Episode The Second:
Flight!
In which Magatha gets a Job; we meet Nikephoros; and several things Take Wing.
Part One
The thing about money, Magatha decided, was that it talked. She'd heard the saying, of course, and, stuck in a tower as she'd been, hadn't really understood it until now.
Now, she realised. It did talk.
Most often, it said "good-bye". Magatha thought this a very rude way for currency to express its verbosity, and desperately wished she hadn't spent so much on a room with plumbing.
Plumbing.
No, actually, no regrets there. Running water, running and actually sometimes hot water was worth any amount of money. Possibly even the amount of money Magatha had had to pay for it.
Still, there was no getting away from the fact that Magatha's funds were running desperately low. What with rent having increased (Magatha had used charcoal and a bit of the wall to work it out) two hundred and thirty percent since Nana Bone had lived in Ankh Morpork- not to mention the various fees and subscriptions very politely requested by all those neighborhood welcoming committees- she was almost completely broke. This was despite having already pawned off most of Lady Grapeseed's jeweled necklaces, anklets, bracelets, armlets, rings, earrings, hatpins, hairpins, brooches, hairnets and sticky-backed gems for attaching to the face.
Life in the Big Wahoonie. Overrated, and overpriced.
But still so. . . addictive. Intoxicating. The heavy fug of smoke that oozed over rooftops, the periodic WHOOMPH of the Alchemists' Guild, the truncated screams of tourists lost in the Shades. Magatha had only been in Ankh Morpork a month, and already she couldn't imagine going back to the Bone Tower.
Not that she would have gone back anyway. Not for all the plumbing in the world.
There was only one thing for it, Magatha decided, shoving a handful of papers into a bag. This particular bag had been made from the remains of a light blue outfit completely unsuitable for any sort of horse-related activities and which had in any case changed colour to a sort of murky lavender the first time she'd worn it outside. Magatha would have to get a job.
And she knew exactly where to go.
tveet, tveet
"Excuse me? Um, hello? Look, I only have my lunch break off, so if someone could. . . hello? Ma'am? Please?"
It is a fact universally known in the universe of offices and receptions that anywhere there is a person dinging a little bell and anxiously looking around for assistance, there will also be an office lady. She may be hiding behind a particularly wide pillar, or sending receipts one by one. . . by. . . one. . . up a hydraulic pipe. Perhaps she is simply sitting back in her well-built chair, catching up on some well-deserved sleep. Whatever she is doing, it is with the sole purpose of ignoring the bell-dinging customer.
What, you though she was really asleep? Pfft.
"Er, ma'am?" This particular office lady had opted for the hide-behind-the-pillar approach to customer services.
"Hello?"
Unfortunately, the pillar in question was markedly too small to obscure the entire bulk of Ms Wattlecomb. Put simply, bits of her were spilling over.
"Ma'am? Look, I'm really in a bit of a hurry. . ."
Thaddeus sighed. The exact same thing had happened every day for the last month- and, dash it all, he could see the woman behind the pillar! It wasn't exactly a wonderful hiding place!
Nor was it a particularly impressing pillar!
Thaddeus seethed silently for a few minutes, imagining the fuss that would occur should he take this opportunity to hurl the ding-bell at what he could see of the receptionist.
He came to the conclusion that the fuss would be quite large. It was only last week that he'd filed the court report on Ms Wattlecomb vs. Darryl the Barbarian- the report had gone into grisly detail. Thaddeus remembered feeling righteously indignant about the way that awful Klatchian boy had assaulted the helpless lady.
He felt a bit ashamed of that now. Poor Darryl.
There. Twelve minutes to one. Thaddeus had to leave now, if he was to get back to work on time.
Eleven minutes to one. He could still make it if he walked particularly quickly. Besides, the office lady looked almost as if she was about to turn around. . .
No. False alarm.
Ten minutes to one. Time to go.
The front door clicked open in front of Thaddeus, and a figure with very loud shoes marched past him. Caught in her wake, Thaddeus stumbled back across the reception to the front desk.
Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!
Thaddeus stared at the back of the newcomer's head as she jabbed ferociously at the bell. It seemed somewhat familiar.
Ding-ding-ding-ding-dikzhink clang.
Being of a flimsy and non-Guild of Bellsmiths mould, the bell had literally cracked under the pressure of the girl's index finger. Bits of it rolled across the desk. Some rolled off. One fell on Thaddeus' shoe, and he bent to pick it up.
"Excuse me? Woman behind the pillar? I appear to have broken-" Magatha's voice caught in her throat as the woman lunged out from her hiding place. For someone so- 'hefty' would be a polite way of putting it- the office lady could move surprisingly fast. Before Magatha's poor reflexes could run her out of the way, the woman had thundered to a halt in front of her.
Magatha was incredibly glad there was a desk between herself and the receptionist. The other woman gave off a distinctly unsettling sense of looming, despite only coming up to Magatha's armpit.
A look of intense, warty smugness spread like some sort of malignant fungus over the office lady's face. "You insolent little girl! Destruction of private property is a criminal offense, you, you vandal! Punishable under the law! You-"
"I'm soooorry!" Magatha cried. Hearing her, Thaddeus jumped, and hit his head on the underside of the desk. She hadn't sounded like Magatha at all. More like-
Tears welled up in Magatha's eyes as she quailed under the onslaught of exclamation marks. She leant weakly against the reception desk, faintly gasping for air.
"It's just, it's just too horrid! I've been looking for you for so long, and I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to break your bell, I, I really didn't. It's just so awful. . ."
She began to sob gently, one white hand held, trembling, to her ashen cheeks. Thaddeus rose slowly. That was right, he recognized the voice now. He wondered how he hadn't managed to figure it out before.
Magatha fainted.
It was a very graceful faint. More of a swoon, really. It showed up her bosom spectacularly, although Thaddeus very definitely didn't notice this at all.
There was a gasp reminiscent of the sound an elephant makes when pulling itself from a luxurious mud bath, and the receptionist lumbered out of the room. Thaddeus could hear her thundering down the corridor beyond, screaming out for someone named Grabhammer.
"Magatha?" Thaddeus leant down beside the motionless girl, wincing as his knees clicked. "Are you all right?"
No response. Thaddeus steadfastly did not notice the way Magatha's chest beat over her palpitating heart.
Well, then.
"Lady Grapeseed?"
"WHAT?" Magatha shot upright, staggered, then grabbed Thaddeus' collar. "Oh shit. What did she do?"
"I'm sorry?"
Magatha shook him, her lips white. "What. Did. She. Do?"
"Um, um, nothing really, just cried and fainted and could you please stop shaking me I get headaches-"
"Oh, damn. Of all the bloody times for her to bloody come along and screw things up. . ." Magatha wiped a hand across her face and glared at the tears it picked up. "What happened to the receptionist?"
"She went to find the manager, I think." Thaddeus touched his head gingerly. He could feel a lump coming through where he'd knocked it. How was he supposed to explain this at work?
Work.
"Oh, fu- tabulate it," he muttered. "Look, I'm very sorry Miss Gammins, but I have to get back-"
"Don't you dare. You're staying here, you can back me up. Oh, here they come now." Magatha pinched her nose, and gave a small 'hah' of glee as her eyes watered.
"What, no, I have to get back to work," began Thaddeus. He was interrupted, and rather rudely, he thought, by Mr Eberhart Grabhammer.
"My dear young lady," the dwarf boomed. "I apologise most humbly for any distress my firm has caused you, and am most sympathetic with you as to any distress you may have which has not been caused my Hero Service!"
Magatha sniffed sadly, and stared into the distance, her mind racing.
Mr Grabhammer coughed. "Ah. . . how can we be of service, Miss - ?"
"Grapeseed," Magatha quavered. "Lady Grapeseed. I, um, come to ask a favour of you, sir."
"Oh?" Grabhammer seemed uneasy. "You've had a problem with your Hero, have you?" The receptionist was rifling through a shelf for the file on the distraught young lady.
"Oh, no, not at all! My assigned Hero is right here, see?" Magatha gestured vaguely at Thaddeus, who wondered where all this was going. "The thing is, Mr Grabhammer, sir, is, um, bugger bugger think dammit you see. . . I'm dying."
"I see!" The manager's face broke into a grin as he figured out what the mysterious girl was trying to say. "I'm afraid we don't do refunds, young man. Any damsel obtained through the Hero Service is one-hundred-percent nonrefundable and any problems caused by or relating to said damsel are in no way the concern or responsibility of- ouch! You hit me!"
Magatha snatched the offending hand behind her back. "NoIdi'nt! Um, er, you've got hold of entirely the wrong end of the stick there. Mr Tent is here to, erm. . ."
Thaddeus leapt at the chance to finally put forward his issue. "Mr Grabhammer, it's been four weeks and three days since I returned to Ankh Morpork, and-"
"Yes, right, very good," Eberhart snapped. Too many Heroes had been returning from their Quests to claim their reward money. The very thought of another one made Mr Grabhammer's digestive juices begin to boil. "Exactly what is it you want, my lady?"
Magatha winced. Gods above, how she hated all this bloody carry on. "I'm dying, yes? Well, my last final request, as one being tragically torn from the disc in the prime of my youthful and lovely life, is that my, um, devoted twin sister is not left destitute after my death. Yes."
"Your twin sister?" The office lady had found the file on Lady Grapeseed, and Eberhart Grabhammer was scanning it with the concentration of one who can see vast quantities of money pouring away from him in the near future. "Your file doesn't say anything bout a twin sister."
Bugger.
"Er, that's because she was transformed into a, a pigeon. By the Bone Witch. Thaddeus broke the spell, see, when he rescued me, so now she's human again and please, sir," Magatha fluttered her eyelashes desperately, "please can't you help her? She'll be left all alone after I'm gone!"
"Well. . ." It was all in the contract, Grabhammer knew. All dependants to be taken care of by the firm, an extra enticement to get the impoverished backcountry nobles to sign their daughters away. But the cost. Really, this twin sister would probably end up living off the Hero Service's funds for years, just to spite them. "That is as may be, but you have to understand, milady, that-"
"Of course, Mr Tent is willing to give up all claim to his success fee should you agree to this."
"What? No! You can't just-!" Thaddeus was aghast. He needed that money, any number of gods knew how much he'd borrowed to be able to set off on the Quest in the first place! He had to pay all that back, plus interest!
Visions of vengeful moneylenders danced in Thaddeus' head as Magatha and Mr Grabhammer sorted out the fine details. As he envisioned the cracking knuckles of Roddy Carlisle's 'payment encouragers', the two decided that Lady Grapeseed's twin sister would earn her keep by taking a job in the company; as he imagined with dread the rheumy eyes of Granny Tent with her little notebook of sums, they decided on a wage twice that of the average employee (after all, Magatha stressed repeatedly, this was a special case. She was dying. Tragically). Finally, as little columns of numbers and distressingly large additions of compound interest danced the Morris before his figurative eyes, Magatha signed a many-paged contract- having read it through twice- and she and her new employer shook hands on the deal.
"Good doing business with you, my lady. Deeply sympathetic about your plight, of course. What is it that ails you, exactly?"
Magatha was ready for this. She smiled a brave smile ever so slightly tinged with the bitter knowledge of mortality:
"A broken heart, sir. I have just received word of the death of my absent love, a most noble and valiant Prince of Fourecks."
"You poor thing," sniffed the receptionist from behind her resumed post behind the pillar.
Magatha stared sadly into the middle distance. "Yes," she agreed. "It is very tragic."
- - -
Sorry about the wait- but, look, it was an extra-long chapter to make up for it, see? Over two thousand words! I mean, some of the chapters in "Social Intercourse" were only just over two hundred words long, a fact that shocked me to the core when I found it out. I am deeply ashamed. Mea culpa, mea culpa and all that.
Thanks everyone who reviewed, it's much appreciated! To those of you who asked questions:
Tindomiel: Next episode up. . . now! Excellent! I'm glad you like my little darlings. I like them too, except Magatha when she's being obstinate and Lady G when she's being flitty. Which is always.
Me: Well, thank you too Me! Yes, it is a fanfic completely sans Vimes/Vetinari longing glances of any kind. shudder Ooh, towel. Excellent once more.
WargishBoromirFan: ocanalysis is a happy place. Maybe I should put Lady G up over there as some sort of evil joke, hm?
Part Two coming soon as it's written, and starring: whatsisface with the long name! At last, somewhere to write him in!
