A/N still there? just checking.

Chapter 3: Queen Molly's Story.

"Get out of it you little witch and don't let me catch you around here again or I'll set the dogs on you!"

The little girl pelted along the alley behind the big house as fast as possible until the shouting had stopped and the person was obviously no longer following her. She leant against the wall and sighed.

Molly Bright was twelve years old. She and her family lived in the Shades area of Ankh-Morpok. Her father had a small job sweeping floors in the Palace but the pay was insufficient to properly feed his wife and ten children and so they had taken to begging and stealing to get money. Molly was the seventh child and the only girl of the family. While her brothers snuck things from carts and picked the pockets of wealthy gentlemen in Sator Square, Molly begged.

She was a good beggar. She was small and sweet and had a space between her front two teeth. When she gave her shy, gap-toothed grin people just wanted to give her things, including money. Unfortunately, while several of the local merchants were kind hearted enough to keep shelling out others had wised up and simply glared at her if they saw her skipping down the road towards them. And so little Molly had decided to try her luck in the up-market area of town. But things had not gone well.

Molly had been kicked out of the last three houses she had tried and was prepared to give up. She began to trudge down the alley along the back of the posh street until she reached a house she hadn't yet tried. Just one more, she thought. What harm can it do?

Pulling her dress straight and trying to look as sweetly pathetic as possible she sauntered up the back path to the kitchen door and tapped lightly. As she did so she looked around. It was a large house, the largest on the street and built of dark stone which cast long, cold shadows on the ground despite the warmth of the day.

After a few minutes the door was pulled open and an elderly woman with a tight grey bun of hair and a face to match looked around the edge suspiciously.

"What do you want child?" she asked unpleasantly.

"Ethcuse me mithith," said Molly sweetly, exaggerating her slight lisp for extra cuteness. "I'm tho verry hungry and my mummy thays that we've got no money for food."

"Oh it's money you want is it dear?" said the old woman, smiling gently.

Molly nodded enthusiastically.

"Tho hungry," she repeated for good measure.

"I see," said the woman before sneering evilly. "Well you needn't come looking for hand -outs around here you little baggage!"

She opened the door wider and revealed her hand which held a large and wicked looking broom which she swatted in Molly's direction.

"Clear off," she shouted. "Clear off before I call the master!"

Molly picked up her skirts and fled down the path once more. Unlike the last house the woman didn't give chase and so Molly stopped for breath when she'd reached the alley once more. She sank down on the ground and started to cry.

Usually Molly was an intensely sensible girl and not given to tears but in this instance she could not help herself.

"It's not fair!" she shouted at the empty alley and threw a stone against the wall opposite her.

"Yes," said someone smoothly, "but even in a fair world Mrs Rivers would still be a bad tempered old bat."

Molly looked up. There was a boy standing beside her. He was tall and slim with dark hair and pale skin. He looked to be a few years older than Molly and there was a slightly disturbing twinkle in his blue eyes.

"Here," he said, handing her a handkerchief to dry her eyes. "You know it's really no use crying. The people around here never give anything to beggars. Do you see any bins around here?"

Molly glanced up and down the street and shook her head.

"No."

"That's because they never throw anything away. Left over food goes to the dogs and worn out clothes go into the attics or to make patchwork quilts. They don't like the idea of anyone raking the bins and using their things, even if they have thrown them away."

He put out a hand to help her up.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Molly," said Molly.

"I'm Havelock," he said. "That's my house," he indicated the house from which Molly had just run.

"Your house!" exclaimed Molly.

"Well, it belongs to the family but basically yes. You'll get nothing from there."

She frowned.

"Who was that woman?"

"Mrs Rivers, housekeeper. She hates children."

"Does she hate you?"

He laughed. "Yes, but luckily I'm not here very often. I go to the Assassins School so I'm here during the holidays."

Molly began to scrabble nervously away from him.

"You're an assassin?"

"I won't hurt you. Silly little mouse," he cocked his head at her. "Are you hungry?"

Molly nodded.

"But we've got no money."

"How many of you are there?"

Molly quickly counted in her head. "Twelve."

The young man nodded quietly. He seemed to be thinking about something. Leaning against the wall of the alley he folded his arms and smirked into the distance. At one point he ran his eyes over the house carefully, considering. At last he seemed to come to a conclusion.

"Stay here a moment Molly," he said and then he disappeared.

Molly watched as his feet left her vision as he hefted his lithe figure onto the low roof of the brick potting shed that made up that part of the alley wall. As she peeped around the corner she saw him picking his way lightly towards the house. He leapt and caught hold of a window ledge on the first floor. He swung himself around and slipped in through the open sash.

Molly pulled herself back into the alley and waited. He was not gone for long. As his feet hit the ground beside her again Molly could swear she heard a soft jangling sound. He fixed her with a very direct stare.

"Now Molly, I told you that the people around here don't like beggars. So once we say goodbye I don't want to see you up here again. It isn't safe for you."

Molly nodded wordlessly. She didn't ever want to come back here anyway.

"Very well."

Reaching inside his coat pocket he pulled out a money pouch which sat weightily in the palm of his pale hand.

"There are one hundred Ankh-Morpok dollars here Molly. That should see you and your family through to Hogswatch at least, if you use it carefully."

Molly took the purse carefully and stared at him with wide eyes.

"Why?"

He raised a thin dark eyebrow at her.

"Why not?" was his only reply.

Nodding Molly tucked the purse away and, pulling herself to her feet ran down the alley. Before she turned the corner she glanced over her shoulder but Havelock was gone.

She ran home and presented her prise to her family. As they ate the first good meal for months that evening Molly was unaware that, in the cold kitchen of the house on the hill Havelock Vetinari was being beaten with a birch rod for stealing from his father. But even as the rod cracked down across his slim shoulders for the last time the cunning young assassin smiled to himself.

It was known as the Beggar's War and it cut through Ankh-Morpok like a knife through the Ankh. The street population of the Disc's greatest city took sides with only minimal deliberation. In the blistering summer heat the city was a bubbling cauldron on the verge of violent explosion.

For three years Molly Bright, know known as Queen Molly, had ruled the Beggar's Guild with a firm but fair and filthy hand. But she had been challenged. A young beggar who called himself Blind Harry1 had set up a campaign to have himself inaugurated as guild leader.

Harry believed that the art of begging was closer to that of street theatre. Beggars had to be recognisable figures he said and the more interesting they were the more they were likely to get. To this end he was in favour of somewhat enhancing any slight disfigurement, or asset as you might call it, that a beggar happened to have. He himself wore an eye-patch and walked with an exaggerated limp. He would also play the penny whistle to attract custom.

Several of the younger beggars backed Harry up on this and so two factions had begun to form. One around Harry and the other around Molly and her more traditional ways.

Molly was widely believed to be slightly potty, however this was not true, she had simply learned how to be unsettling. She would mumble to herself and at some point had gotten an infection in her eye which had given her a slightly lopsided and worrying stare; especially as that eye hardly ever blinked while the other did so almost constantly as if to make up for it. Despite all this she had immediately recognised Havelock Vetinari when he had succeeded to the position of Patrician. And because Molly had been brought up to be a humble girl she felt slightly indebted to him.

However it was more than she could hope for that her would intercede for her in this power battle. There was to be a Guild meeting for the purposes of taking a vote on who was to be leader of the Beggar's and Molly was not looking forward to it. Harry was popular and she had a funny feeling in her stomach that she would have to hand over her velvet cloak of office.

The main hall of the Beggar's Guild smelled more than a little when it was full of all its respective members. Harry and his mates sat at one end of the stage while Molly perched on her junk throne in the centre. She was going to have to start this meeting sooner or later. She stood and held up her hands.

"Shurrup you lot!" she hollered at the top of her voice and the room quietened. "We're gonna 'ave a vote right!"

There was a general chorus of agreement.

"Fine then. When Bloody Old Tom," here she indicated the guild secretary to her right, "calls out the candidate names you gotta put yer 'and up right? You can't put yer 'and up twice. Put 'em up an' Tom 'ere 'll count 'em, alright? Good. Tom."

Bloody Old Tom shuffled to the front of the stage and cast around gloomily. He cleared his throat carefully before calling out.

"Blind Harry. All those in favour?"

A thick forest of hands rose into the air and Molly felt her heart sink. Tom counted carefully before shouting out the result.

"One hundred and seventy. And now, Queen Molly. All those in…. good afternoon your lordship."

Molly looked up from where she had been sitting with her head in her hands. All heads had turned towards the back of the Guild Hall where the Patrician and his clerk Drunknott had silently appeared. He's too late, thought Molly. He's too bloody late.

A hush had fallen over the hall and Vetinari smiled amiably.

"Please don't let me disturb you ladies and gentlemen. I merely wished to have a word with her highness, however I can wait until you are finished here."

A soft mumbling replaced the silence of the room. Tom turned to Molly with a questioning glance and she nodded that he should continue.

"Um, yes. Queen Molly then. All in favour?"

The hands rose.

"That looks to be about, just over two hundred your highness," declare Bloody Old Tom a minute later. At the other end of the hall Blind Harry jumped to his feet with indignation.

"Some of them had their hands up before. You can't allow that!"

"Dear me."

All heads turned towards the Patrician once more. Someone had found him a chair in which he reclined with his fingers steepled before his lips. He was still smiling sweetly.

"Am I to understand that Mr Harry believes her highness had been cheating?"

It was a soft voice that seemed to fill the hall. Completely innocent; like a small dog with huge sad eyes you later discover has extremely large teeth and a nasty temper.

"Um… well maybe."

"In that case I suggest that we take the vote again don't you Mr Harry.

It was not a question. Harry nodded dumbly.

"Good. Your highness?"

Molly nodded her assent and gestured to Bloody Old Tom.

"Very well then. Blind Harry. All those in favour?"

There was complete stillness in the hall.

"And Queen Molly. All those in favour?"

As every hand in the room rose Molly saw the Patrician rise and give her a courteous bow before slipping silently away. Molly smiled.

Eventually she'd get tired of owing Vetinari things but surely standing up to a few inbred Lords who hated her anyway was worth it for the look on Blind Harry's face as the Guild Hall broke into general applause for her.

1Although he was not actually blind. He did, however suffer from being ginger and freckled. There are some curses that are simply universal.