on her hands and glares offstage. "Why she's writing about us and not getting ahead on her papers is a mystery." She pulls out a paper from her apron, only to find the kitten from chapter four caught on the end. She sighs, and puts the kitten back in the pocket. "Onto the reviews…"

"Elgeriel, I'm very good to my plants. They return the favor. And lovely, you only figured out The Author has a sick mind? You have been reading the rest of this story, right?

"Frosteh, sorry about the yoghurt. We're glad they're dying happy, at least, but we'd much prefer if they were writing more stories. The Author's a bit of a diehard now, and anything remotely C/A gets her all happy. I have to admit they are adorable; although I'm not sure why Angua's leading him around by a dog collar backstage. Something about reversing roles…

"Blank Ned, you poor, poor soul; I'm sorry you had to witness that. We've tried soap, bleach- everything, really, and it's still horribly filthy. But I resent the idea I'd scar my own husband- well, maybe if he really deserved it, but still. I'd like to point out that both this chapter and his picture on the Author's deviantART site explain where he got them. I hope the Tempest went well! James and I are actually partially inspired by characters from the play.

"Ihadanepiphany, don't apologize! It's the review that counts!"

Sara puts her hands on her hips and frowns at the audience. "As for the rest of you lot, review! It is important The Author knows the good, bad and the ugly! It might keep her mind off letting Angua runs out of character and writing a C/A PWP. And trust me, it's for the best."

Suddenly, The Author runs across the stage, still holding Vetinari's cane. Not far behind Vetinari running after her. "I told you he was faking it!" She manages to say before she's hit from behind with an inkwell. Vetinari picks up his cane and walks past Sara.

"You didn't see anything."

Locks and Doors

Chapter 5: Letting the Cats Out

Commander Samuel Vimes stood at attention in front of Patrician's desk. His face had the schooled expression he normally had when something was bothering him. He didn't say anything; he never said what bothered him- it just wasn't his style. That never stopped Vetinari raising questions, of course; it was part of the political waltz they danced, although Sam tried his best run off to the punch bowl. Vetinari glanced up from the latest figures.

"At ease, Sir Samuel; is something bothering you?" Vimes grunted noncommittally in the back of his throat. Vetinari tried again. "Something to do with the events of the Bucket last night?"

Vimes let out a sigh he had unknowingly held in. He'd never know exactly how Vetinari found out everything that went on among the streets of Ankh- Morpork. "Something's off about the Myrrnatian Ambassador in my opinion, sir. I had Captain Carrot walk him last night and he had the audacity to hit one of my officers!" Then there was Carrot's description of all those scars… "And Carrot mentioned what the Ambassador's previous occupation."

That caused Vetinari to raise an eyebrow, a rare occurrence indeed. "Which previous occupation, Sir Samuel? And may I ask if the Captain is pressing charges?"

Vimes grumbled. "No, Carrot said something about mitigating circumstances-wait a minute, what did you mean 'which occupation'?"

The Patrician let his hands steeple in front of him. "It seems that Myrrna creates excellent weavers- fabric, tapestries, music and stories. Officially, the ambassador is a former royal musician, and his wife is a niece of the current King and Queen. Never mind the fact that the King was an only child."

Vimes tilted his head conspiratorially. "And unofficially?"

Vetinari shuffled a couple of papers. "What do you know of Myrrna, Commander?" Vimes shrugged. Anything beyond the realms of Ankh-Morpork's cobblestones was of little interest to him. "Myrrna is a country well stocked in natural resources, with plenty of fertile ground and mineral resources. And it has never been successfully invaded. It seems that they possess a sort of resource that we here in Ankh-Morpork have long championed, Sir Samuel."

Vimes frowned, his copper's brain trying to comprehend what the point was. It wasn't that people were as bad as they could be, or followed mob rule…hell, anything could be done given the right amount…wait… "Everything has a price?"

"My, my, you can be clever when you put your mind to it, Sir Samuel. They happen to have the foremost guild of mercenaries in the entirety of the Disc. And, until eight years ago, the unofficial head of this guild was a young but terribly brilliant fighter who went by the name Shadow Wolf. His real name, however, was a closely guarded secret among the guild, but after some persuasion my sources mentioned a name you might be familiar with."

"James Cooper." Vimes groaned. This was the last thing he needed. "I knew he was so good to be true. So we have the Myrrna version of our Lord Downey on our hands?"

The Patrician chose not to look up at Vimes. "Now, Lord Downey is an important social leader and helps provide a necessary service for the citizens of our city, Sir Samuel. However, it seems that the Ambassador has no illusions about the grandeur of mercenary work. I believe he's even quoting at putting them on equal footing as the guild of Seamstresses. Both sell their bodies for money, they're just expected to do different things with it. It seems he has this view for assassins as well, which I believe Lord Downey took great offense to."

"Ah," was all that Vimes said, suddenly understanding how Downey might have actually acquired that black eye. He pondered this for a moment. "Well, at least that's a bit of relief, isn't it? I don't know if I could take two of them, sir."

Vetinari shook his head lightly and met Vimes's gaze. "Hardly, Sir Samuel. With men like Downey, it's easy enough to make them feel important. The men you really have to beware are those who know exactly who they are."

………

Somewhere within the bowels of the Guild of Assassins, Lord Downey was holding in barely controlled rage. "What did you say!"

The younger assassin winced at Downey's tone. "Early this morning, a rider dropped a package of with the novices on gate duty. They assumed it was official business- he was dressed all in black, sir- so they never looked at his face...well, the package turned out to be Borgis. He's in bad shape, sir; you'd really have to see it yourself…"

Downey waved a hand. He'd seen Borgis as soon as word had reached him. The poor lad looked like he'd been in the middle of a vampire feeding frenzy. The Guild's doctor had been amazed he was still alive; whatever had pierced him was incredibly controlled.

But that's not what riled Downey. Assassins were often hurt on the job; Vimes had managed to whittle down many of his best. No, what bothered him had been the fact the rider had dared to dress in all black, the assassin's color. There was no question in his mind whom it had been. The worst touch, though, had been the fire and ice rose tucked under Borgis's crossed arms. The Myrrnatians might as well have signed a rude note along with him; the roses were well known to be native to country.

No one got away with insulting the Assassins Guild twice. Once got you a warning; a loved one grievously maimed, a wound to one's person. But to do it twice, in such a fashion…Downey's blood boiled.

Vetinari was going to hear about this. At length.

………

"He did WHAT?"

Carrot winced. Angua had gotten close to the pitch that shattered glass and eardrums. And after those on desk duty had gotten wind of Carrot's story and saw Angua stalking towards his desk, they had left his eardrums to suffer alone. They weren't necessarily the best and the brightest of Ankh-Morpork, but they were smart enough to know when Angua had a bone to pick with someone, butting between them was a matter of Suicide. "He did warn me…"

Angua leaned in, leaving little more than an inch between them, and smiled the grin that had loosened many a bladder amongst the unlicensed thief population. "Well, I'm warning YOU that I'm feeling rather murderous right now, and I'm not feeling very picky."

"As much as I agree my husband deserve a good whacking every now and then, I'd prefer you did leave him in the land of the living." Angua spun around, startled at the sound of another voice; she slipped and nearly sent herself sprawling into Carrot's lap.

Sara Cooper stood with a hand on her hip in the doorway of the Watch House, a wiry smile creeping up the side of her face. The other hand held a rather large basket that swung slightly under its own weight. She gave the other woman a look that suggested that she was old enough not to threaten others' husbands. "If it makes you feel better, he did meet the hard end of a wooden bucket soon afterward. I'm sorry for intruding, but nobody was at the door, and you're audible from the street." She shifted her grip on the basket and proffered it towards the bewildered Watchmen. "I brought a thank you present. It's not much, but politics won't let me do much else."

Angua blinked at her, trying to take it all in. Slowly, a chuckle escaped, which quickly cascaded into laughter that had her wiping her eyes. Sara and Carrot looked on, confused. Angua tried to compose herself. "I'm sorry, it just hit me how absurd this all is." She helped place the basket on a table, then held out her hand. "We've never been properly introduced. I'm Sergeant Angua."

Sara shook the outstretched hand, before her expression. "I remember; you helped me home. I'm sorry I caused you all so much trouble…" She looked away, blush coloring her cheeks slightly.

"Look, don't worry about it. I'm just glad everything turned out alright." Angua shrugged her shoulders and grinned at the other woman. Sara met her gaze, and a smile broke through the far away expression.

Carrot wasn't very good when it came to understanding women, and he wasn't sure what was going on right now. The basket caught his attention; more specifically, the slight movement of something underneath the lid. Curious, he peered inside. "Oh, hello again."

Sara and Angua look at him, confused, before looking for themselves. Sara blanched and slapped her forehead. "How the bloody hells did it get in there?"

The werewolf and human sides of Angua were in an argument on how to respond to the orange kitten no bigger than her fist, rubbing against Carrot's outstretched hand. The woman won out. "Awwwwww! It's so cute!" She gingerly let the tiny pink nose sniff her fingers.

Now, despite long lived stereotypes, it's simply not true that cats always hate dogs. Certainly, adult cats and dogs fight over territory and mutual food sources, but that's merely on a professional level. Cats really could care less, as long as you give them a good sunny spot and plenty of food. This kitten was no different, and was quite happy with anything new. Angua was having a hard time trying not to giggle as its miniature whiskers tickled her fingers.

Gingerly, she picked it up as Sara moved to unpack the basket. The ambassador's wife smiled at the image of a grown watchwoman at the mercy of an overgrown dust bunny. "Our cat had kittens a while back. How the little rascal managed to sneak in there without me seeing, I'll never know. He seems to be rather fond of you, Captain."

Carrot blinked at Sara, then at the kitten. Angua grinned and held the kitten up to his eye level. "Well, of course, they're both redheads!" She was desperately trying not to laugh at the kitten's attempt to bat at Carrot's nose.

Sara bit lip and looked back at the packages of food to try to compose herself. Managing for a moment, she gently took the kitten from Angua's hands. "Well, it's settled, then." She looked at the kitten face to face. "I dub thee Carrot."

The original Carrot opened his mouth to protest, but all that he got was out was a yelp as Angua trod on his toes. "You don't have a say in this. I think it's perfect!" Carrot shut his mouth obediently. He was losing a lot of arguments lately.

"Well, I'd best be going. If I leave James alone for too long, he usually lets something catch fire." She ducked her head, and smiled. "Please stop by at time. I-we owe you a huge amount of thanks."

………

Commander Vimes returned to the watch house to find various officers helping themselves to a small feast laid out on one of the mess hall tables. He wasn't really surprised when Cheri told him who had been responsible. He wandered into Carrot's office, where his two senior officers were attempting to make a small dent in the paperwork. Vimes had to admit he was surprised that Carrot looked rather distressed as they saluted. "What's wrong with him?" He asked Angua, who told him.

It was very, very hard not to laugh. But Vimes remembered what he had learned from the Patrician. "We'd best keep an eye on them. You know what I always say."

"'Always act stupid'?" Carrot supplied. Angua rolled her eyes.

"No, but that may apply. I was thinking more along the lines of 'suspect everyone'."

Carrot frowned. "Of what?"

Vimes wasn't sure, himself. "Everything, I guess. There's something not right here, I'll be damned if we get sucker punched. Now, I'll be in my office."

Once he was safely inside and alone, he let himself snigger at the expense of Carrot.