The Author steps out onstage, looking for her cast. She moves towards a futon couch on the left hand of the stage. James and Carrot are watching a movie, and later is still wearing a dog collar from an earlier OoC momemt. "Uh, Guys? Shouldn't we be introducing this chapter?"

"No."

"What are you watching?"

James and Carrot grin at each other. "Everybody was Kuuuuung Fuuuuuu Figtannng!"

The Author slaps her forehead. "Kung Fu Hustle! I thought I told you to stay out of my movie collection…"

"It's not yours."

"Who's is it?"

"Um….." Both men looked at each other.

Backstage, Vetinari presses a play button. "I so do love Stephen Chow…"

Erm, anyway…

Ozodrac, thank you so much for the compliments! But have you been reading ahead?

And Frosteh, you write me a dirty C/A scene, I will gladly give detailed illustrations….

BlankNed, I think we need to write a fic together… better yet, you should write my fics for me. That one scene was better than anything I had thought up….

Artemis, ihadanephinany, and GG Crono, thank you so much for reviewing! Sure, it doesn't look like much, but I promise that there is actually a plot now, even if it's just leading up to the next fic….heehehehee, yes, this a trilogy…

Locks and Doors

Chapter 7: An Invitation of a Stranger

Carrot had to admit he was not having the best of days.

James stood next to him, packing away a Guild guitar in a case. One of the younger students was quizzing the ambassador about some of the pieces covered in the class. The student was stuck on pronouncing a few words in Myrrnatian.

"It's pronounced Sha-mee-sen. Don't worry, it's not something you necessarily need to know for this course, unless you plan to play festival music." The case clicked shut.

The boy looked confused. "Sir, you're from Myrrna, right?"

"Mhmm."

"So why do you speak Morporkian so well? Master Honso has been here ten years, and he's got an accent. You don't." James nodded.

"Well, there are two reasons for that. Mr. Honso's specialty is court music, is it not? You don't need to annunciate like street players do. And secondly, Mr. Honso trained at the academy in Myrrna. You have to speak proper Myrrnatian there. Most of Myrrna doesn't speak it anymore, though."

"Why?"

The ambassador rolled his eyes. "Mathew, isn't it? Well, Mathew, have you ever heard anyone speak proper Myrrnatian? It's not very pretty (1)."

Mathew snorted a bit. No doubt he had; Master Honso was a few notes short of a chord when it came to 'old country' pride. The young student hid his grin with a bow and darted out the hallway. James turned back to the captain of the Watch, who, if one didn't know better, seemed to be sulking. "Recovered yet, Carrot?"

Carrot rubbed his hand gingerly along the bottom of his ribcage. "That wasn't very friendly, you know."

"Oh, stop complaining. You did ask for it, sitting in on my class. At least I pulled the punch- and you did show much better breathing technique afterward."

"It still wasn't very nice."

Once again the ambassador rolled his blue eyes. "Pain is temporary. Good singing is eternal." He shook his finger accusingly, like, well…a school teacher. "Besides, if you breathe with your shoulders like that, you wear out your vocal chords sooner, and no one will listen to Captain Carrot if they can't hear Captain Carrot, correct? Oh, and you can put your breastplate back on. Guild regulations only require it off for class."

Carrot nodded absently as his redid the buckles. If he was a suspicious man, he'd wonder if James was behind that particular Guild rule. "You seem to really like teaching."

"I do. I used to take lives; some of them no older than these young students. Making sure that these boys get to live as much of their lives as they can is just a bit of atonement." He didn't look at the Captain. "I don't have the cloak of truth or justice a watchman has, Carrot. I've got blood on my hands, and changing my job isn't going to wash it off."

"You were protecting your country-"

"Bullshit. Those poor soldiers didn't ask to be there. It's the damn rulers that decide they're sick of paying for nicer fabric for their tights." He spat the words out like they were venom. "And I had the honor of watching those poor bastards die while the guys who put them there were a hundred miles away. I hated they held those poor bastards lives as substitutes for their own. Suddenly I'm one of them."

The birthmark on Carrot's arm seemed to burn. "Why did you become a mercenary if you hated what you had to do?"

Blue eyes burned like ice. "You think I had a choice! I-" He looked to the floor, shoulders sagging. "-Look. Forget it." He looked up at Carrot again, the anger abated; he looked suddenly very old, like an ancient sword, dulled by countless carnage. "No mercenary likes killing, Carrot. We're human. A mercenary who isn't affected by death is as much a psychopath as he would be in any other job. We just happen to be very good at it. We have to be, to come back with enough bits to go back out again."

He led them out the front gate, nodding to the drummer turned sentry. Drummers were very effective as sentries- they were well trained at beating things. Carrot paused for a moment, to look at the two flags that hung on the inside wall above the gate. One was the Ankh-Morpork flag, bearing much of the same design as his badge. The other was a much larger design of he'd seen on the knives carried by the ambassador. A rather runic design of a dragon, with its wings outstretched was center on a blue background, flanked with runic script he could read on either side. If one looked closely, however, it could be seen someone had gone and stitched two new additions under the wings of the dragon; they were small, but Carrot could recognize paw prints from this distance.

James walked back to the captain when he noticed the other hadn't followed him out. He tilted his head. "The Myrrnatian flag- I think they only put it up when I started teaching here." He frowned. "I need to speak to them about those unapproved additions up there."

"But weren't you called Shadow Wolf?"

James blinked. "You know about that? Sara was right when she said Vetinari was thorough…. But anyway, that was only a nickname given to me by the guild. Technically, when I rescinded my title as an active guild member, I rescinded the name as well."

"Oh. What does it say on either side, though? I'm not familiar with the language…"

"It's old Myrrnatian- before we took on the Morporkian alphabet. It reads, 'King or Slave, all are equal under Death's Scythe.'"

Carrot looked mildly horrified. "That's not very nice sounding at all."

The ambassador rolled his eyes. "It's not meant to be 'nice'. It's a reminder to never get cocky. An arrow or a sword doesn't care if you're a king when it's after you." He walked back towards the gate. When he saw Carrot still would not follow, he grabbed one of those honest ears and pulled him out.

(1) It's not. Try speaking Japanese with a strong Scottish accent. It sounds just about as silly.

Commander Samuel Vimes was doing what he did best when there was a knock on his door; he was avoiding paperwork. However, when he heard the voice that asked to come in, paperwork seemed a lot more enjoyable. "Come in."

Sara Cooper walked silently in before closing the door shut. "Your Grace. Or would you prefer Commander Vimes?"

Vimes was a little put off by the question. He had expected an angry tirade about his officers or his tactics. He wasn't prepared for a polite smile and deference to him. Part of his brain noted that Vetinari did the same to him on a number of occasions; however, if the Patrician ever smiled like that to someone, most of Ankh-Morpork would begin building barricades- and then move to another country. "Er…Commander is fine, Madam."

"Sara, sir. Madam makes me sound like my mother. And she broke the fingers of anyone who tried to call her that. Repeatively, if necessary."

Vimes winced. "Ouch."

"Oh, it wasn't too bad. Lord Forthwight eventually got some movement back in his right hand."

"I get the point. Alright, Sara, do you mind telling me why your here?"

"It's not about the assignment of a watch detail to me or my husband. It's healthy to be suspicious in a world of politics. But I would prefer if we stopped sneaking in each others shadows. I'm not in the best condition to have you follow me all the way to Klatch to have you believe me."

"You know about that?"

"It would be hard not to. Klatch had originally planned to invade Myrrna before the whole business of Leshp, so we were terribly interested when there was a tales of a rag tag group of watchmen managed to stop an entire war two days in." A spark of amusement flashed through violet eyes. "Is it really true your captain organized a football match between the armies?"

"Captain Carrot can be rather persuasive when he wants to be." Very persuasive, indeed. But even the most persuasive men were taken down a notch when they've got one of the worst cases of sunburn Sam had ever seen. Sergeant Angua had a bit of fun playing nursemaid, from what he could tell through the thin walls between his office and Carrot's room. "But this isn't about Carrot…is it?"

"Hardly. This is about good relations, Commander. Good relations between two representatives of laws- you look at me and see a crown, Sam Vimes. In Myrrna, the crown is superfluous-it's a matter of making sure everyone has a chance to survive. That means understanding and upholding the law. I understand you're a fan of General Tacticus. Did you know he was taught by a Myrrnatian mercenary?"

Vimes shook his head dumbly. There was something in the way she spoke- he had a hard time connect what he heard and what he saw- he saw a petite woman, a few inches shorter than Angua and very delicate looking, even in her simple skirts; but he heard a voice that had an edge of a war vetern, a soldier who had watched their friends die and had killed in the darkness of night. "I must say you're a very different lady than when I first met you."

She nodded absently. "Funny, you're not the first to say that. Is there something about me that makes people assume that I'd faint at the sight of blood?"

"Er…"

"Is it the hair? You can be honest."

It took a moment for Vimes to realize this was another Sheep's eyeball. "You're not going to make me fall for that."

A grin curled up the side of Sara's face. "Nice to see you're smarter than most of what counts for nobility seems to believe, sir. I think even Vetinari may have underestimated you're ability to adapt to the world of politics."

"Fat lot of good that does me. I'll ask you again, what do you want?"

"For Sybil and to come over to dinner this Friday."

The cigar nearly burned his hand as he tried to catch it. "Wha- Why are you asking me this? Don't you ladies normally send out gold embossed cards with lilac essence for these sort of things?"

That got him a glare. "And here I was offering you the chance of choosing the dress code. But if you'd much prefer I do this through proper channels… After all, it's hardly proper for an ambassador and Duke to meet informally…"

A wheel began to catch in Vimes' head. Informal was a word used by Sybil whenever she was out in the dragon pens, or when he was in his Watch uniform...Proper was equated with inbred stupidity…pantaloons and red tights. The cigar quivered as puzzle pieces fell into place. "We frown at blackmail here."

"Says the man who's had two non-guilty people shadowed for the past two days. And that's not counting the three days you just had the beggars noting our comings and goings."

"You're as innocent as-"

"Non-guilty and innocent are hardly the same word, Commander." The two calloused-but-feminine hands steepled, hardly hiding the growing smile; she almost seemed to be channeling Vetinari. That was something to scare anyone into submission.

Sam Vimes' teeth clenched around the cigar so tight the next words. "…Fine. But you're going to back me up if Sybil asks about the dress code, right?"

"Commander, you seem not to realize you're not the only one who suffers in formal situations. If I have to wear another corset in my lifetime it will be too soon." The nasty smirk had turned into a truly kind smile. "But really, Commander. I don't want us to be on different sides of a barricade here. And if I need to play a couple of underhand tricks to get you to listen, I'm going to."

Vimes nodded slowly. "Anyway, Sara, I've got work to do. I hate to admit Vetinari's right, but people will get suspicious if you hang around here too long. I'll be glad to walk you out."

"Thank you, sir. Although I have more thing to ask…could you make sure Captain Carrot and Sergeant Angua come along as well? After all, it would look less suspicious that way- and I have a few things I'd like to discuss with both of them."

This time the cigar managed to singe his fingers.

Carrot returned the two clacks paddles to the pouch on his pocket, then turned to the ambassador, who was currently coming up empty on his search for a cigarette. "S-James?"

The ambassador looked up. It seemed Sara had found the remains of the pack he'd bought two weeks ago. "Yeah?"

"Your wife is at the Yard, speaking to Mr. Vimes. I thought you'd like to know."

James frowned for a moment before recognition sparked through his eyes. "Oh, that's right. She wanted to invite them to dinner this Friday, along with you and your Understanding." He grinned at how easy it was to make the bigger man uncomfortable. "It's the night before the festival, and Myrrnatian tradition demands we invite all new acquaintances beforehand."

The Captain recalled that this time every year the cloth district held festivities around All Souls Day, harkening some tradition long forgotten. "I'd have to make sure it was ok with Mr. Vimes and Angua first."

"Of course, of course. Well, since classes are finished, I better go rescue your Commander from Sara's clutches." He turned up the street.

"But the Watch House is this way!" Carrot exclaimed, following as he turned down a side street.

"Not the way I go, Carrot." He began to button his short gray coat shut.

"I can assure you the fastest way is back down…"

"Is that a challenge, Captain?"

Carrot stopped, confused. "No, I was…"

James patted him on the shoulder. "Tell you what. How about a race? If you get back first, I'll answer any question you or your Commander ask me. And if I win…" An evil sort of grin crawled up the side of his face, "You have to take my introductory music course."

"I-"

"Great!" And with that, the older man seemed to be a blur of movement. He jumped on top of the remains of a retaining wall, then sprung up to a cornice of a building's second floor. With a twist, he leapt to a low rooftop, and out of sight.

Carrot gaped. The man seemed to have danced an intricate ballet with the city's natural landscape of protruding balconies, sculpture and rooflines. No wonder the beggar's guild couldn't even keep an eye on the ambassador.

The Captain of the Watch was still there when James' head poked back over the roofline. "A race usually involves more than one party is moving."

With that, both men nodded and took off across the city.

Rounding the corner towards the Brass Bridge, James had the advantage- Carrot had managed to catch glimpses along the rooftops, jumping, falling and rolling with the ever changing heights. He'd even skipped along several balconies, throwing in another twirl and turn to the delight of the street below. If he didn't know better, Carrot would have guessed this foreigner was mocking him- this was his city, after all.

But Carrot would have an advantage at the river. Nobody could span the Ankh in a single jump, and getting back down to street level to cross the bridge. He pushed forward, hoping to widen the gap, giving him a greater lead as James wound down to the street level….

The ambassador didn't bother. With a couple of well leaps, he had gone from the roofline to a stagecoach's roof to the nearest brass hippo. Carrot could only grumble and try and keep up as every possible surface became part of the urban acrobat's dance.

Angua fell into step on the other side of Sara. "Were you ever planning to ask me if I wanted to come to dinner?"

A black eyebrow rose. "Do Watch members generally listen in on conversations so blatantly?"

"Your husband, by all accounts, is quite a dangerous man; unlike others, we in the Watch happen to know that often behind a dangerous man is an equally dangerous woman." Commander Vimes tried desperately not to catch either woman's eye. If he was to speak now, no doubt he would greatly regret it.

Sara put her hands up defensively. "What is with you people thinking I'm going to kill you? Look, I don't mind treating me as someone dangerous- from what I can tell, that's a compliment in Ankh-Morpork. But do you know I'd have to be dumber than a troll in Klatch at noontime to do anything to Commander Vimes personally? I would hope you don't think of us that stupidly." The hands lowered to fold in her apron. "I was going to ask you- but I needed to make sure your Commander understood that I'm not trying to pick you people off one by one. Would you come if he said no?"

Angua blinked once before she smiled apologetically. "You do have a point there. I can't speak for Carrot, but I'd loved to. With permission from Commander Vimes, of course." She added hastily, seeing the look on Vimes' face.

Sara clapped her hands together in front of her smile. "Oh, this is going to be great! I know you're vegetarian, but I gotten a couple of great recipes that I'm sure you'll like…"

The rest of what Sara had to say was cut off by the sound of something landing on the roof heavily, followed by what seemed like footsteps. The noise ended with a crash in the midst of the Yard.

When the dust cleared, Sara slapped her hand over her eyes. "You're doing your own laundry from now on, you lout!"

James brushed off the dirt of the Yard floor, and stood up, looking a bit sheepish. He opened his mouth, but the sound of the Yard door slamming open had its say first. Carrot stood there, panting, with his head hung low in defeat.

But his expression was that of complete awe when he raised it. "How did you DO that?"

Sara looked from Carrot to glare at her husband. "James, I thought I told you not to engage in parkour here!"

Angua and Vimes looked at each other, confused. "Parkour?"

James shuffled his feet, embarrassed. Sara sighed, annoyed. "It's a Myrrnatian hobby, of sorts, meaning literally 'free running'. It's sort of a combination between acrobatics and street fighting. A lot of mercenaries participate- including one damned idiot who's gone and gotten a perfectly good dress shirt dirty!"

"But…but…"

Sara sliced her hand in the air. "We're not here to show off." She turned to Vimes, who was still thoroughly confused. "I think we've caused enough mischief for you today, sir. If you don't mind, I think we'll take our leave. I have a husband to admonish in full."

But Carrot blocked her way. "But, ma'am, I willingly engaged the ambassador in contest. He hasn't done anything wrong, besides violate the roofer's safety violation act of 1615. You really shouldn't blame him."

The look she gave him had lost any of the humor that might have been in the situation. "Captain, I know it's hard to believe, but this isn't about laws and ordinances. This is about making sure the less people who might be able to put two and two together about an ambassador and his wife know about us. Everyone may like you, but we have our fair share of folks who like nothing better than to put a crossbolt between our shoulder blades." She shot a sharp glare to James, who looked away, ashamed. "We can fend for ourselves for the most part. But not if they know who we really are."

Nobody answered; Carrot mutely let them pass, looking for some sort of guidance from Angua or Vimes the entire time. But neither could offer a word of advice; it almost felt like they were part of a joke gone horribly sour- here they'd been upset for being lied to; but they needed those lies to survive. Even as Sara smiled and said a goodbye like nothing had happened, the feeling of coldness prevailed.

"Um, hello, I was hoping someone could direct me where the Myrrna Embassy...bloody hell, is that you, James?"

Everyone turned the door, startled by the sudden intrusion.

A young slip of man, looking barely out of his teens, stood at the door of the Yard. James didn't answer, but took a step back, as if ready to bolt at any moment.

It didn't make sense to Vimes. The boy was a few inches taller than himself, dressed in a trench coat made of dozens of patches of fabric, topped with a fox skin that looked like it belonged on an old lady. It barely hid the fact that the black leather trousers he wore were a smidgen too tight than what went for decent in Ankh-Morpork. Nevermind the fact that his hair looked like it had been used for a paintbrush- the black roots contrasted with a red worse than Carrot's.

The nose of a werewolf could understand what a human's eyes couldn't. "He's an… fairy!"

"What, you mean like those that hang out down by Dressmaker's Lane?"

"No, no… Look at his ears, for gods' sake!" Sure enough, one could make out the long pointed tips out of his hair, which he pulled back to show them off.

A smile that belonged on a stripper danced across the strangers lips. "Nice to see someone get it right for once. Robin Goodfellow, at your service…brother."

To Be continued... (Btw, Parkour is an actual french sport... it's so rockin...)