I've been updating quickly because I had all of the story, up to halfway through this chapter,written out already before I posted the story. Work will decelerate now. By quite some considerable amount.

Please read and review, and feel free to suggest where you would like the story to progress. I have no idea, myself - I don't even know what the "meeting" with Vetinari (mentioned in chapter 1) will actually be.

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Damien's eyes flickered. He replayed the events of the previous night slowly in his mind. What had happened...?

"Oh. You're awake."

Panic instantly gripped Damien. The voice had sounded female. He sat bolt upright, then clenched his teeth at the splitting fire that threatened to rip his head in two. He felt a pair of hands pushing him back down on the...yes, it was a bed.

"I'd advise against that," she said. "You've been drugged. Nasty stuff. By rights, you should be dead."

Damien took stock of his surroundings. He was in a house. That was all he could figure out before his eyes closed themselves against what felt like direct sunlight. He knew enough to tell that the curtains were closed, though.

"Have you got any idea who would want to kill you?"

"Plenty of people." Damien heard the bubbling and smell of something cooking. Since there were no more questions, he laid back and tried to piece together the remainder of last night.

"What...happened?"

"I don't know. I just turned a corner to find you unconscious outside the Bucket. I assumed that you were drunk, until I noticed that you hadn't been mugged. I thought that was somewhat suspicious, so I brought you here. Want something to eat?"

"That wasn't really a question, was it?"

"Nope. Here." A bowl of soup(1) was pressed into his hands and he was gently propped up on the pillows behind him. "You might want to open your eyes now."

Damien did so. The light that had seemed blinding so recently was now little more than a dull illumination. He stared down at the soup and blinked slowly. A spoon was handed to him.

"Eat up. I'll be back in a few minutes." The girl left the room.

Damien looked around. A general culinariety around him suggested he was in a kitchen. He swallowed a mouthful of soup. It wasn't actually that bad.

He had long since finished when the girl returned. Now that Damien had had a chance to look at her properly, he realized that she was roughly that same age as he was, with sparkling green eyes and shoulder-length green hair. He tried not to stare too much. The colour matched her eyes almost exactly.

"You can ask, you know," she said. "I don't bite."

"They charge extra for that," he said automatically. He regretted it almost instantly, not least because of the stinging slap she had given him. Damien stared blankly into space for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to say that. I just...I'm not feeling myself at the moment."

She smiled at him. "Don't worry. Just make sure it doesn't happen again, alright?" Damien nodded. The girl sat on the edge of his bed. "Good. Now, what's your name, mystery boy?"

Damien sighed. He didn't like giving his name to strangers. On the other hand, she had rescued him from any one of the potential hazards of an Ankh-Morpork street, which no-one else he knew would have done. To most people, he would have just been another victim of Ankh-Morpork's exciting and varied lifestyle.

"My name is...You can call me Damien." Inwardly, Damien cursed himself.

"Oh, I can, can I? So what's your real name?"

Damien sighed. "You wouldn't be able to pronounce it and I probably don't have time to tell you all of it...What time is it?"

The girl glanced up at the wall. "About...I'd say...half past two?"

Damien nodded. "Good. I've got some time then...Thank you for your hospitality, but I really should be going."

She gave him a long stare. "When did we become Mr Diplomatic all of a sudden? I'm not some foreign ambassador who's put you up for the night. I'd like you to think of me as a...friend."

She seemed genuine enough, but something about this girl unnerved Damien. The whole situation seemed slightly suspicious. "I've spent a lot of time in adult company," he said, "and I've had to learn to pick up some habits..." he trailed off. There was definitely something wrong. He risked another headache and sat up, turning slowly to look around the room. There was no-one there.

The girl watched him, then shrugged. "All right, if that's the way you want it. You can go if you like. But watch out next time. I won't be around to help you out. Anyway, you've missed your appointment." She got up and turned towards the door leading to the next room.

"Wait...how did you know I had an appointment? And what makes you think I've missed it? I still have nearly an hour to –"

"You said you still had time, I assume you were meeting with someone. And you've missed it because it was probably yesterday. You've been asleep for over a day and a half." She opened the door and went through.

"What? But – Hey, wait!" the door closed as he stumbled towards it, his head throbbing and vision dimming. He paused for a moment to clear his head, then turned the handle.

The door was locked.

Damien considered trying to break it down, but it probably wasn't worth it. He wasn't out to make enemies just yet and he didn't need the Watch after him. He turned to the other door in the room and tried it. It opened out on to a street in the Shades. He stepped out and closed the door behind him.

Thoughts were clamouring for his attention. His head still had a dull yet insistent throb as he walked down the complex network of alleyways considering the past few conscious hours. He had left the Bucket, and then...what? He was immune to death from anything including poisons, and so far the worst symptoms he'd ever had from any substance was unpleasant, at worst(2), so what had managed to knock him out?

There was the girl, too. "Wanting to help" didn't convince him. He checked his pockets – nothing had been touched, nothing taken away. She hadn't taken off any of his clothing, even the coat. She hadn't attempted to keep him there for any length of time. So why had she given him a bed to sleep in, for over a day? Could she have been the one who drugged him? Then why not keep him asleep? He had eaten the soup without much argument – he mentally slapped himself for that; he shouldn't have been so careless – and she could have spiked it. She appeared to have no ulterior motive – but Damien knew from experience that in Ankh-Morpork there was no such thing.

He sighed. Hopefully, it would all look clearer after –

A figure dropped down in front of him.

"Gimme some cash or I kill you. Fair deal?" enquired the shadow. A gust of bad breath accompanied a gravelly voice from the direction of the hunchbacked shadow's concealed mouth.

Damien looked at him for a moment. Something shiny appeared in his hand.

"It's silver," said the shadow, managing to convey a grin even without showing his face.

"I'm not a werewolf." Damien eyed the silver object in front of him. "What is it – some sort of bizarre sex toy?"

"Har, har. It's a stake, boy. Soaked in holy water, too."

"I'm not a vampire, either."

This seemed to nonplus the shadow. "Then what are you, little boy?"

"No, I'm not that either." Damien half-turned as if to walk away, but span round and rammed the figure against the wall, one hand on his throat, the other calmly in his pocket.

"Look, someone just saved my life, so one good turn deserves another. I'll let you go without pushing your head into the wall until it splits, and in return, you leave me alone and spread the word that I don't appreciate my walks being disturbed. Understand?"

Though being suspended against a wall by someone a foot smaller than him, the man managed a sneer. "You think you're tough, boy? My friends could teach you –"

Damien pushed his hand against the throat. The man gurgled. Damien continued pushing until there was an audible crack. Then he let go. The figure slumped to the ground.

"Some people never learn..." Damien continued down the alleyway and walked to his current residence. Despite being not seeing anyone the whole way there, he couldn't shake off the feeling he was being followed.

(1) Because it's better than calling it grease.

(2) It had involved having to find accommodation with highly porous flooring and the purchase of a number of herbs. It got so desperate at one point that he had had to invest in a patent Dibblomatic Cure-All, which had worked, if you didn't mind the side effects. Fortunately, having demons fight a war inside his intestines for an hour or so didn't particularly bother Damien.