Note: Still Pratchett's. Thank you for being all worried about Mal :D. I feel accomplished.

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Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 13. In which there are more 'z's and 'v's than one is willing to count.

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"Handkerchief."

"Yep," said Polly.

"Toothbrush."

That's Mal's, thought Polly. She was trying to stay calm here, but -

"Yep," she said.

"Wooden stick that definitely does not resemble a stake in any way, shape or form."

"Uh," said Polly. "I suppose."

"Black Ribboner's starter kit, extended version."

"I'm sure that's not mine," said Polly.

The secretary opposite her gave her a tired smile. "Take it as a welcoming present. It contains the ribbon, the song book, a cocoa mug with your name on it, a bundle of leaflets for your friends if you have any, and an extra surprise."

"Oh," said Polly distractedly. "That's nice."

"Don't expect too much," added the secretary, "most of the time, it's a cravat or a godawful flowerpot."

"Aw, thanks," said Polly, still not paying attention.

The secretary looked through his files. "That appears to be all," he said. "Please sign here."

"There's something missing," said Polly. "I had a small vial with me. Was put into safekeeping," she added.

The man checked a list, frowned. "There's no such thing in the inventory. Who did you say you gave it to?"

"I dunno," said Polly. "Guy in a fuzzy sweater. Said he'd leave it with the super extra secret safe stuff."

"Ah," said the secretary, "that. I'm afraid our 'super extra secret safe stuff' has been taken in a burglary. Have a nice day." He ruffled through his files again, only looking up when he found them quite suddenly perforated by a not very stakelike, honestly, wooden stick.

It really was very sharp.

"I am not," said Polly, "having a nice day."

There was a mildly apologetic smile. "It's like that in the beginning," said the secretary, handing her back the stake. "You'll find that a cup of cocoa and a bun will generally help you regain your composure."

"To hell with composure," said Polly. "Where's Mal?"

"I do not know anyone who goes by that name," said the secretary.

"Maladicta van der Zülln!" said Polly. "She was with me when I arrived."

"That one." The secretary sighed. "It is assumed that she left the club house ten days ago, before the City Watch got here."

"Wow," said Polly. She felt she was getting into sergeant mood here, but didn't care much. She was working the glare now, and preparing the shouting. "And who, might I asked, called the bloody watch?"

"We do take care of ourselves, Miss Perks," said the man. "And we don't take it lightly when one of our members breaks the pledge. Be reasonable."

"She only did that because -"

"Yes?" said the man.

"None of your damn business," said Polly. "So, how far does taking care of yourselves go? D'you perhaps kill people every once in a while?"

Polly was quite astonished that her voice didn't fail her at this moment. Sometimes, when the absurdities just kept piling up, one could go quite far while keeping a straight face, she mused.

"That would be quite pointless," said the man. "Also, the Patrician would give us hell if we did that. Please sign here."

Polly signed so furiously the paper tore. There was no bleeding point in breaking into tears now. She had to be angry now. She found being angry generally helped with the quick thinking. And considering the circumstances, it didn't pose much of a challenge.

Polly stuffed the handkerchief and the toothbrush into her pocket and picked up the grotesque starter kit, which was rather heavier than she had expected.

"The League does take care of itself, Miss Perks," said the secretary again. "You'll find out." There was something that might have been a conspiratorial wink. It looked as out of place as Polly felt.

"Oh, I'm sure I will," growled Polly, and stalked off.

I'm dying for a cup of tea, she thought. Dying. For a teeny tiny porcelain cup with little daisies 'round the rim, and hot sweet tea, soldier style, with a helping of cream that wasn't rationed for once, and as many spoonfuls of sugar as she could get away with, and -

Upon examining the thought, however, Polly found that she was, in fact, not dying for a cup of tea, for a cup with daisies 'round the rim, or for sugar, and that made her even angrier. No-one had explained that transference business to her. How was she supposed to find out what she'd go batshit crazy about?

Polly tried to slam the door on her way out, but found that it closed almost soundlessly. It didn't help with her mood. Outside, the new morning overwhelmed her with light, and noise, and the ever-present eau d'Ankh-Morpork. It was like walking into a very damp, very smelly brick wall.

Bit hard to keep her thoughts coherent, here.

Clutching the starter kit to her chest, because, she thought bitterly, it wasn't as if she had anything else in this world that she could cling to, she wandered the streets for a while, aimlessly, while she tried to think of an aim.

Think like a sergeant, she thought. First, find out what it is that you want -

(Mal)

Okay, so maybe a detour was in order. Think like a sergeant who thinks like the enemy: what would she do if she was a batshit crazy fundamentalist vampire who had to dispose of a pile of dust?

(The situation was too damn absurd to cry, damn it - )

Unfortunately, Polly could think of a great many things one could do with a pile of dust, including but not limited to scattering it all over the town, throwing it into the Ankh where it'd become part of the mud, or sweeping it up and putting it into a jar and immuring it in a cellar somewhere. It was, she concluded gloomily, rather disheartening.

"Cuppa coffee, cuppa coffee?" One of life's little annoyances, this time in the form of a small and averagely smelly young man with a tank on his back, a hose in his hand and lots of cardboard cups dangling from his belt, was approaching her.

"Real Klatchian Rare Roasted, tuppence a cup!" he cried cheerfully into her ear. "Stomach ulcer in less than thirty minutes! Strong enough to wake the dead! This Is Guaranteed!"

Polly glared. "Fuck you," she said. "Fuck you and your fucking coffee, fuck the horse you rode in on, and fuck the guy who had the fucking nerve to feed the horse."

"That a no, then? Tuppence a cup!"

"Yes!" said Polly. "I mean, yes, that's a no. Oh, just piss off."

People were just too damn chipper this early in the morning, she thought, or really, all of the time, and she sat down on the stony steps in front of some official-looking building. It was already quite warm, and getting warmer. People around her seemed awfully fretful, but this was Ankh-Morpork. They didn't have wars to distract them.

Polly closed her eyes for a moment, and realised in one single, condensed moment, that she was lost, and badly shaking despite the heat. Mal had as good as promised she'd be here, and then she'd gone and died and was dead -

Probably dead. Polly was rather attached to the 'probably'.

She remembered the flash, remembered the dying, as clear and chilling as if it had been Polly who that had happened to, only of course she was still here to remember it, and really, it had happened to her, hadn't it? Polly remembered a battlefield, searing pain in her side, and how life had trickled out of her minute by minute.

She remembered -

(Light reflected off a scythe, and some details of a certain conversation, possibly inferred, possibly not.)

She wasn't angry anymore. Dear sweet Nuggan, she wasn't angry anymore, and she wanted to tell Mal. That, and a whole lot of other things (that she'd meant it, or at least that she'd come to mean it in the end; that it hadn't been all about the warmth, please - )

With that, Polly decided her mind had very definitely gone places it shouldn't have, because all of this only made her hurt more, and thus, Polly opened her eyes and discovered the fire.

So that was where the heat had come from, was her detached conclusion. A veritable crowd had accumulated to watch the house on the other side of the street burn down, and as Polly's eyes idly scanned the faces, she thought she recognised someone. Someone who was, just now, closing a notebook, and wandering off.

Polly got up to follow him.

-

They were in a rather narrow lane now, full of laundry and chickens and small children playing small children's games that seemed to involve a lot of hitting each other over the head in a jolly and wholesome manner. Mere seconds before Polly had finished a brief internal discussion about whether hitting your neighbour over the head as a child resulted in signing up for the army as an adult, the man suddenly stopped, turned around and said, "I know you're following me, so you can just as well show yourself."

Polly had instinctively jumped behind a dangling bedsheet, and slowly emerged as she realised she was not in a war and probably - probably - not about to be shot.

William de Worde studied her. "I know you," he said. "Weren't you -"

"Yes," said Polly, trying to untangle herself from the sheet. "I'm that plucky soldier girl (19) from Borogravia. We used to correspond. I need to find Otto Chriek, please."

De Worde cocked an eyebrow. "Why the hell didn't you just ask me?"

"Er," said Polly. "Old habits die hard? It's really important, though. Do you know where he is?"

"He might be at the office," said de Worde, "if he's not off staring at some thunderstorm. You can come with me, if you like. What's a Borogravian soldier girl like you doing in Ankh-Morpork?"

There was no thunderstorm in sight, thought Polly. Maybe she'd be lucky.

"Put that notebook away," she said. "I'm not human interest." Damn right.

"Oh, the tear-jerkers always get their audience," said de Worde lightly. "You could be following your sweetheart, or running away from an oppressive regime, or seeking a cure for a cureless condition. We get them all."

"Bastard. Sorry," said Polly. Seriously, she had to stop insulting the people who she needed to help her.

De Worde scribbled things into his notebook, mumbling, "upon being asked for details, the plucky soldier girl reverted to insults. Done. Could be worth fifteen lines, if I stretch it a bit."

He put the notebook away and gave her a sly smile. "Now, what are you here for, really?"

"It's all a bit complicated," said Polly. Hell, yes, she thought. Hot sweet tea and understatement, the true values of Borogravia. "How far is it to the office?"

"Nearly there," said de Worde. "In fact, we just walked past it," he added.

Polly stopped. "Why?"

"Just wanted to know whether you really didn't know where it was," said de Worde. "The job makes you paranoid, I'm afraid."

Polly knew paranoid, so that was all right. "Try being a sergeant once in a while," she said.

"Oh, so you're a sergeant now? How many brothers have you got?" asked de Worde as he fished a key out of a pocket of his cloak and opened a fairly insignificant looking door.

The room behind the door looked fairly busy. There were dwarves in the half-gloom. There was a gigantic thing. It was moving. She wasn't interested.

"Otto?" called de Worde. "Otto, are you there? You've got yourself a lady visitor!"

Some of the dwarves appeared to be snickering.

A flap in the floor was lifted. There was a ladder. There was a head. Suddenly, Polly wasn't quite sure anymore what she wanted here, and even less sure how to phrase it, so she settled for, "Er. Hi."

"Do I know you?" said the head. There were no 'z's and 'v's in that phrase, but Otto Chriek still managed to give the opposite impression. Polly felt right at home.

"Otto, tell me when you're ready with those iconographs," said William. "Was nice meeting you again, plucky soldier girl, but I've got to work on that fire report for a bit." With that, he vanished through an open door into another room. There were desks, and stacks of paper covering the desks and the floor and, incidentally, every surface that might have been suitably horizontal, and there were potted plants, and a woman scribbling on square pieces of paper, and rather a lot of half-drunken coffee cups, Polly noticed, before she concentrated back on Otto.

"Polly Perks," said Polly. "Friend of Mal's. Look -"

"Zat's zer one!" said Otto cheerfully, climbing out of the hole in the ground and - Polly tried not to stare here - almost skipping over to her. "I do know you!" he said, shaking her hand enthusiastically. "How's zer old girl?"

Now, 'old girl' was certainly not a phrase Polly would have associated with Mal. Apart from that, there was also the small issue of what she was going the say next, and how to phrase that, and, er.

One part of her, the part that was still five years old and had never seen a bird burn, or a man die, or Maladicta in that white dress, was already on the lookout for a handy corner to go have a cry in, wait for Mummy or Daddy come and scoop her up and tell her the world was only evil on the outside. Bloody hell.

"Can we speak privately?" asked Polly.

Otto shrugged. "Sure," he said. "Come down into zer... crypt." He vanished back into the cellar. Polly hesitated for a bit, because jumping into gloomy holes had, so far, not been part of her daily schedule, and jumping into gloomy holes after being invited into said gloomy holes by a vampire -

- damn, when was she going to get used to this?

Bugger that. Come to think of it, bugger the ladder, too. She landed on her feet.

"Looks like a laboratory to me."

"Where's Mal?" asked a voice directly behind her. Bloody vampire. Polly thought for a while, but there really wasn't a way to stay reasonably un-dramatic.

"I actually think she might be dead," she said.

"Oh," said Otto. He said nothing more.

Polly drew a hand through her hair. "I mean, I could be wrong," she added,"this could have been, I don't know, a hallucination, or something. It felt so real."

"Er," said Otto. "I see you're stressed out, but can you try making a bit more sense?"

"I was inside her head when she died," said Polly. "I just don't know if that was real. Er." Oh, gods. "I think I might have to sit down."

Without awaiting an invitation, she sat down on the only chair she saw available. The world, however, failed to turn into a better place.

"Now, I see you're carrying zer infamous Black Ribboner's starter kit," said Otto. "You also look somevat... deshabille. Before I combine all zese clues into a monster of a story zat surely vill make no sense at all, I kindly implore you to tell me vot happened, please?"

"I'm trying to think," said Polly, putting the box absent-mindedly onto Otto's workbench. At least, it looked ilke a workbench. There were things in boxes, moving about, quite possibly the most suspect thing she'd seen...

...all week, really.

Telling the story was easy. She just had to leave out all the nice parts; what was left made her stomach turn a bit, but she'd grown good at ignoring that. That had happened, and that, and that, now that was no-one's business but hers.

"There," she said. "What do we do now?"

"Zat's a strange question to ask," said Otto. He thought for a moment. "Vell, ve've known for a vile zere must have been someone in the League who -"

"Lady Draconia," said Polly. "Woman in a white headscarf, plays the harmonium. Badly."

"Her?" said Otto. "Vot a pity. She used to vink at me."

"Do you think Mal is -," began Polly.

"Hard to tell, from vot you've told me," said Otto. "Ve do know ze Anti Temperance League is a bit vimpy about killing, so zer flash of light you saw might be just zeir style."

"Wimpy about killing?" asked Polly. "Have you seen what they use for arrows?"

"Oh, you mean zat?" Covering one hand with the sleeve of his cloak, Otto got something off a shelf. "Zat's just for show," he said absent-mindedly, "I'm sure a simple vooden arrow vizout zer metal bit -"

His eyes widened. It might have had something to do with the very simple wooden stake that was quite suddenly pointing at his heart.

"Yes, somezing like zat," he murmured. "Vould you put zat avay, please?"

"You've got ten seconds to explain to me why the hell I should not get hysterical on your arse," said Polly. "How did you get that arrow?"

"Got shot," said Otto. "Zat's zer usual vay."

"Right," said Polly, and drew a deep breath. She lowered the stake. "Right. I'm sorry."

"No problem," said Otto, shrugging. "Now zat zat's out of the way, did you get the flowerpot or the cravat?"

"Does it matter?" asked Polly wearily, sitting down again.

Otto was already at the workbench, carefully opening the box. "Indeed it does," he said. "I've been vaiting for zis all veek, but for some reason I expected zey vould haf had ze sense to tell you about it. Oh vell."

"I, er," said Polly. "Huh?"

"Isn't zat a nice flowerpot?" said Otto. "Look at zer pattern, it's really very stylish."

"It's an urn," said Polly, and was at this moment quite glad she was sitting already. "It's an urn full of what I expect will be dust, and -"

What the hell.

"It's Mal," said Otto. He examined the thing from all sides. "At least, zat's zer idea. Zer polka dots are a bit of a shock."

Polly very much wanted to believe that. Of course, her usual inner spoilsport had to voice its doubts on the matter.

"Er," she said. "Can we be sure? Couldn't that be anyone?"

"Zat's vere zings vould get really absurd," said Otto. "I'm not sure I could take a hilarious mix-up at zis point."

Polly, who had read books of the sort one doesn't admit to having read, knew what he meant. She wasn't sure she could, either.

"Yes," she said. "What do we do now? There was something about bl... er... the b-word, I'msorryi'msorry -"

She actually allowed herself some very careful excitement.

"Any living species, normally," said Otto. "But zere is a problem zat needs addressing -"

Polly intended to count to ten, but stopped at two. "Tell me," she said. "Tell me why it won't work today when it appears to work in every other damn case. I will not tolerate any more dramatic pauses."

"Zere's somezing called tradition," said Otto indignantly. "And vot I was going to say, zank you, is zat it's been too long since she died."

That was something Benedict had said, Polly knew. You never knew who came back...

"We'd need her own bl-bl- oh, bugger it. Blood," said Otto. "Or zat of a relative. I'm not ready to handle a monster here. I know she has given a vial to someone, but zer messenger hasn't arrived yet."

"There's been a burglary at the clubhouse," said Polly, flatly. "Oh, damn -"

What a very interesting coincidence.

"All right," said Otto. "Zey von. We lost. Unless you haf a very clever idea, in vhich case, do not hesitate to share."

There was gloom. There wasn't much else, but at least Polly had a moment to breathe (clammy, dusty cellar air, a hint of chemicals, of iron, a hint of something alive), and think.

"I could go and find Benedict and make him bleed," she murmured. The thought was sort of comforting, if a little impractical. Benedict must be in Borogravia right now, and Polly wasn't so sure she could -

- wait that long -

Get things done, she thought. Get things done now. What would Jackrum do? Shout a lot? Why, certainly, but -

And then her thoughts left that trail and thought, what would Blouse do? What he'd attempt, at least, would be thinking outside of the box. Unlike him, Polly was good at that, so -

"I think I need a coffee," she said.

"Vere are my manners?" asked Otto, and Polly thought she detected a bit of sarcasm. "I zink Saccharissa has some in her office. How stronk do you like it?"

"As strong as possible," said Polly. "As long as it's still sort of liquid afterwards. I think I need that now."

For a few minutes, she was alone in the cellar, with the flowery urn that wasn't Mal at all. It was really rather girly, she thought. Like Mal in a dress. Over her cold, dead body, Mal had once said.

Nothing to do now but wait, feed her hope one breath at a time, but not too much, only so it wouldn't die. Didn't want some fat ball of hope, now, full of clammy cellar air, sitting idly until it imploded on itself and she was left with an empty shell, a fistful of dust.

The calm was unnerving. She was itching to do something, and still strangely tired. So tired.

"Coffee up," said the voice of Otto from above, in an honest attempt at cheerful.

As he was climbing down the stairs, carefully balancing a cup of coffee, she took the urn and poured its contents onto the workbench. It wasn't as if there was a lot of dust, really. Polly was trying not to breathe, waiting for that little cloud to settle -

"Vot do you zink you're doing?" asked Otto sharply.

Polly shrugged. "Bit of experimental resurrection," she said. "Try not to sneeze?"

"Vell, I agree about ze 'mental'!" said Otto. "I told you it vos dangerous."

"The worst thing that can happen is that nothing happens at all," said Polly. "And have you ever seen Mal with a cup of coffee?"

Three cheers for awkward pauses, thought Polly. Hooray! Hooray!

Hoo -

"... Yes," said Otto.

"Mal can have an intimate relationship with a coffee cup that puts other people's sex life to shame," said Polly, and felt like she should be blushing. That was okay, though, Otto looked a bit uncomfortable himself. "Er, you know," she added. "If that doesn't bring her back - oh, bugger that. I don't think I'm obliged to convince you first, actually."

She grabbed the coffee cup from Otto's hands and dripped a spoonful of coffee, with extra grounds, over the dust, feeling rather determined (and, admittedly, very very silly) as she did that.

Polly turned around and began counting under her breath, mainly to keep the sounds out. Behind her, she thought, she hoped she heard dust drifting, moving, building up...

five -

six -

seven -

seven, damn it -

"Took you long enough," said a voice.

Polly spun around, the same moment that Otto turned his face to the wall. She could see why.

Mal was crouching on the workbench, twisting a strand of hair between her fingers, a puzzled expression on her face. It was quite possibly due to the sheer length of said strand of hair.

Maladicta, Polly thought, and swallowed. Almost on its own accord, her hand closed around the stake, and she hated herself for it.

"Damn," murmured Mal/Maladicta, "it always goes back to default."

"Er," said Polly. "Anything else gone back to default? Mal?"

Mal/Maladicta lifted her head to look at her, and she took her time.

"You may have noticed that at this moment in time I am not a ravening monster," said Mal/Maladicta. She raised her wrist to her face. She sniffed, and grinned, and sniffed again.

"Coffee, Polly?" she asked, more amused than anything.

Polly nodded. "Coffee," she replied.

"That worked?"

"You may have noticed that at this moment in time you are not a pile of dust," said Polly.

Mal/Maladicta looked down on herself. "So it seems," she said. "Pray tell, have you got any left?"

"Yes," said Polly. "However, and I don't mean to be all last century here, er, but I must question your priorities." Inwardly, she grinned. This had to be Mal.

"I am, for all points and purposes, a female vampire," said Mal. "I'm not supposed to have any shame." She caught Polly's expression, and added, grinning, "All right, all right. Gimme clothes first so Otto can turn around again."

"Er," said Polly, just now thinking of that aspect of the problem. "I didn't really plan for -"

Wordlessly, Otto took off his black cloak and gave it to Mal, without looking at her. Mal needed only one blurred movement to slide off the bench and put the cloak on.

Well, thought Polly. This is Mal. Of course she looks good in that. Even if it has a lot of pockets. Even if she stands really damn close -

"Coffee, Polly," Mal purred into her ears.

Polly handed her the cup, and Mal drank, and as always, it was a show just watching her.

"It might be a bit on the strong side," said Polly carefully.

"Yep," said Mal. "Gimme the spoon?"

You crazy, crazy woman, thought Polly, watching Mal spooning up the coffee grounds. She really did take dying hard, didn't she?

Mal handed her back the cup and spoon. "Good coffee," she said. "How much did you put in?"

"All zere vas," said Otto, who had finally dared turning around. "Remind me to avoid Saccharissa in zer near future. I zink she might be a bit livid."

"Huh," said Mal. "That doesn't mean there isn't any more coffee, does it? Does it?"

"You ate it all, Mal," said Otto, while Polly's tired brain still tried to wrap itself around the double negative. "Zat was about two and a half pages worth of caffeine, too."

"Oh," said Mal in a very small voice and sat down on the work bench. "Then we're not going to stay long, I don't think. Unless you've got cigarettes and no, I am quite well, thank you, and - oh. Oh. My head. My... everything, really. Don't look at me like that."

She wrapped the cloak tighter around herself, not looking at either Polly or Otto.

"You do make a sort of maybe a little tired impression," said Polly finally.

"If this is a conspiratorial meeting," said Mal, "then conspire away, if you please." She sighed at the resulting silence. "Or don't. How long was I gone?"

"Five days?" said Polly. "Or six, I don't know, actually."

"Six," said Otto and nodded to Polly, that treacherous... "Her idea, really."

"Six," said Mal. "I - oh. Oh. Polly, that was very thoughtless of you. I... six days, oh dear sweet Nuggan is that even possible? Legal? Ethical?"

"Yes," said Polly. "And amazingly enough, you didn't come back a monster. Just a bit naked maybe."

"Never mind that," said Mal. "Bit hard to concentrate on a pair of trousers for six days straight and did I mention this is insane? Speaking of which, Otto, did you get our things from the, ah, inn, or have they been eaten by the bugs already?"

She caught the key that was thrown at her with remarkable speed, considering her general state of... her general state of everything.

"I vent and got zer pack and also I zink some kind of allergy," said Otto. "The key is to my cousin Rudi's flat, he's avay for zer week and alvays happy to help out a fellow ribboner. That is, I'm sure he vould be. Er. If he knew, that is."

"I see," said Mal. "You know Otto, you... really are a dear. Considering, er. Thanks."

"Considering what, exactly?" asked Polly.

The two vampires looked at her. Both appeared to be blushing without actually doing so.

"Just considering, really," said Mal after too long a moment during which absolutely no-one had been swallowed into a merciful hole in the ground.

"I... see?" offered Polly, finally.

"Good," said Mal. "Jolly good." She wriggled her bare toes, watching them intently. "Otto, I think I'm going to drop in some time this week," she added. "To compare notes and stuff on Uberwald, plan the revolution kind of thing. You know."

There was a weary sigh. Vampires were good at drama.

"Miss Perks," said Otto. "Can you please try and get zer Uberwald zing out of her head?"

Mal shrugged. "It might be a good story," she said.

"No, Mal," said Otto. "See, I'm Otto. Mr. Nice Iconographer Guy, not hard to remember, really, Mr. Nice Story Fanatic Guy, zat's Villiam. Only one of us has taste in clothes. Zat's how you can tell us apart."

"Speaking of which," said Mal somewhat absent-mindedly, "I must talk to de Worde tomorrow, or soon, at least; I've got a whole list of names just waiting to be dragged into the dirt."

"Anyone I know?" asked Otto.

Mal hesitated for a moment. "It's a lot of people," she said, finally. "No real surprises. At least, no real surprises if you don't cling to false hopes and undue optimism and have crazy ideas about family values. As it were." She dragged a hand through her hair, and once again startled at the length. "Polly, we're leaving."

"I'll show you ze way," said Otto. "You von't find zer flat vizout me, anyvay."

"You're one of the nice guys, Otto, and that's very nice of you," said Mal, and Polly only just now realised how really very tired her voice sounded. "Polly, can you maybe give us a moment?"

"I," said Polly. "Yeah, sure." A shrug, and she climbed up the ladder, mentally contemplating the fact that she was just leaving two vampires who already were more awkward around each other than could possibly be legal together in a cramped dark place, and -

- oh gods -

Going by experience, she wasn't quite sure if either of them would survive.

By the time she'd closed the trapdoor after herself, Polly had concluded that respecting other people's private life did not necessarily stretch as far as to not accidentally overhear things, as such. Faint voices from below -

- so at least they were still talking -

"How did that woman get the iconograph?" Mal's voice, through the buzzing of the press.

"Zere's more zan one iconographer in zis town," said Otto, stiffly. "I recommend you get over zis distrust. It takes zer fun out of zer revolution."

Mal, softly. "I needed to know. Have a hard time trusting anybody these days, really."

"Ha." Laughter, almost. "You've got unresolved issues viz your muzzer. It's a classic."

"You make it sound so harmless," said Mal.

"Yes, I know she sent murderers to kill you," said Otto. "Counts as unresolved issues, since you're not dead - just trying to cheer you up. Sorry."

There was silence. And more silence. And - "You know that isn't true," spoken so softly that Polly had a hard time listening to it, and anyway, she was wondering whether to just wait outside, because this was turning difficult again.

"How do you know?"

"Because it's worse than that," said Mal. "Because she planned it all. Dance, puppet, dance."

There was a pause.

"I am somevhat surprised," said Otto, finally. "How did you arrive at zat particular conclusion?"

Polly imagined how Mal would shrug now. She knew her too well, sometimes. "It's amazing how abstract your thought processes go when you're dead," said Mal. "I bet someone'll soon be passing the story to the Times: Reformed Vampire on Killing Spree. Something like that. Got a cigarette?"

"The cellar might explode," said Otto.

A pause, and then he added, rather apologetically, "Zey already did."

"Zey - they - what?"

"Sent the story," said Otto. Pause. "viz shocking detail regarding zer fate of certain small fluffy animals, too."

Another pause. "Did you print it?"

"No," said Otto, "ve didn't."

"Good," said Mal, and Polly could hear her starting to climb the ladder.

"The Inquirer did," said Otto. "But zat's okay, really," he added hastily, "because no-one's really going to take zat serious." Mal had stopped dead. "At least, no-one you like. Probably."

"Oh, jolly good," said Mal, and opened the flap in the ground. "There's lots of people I don't like, though."

She looked up at Polly and smiled faintly, giving Polly the impression that she knew quite well they had been listened to. "Bed, Polly?" she suggested.

Polly raised an eyebrow. "Bed?" she said, and even though there was a convenient hole in the ground now, no-one was swallowed, which says a lot about people's wishful thinking regarding holes in the ground.

Mal blinked, anyway. Something might have flown over her head. "Rafter," she said. "I totally meant rafter. Didn't I say that?"

"Something to sleep in, anyway," said Polly, extending her hand to help Mal out of the cellar. "Or on. Or off. You know."

"Sleep," agreed Mal, apparently lost in deep thought. "Or coffee? Or sleep. Huh."

Once outside, she blinked at the sunlight, but failed to turn into a pile of dust, Polly noticed with relief. They'd been wandering Ankh-Morpork for a minute or so, when Mal came to a conclusion.

"Coffee first," she said. "Then sleep."

-

It was a long while later - a very long while later, considering that the sun had set hours ago - when Polly found herself lying in a strange bed. It was a Black Ribboner's bed, which meant it was probably just for show - or sex, but Polly's mind did not wander there at all, and certainly not in great detail. Either way, she wasn't asleep. She was listening, and growing more worried by the minute.

A restless vampire on a rafter was a strange thing to experience. How the hell did Mal not fall off?

Silently, Polly got out of the bed to tiptoe across the room, to the window, carefully avoiding creaking floorboards or any strangely placed furniture on her way. She contemplated for a while whether or not to open the window, then decided against it since the air outside was probably even stuffier then in here.

Polly turned around to face the room. The moon didn't shine particularly bright, but she could make out Mal as a mere slim shadow against the greyed white of the wall beyond. She listened to her breathing for a moment.

"You're not actually fooling anyone," said Polly, finally.

There was a pause that made Polly wonder whether Mal had told the truth; that she was fine and didn't need to talk about things, and really, that she was just a little tired and needed to sleep.

But she had seen people who had come back from the enemy's prisons (from the Borogravian prisons, too), had seen some of them flinching every time a door opened, so silent, never speaking of the horrors behind the walls. Polly felt a pinch of (familiar / unfamiliar) dread at the thought of Mal going into hiding like that; she wasn't quite sure how to bear this all on her own.

Polly moved from her lounging point by the window, circled Mal to look into her face. Mal's eyes were open; no surprise there.

"I'm not trying to fool -," began Mal, softly.

"I was in your head, Mal," said Polly.

The eyes closed for a moment. Inwardly, Polly cursed. She really was hopeless at this sensitivity thing, wasn't she?

"I am fine," again, very pronounced.

"Mal, if you need to -" be held, or something, I'm right here.

Now, that was something one didn't say to a vampire. Which was a shame, really, because Polly was already unsure of what to do, or say; she didn't need her alternatives reduced like that.

Polly hesitated, was this maybe the point to get a little manipulative?

Of course it was. "Mal, I'm freezing," she said. Okay, that was a bit of a lie. It was almost pleasantly warm in here. "Look how I am shivering. Because of the cold. Come over? Please?"

"Oh, all right," said Mal. Polly imagined she heard something like relief in there. Mal's usually impeccable somersault, when she got off the rafter, looked almost sloppy. Polly saw her wrists, unmarred yet again (and she remembered; silver, light, dust), and she thought she understood.

Mal had landed on her feet, swaying a little. Polly extended an arm to hold her steady.

"Whoops," said Mal, "almost fell over there, didn't you? Good thing you've got me."

It might have been the tiredness that made Polly say, "Good thing I've got you", without even blushing afterwards, but she did lead Mal over to the bed, where Mal collapsed - in a very dignified way, but still -, subsequently taking up most of the blanket, but that was only to be expected, and in any case, it wasn't that cold.

Polly lay down beside her, idly wondering, yet again, if she was the only one being plagued by memories, if Mal could just shrug this off as a momentary drawback. Polly didn't sleep, and she was quite sure Mal didn't, either.

It took a long, long time - Polly could have sworn that the moon had already set, that the only light now came from the street lanterns outside - until Mal stirred again, turning over to face her, only not really, because she was avoiding Polly's eyes, and -

"Polly?" Her voice was very faint.

"Hm?"

"Would you -", a pause, "would you mind if I - cling a little? Just for a moment?"

Did Mal sound scared? Polly noticed that Mal looked perfectly composed, but that had never meant much.

"Cling away, Mal," she said, taking Mal's hand in the dark. "I'm here."