It looked like the celebrations were still going by the time Sweetpea got to The Gumbo House. The rowdiest thing a gang of clerks could manage was open several bottles of champagne and get slightly tipsy. So as it was, the guild school alumni table wasn't even the loudest table in the house. Sweetpea, dressed in her blue abaya again, waved to John. He'd spotted her as soon as she walked in.
"Sweetpea, glad you could make it!" he exclaimed. "I saved you a seat just in case." He patted the empty chair next to him. "We got a huge pot of gumbo to share."
"Do you want some, Hakim?" asked Ash Parker, holding up the ladle. "I think it's got beef in it, although it's hard to tell. Can you have that?"
"Yes, thank you, Parker. Offlians are forbidden from eating broccoli, and in any case I'm not practicing," said Sweetpea. I'm not annoyed, she told herself. Look at me smiling. I'm not annoyed.
"Okay," said Parker, and filled a bowl to the brim. "Pass this down to Hakim, will you?"
The bowl made its precarious way down the line of clerks to Sweetpea, who took it without spilling more than a few drops. It smelled amazing and tasted even better. She hoped this wasn't going to cost too much—nobody had told her when she was going to get her first paycheck.
"So, were you working at the stand today, Sweetpea?" John asked her.
"No, I was actually working somewhere else," Sweetpea said carefully. She wasn't sure how John was going to react. He wasn't from the upper-class and didn't hold their prejudices against the Watch, but he was probably going to have some opinions about her choice.
She looked up from her bowl of gumbo and realized that the rest of the table was watching her. They all knew her. They had all been to the Hakim Klatchian Coffee Stand at one point or another. Damn. This wasn't how she wanted to tell John at all.
"I, uh, got a job with the Watch. I'm going to be their new Press Liaison."
"The Watch?" scoffed Aksel, which was just typical.
"Isn't that kind of, um…" John paused, trying to navigate through a minefield of a conversation, "A step down? For you?"
"I don't think so," Sweetpea retorted. "And I'm enjoying it so far."
Don't get angry, she thought. They already think you're too opinionated. Don't be "sensitive". Be civil, and hopefully they will be too.
"Once I'm off my probation I'll get my own office," she said. She forced herself to spoon a few bites into her mouth. All around the table, glances were being exchanged. "It's the first time anyone's ever held this position. They sort of invented it for me."
Well, that wasn't quite true, but around this crowd it didn't hurt to brag a little.
"They've already got A.E. Pessimal," said Parker from the end of the table, "But if having more clerks makes the Watch smarter, then I say we should all join."
There were a few laughs, and Sweetpea relaxed somewhat. She couldn't convince them all of the Watch's competence, and she'd already defended her new job today. That was entirely enough workplace loyalty for an employee's first day, thank you very much.
Sweetpea was just about to turn to John and ask him about his job offers when a familiar voice made her stop dead.
"I see you lot started without me. Bad form."
Sweetpea turned slightly in her chair to see Chelsea stomping over to the table to join them. In her usual deference to traditional clerking clothes, she was wearing a flannel.
"Hello, Marjoram." The chorus came from the people around the table who liked Chelsea, or at least pretended to. Chelsea dragged a chair over and crammed herself into the empty space right next to Sweetpea. Sweetpea turned frantically to John.
"I didn't know she was invited!" she whispered.
John shrugged helplessly. "Somebody else must have told her," he said.
"Hello, Sweetpea," said Chelsea, feigning an air of casualness. "Hey, pass down a bowl of that gumbo, will you?"
That was Chelsea. Whether people liked her or not, she shaped the world by her force of personality until they respected her. Sweetpea had never been able to master that. Whenever she got mad, people just tuned her out. When Chelsea got mad, they really listened. She made them listen. In some ways, it had been better when they were together. People hadn't bothered her as much back then, and when they did, Chelsea would threaten to "take care of them". Sweetpea didn't like all the fuss being made about her, but it was at least nice to feel protected. That was partly why it had been so hard to leave.
"So, Sweetpea," said Chelsea while she tore into her gumbo. "I didn't get the chance to ask you yesterday. What's this new job of yours?"
"She's working for the Watch!" piped up Aksel. Sweetpea sighed, but not too loudly.
Can I arrest Aksel? She wondered. What could I get her for? Behavior likely to cause a breach of the peace? There's about to be a breath of the peace in a minute, because I'm going to finally haul off and punch her one.
Chelsea sniggered. She actually sniggered. "The Watch? Five years of guild training and you become a copper on the first day out of school? Come on, Sweetie, you can do better."
"Don't call me that," Sweetpea said quietly.
"It's only a nickname," said Chelsea. "I wouldn't dare call you a pet name anymore, because you'd complain. You're so eager to act like we've never been more than friends."
The table had fallen into an uncomfortable silence. Sweetpea would be embarrassed if she wasn't so angry.
"I don't want to talk about this right now," she said. She was proud of how little her voice shook. "Not in front of all these people."
"And that's another thing!" said Chelsea, letting her spoon fall into her bowl with a clatter. "You always care what other people think about you! It's not like these lot are strangers, we've known all of them for years—"
She swept her arm wide, to indicate the table of now thoroughly embarrassed clerks, and the back of her hand caught Sweetpea right in the face.
"Ow! Offler's teeth!" Sweetpea swore, holding a hand to her eye. Chelsea always did have a mean right hook on her, even if it was unintentional. And it was unintentional—she immediately jumped up.
"Oh my gods! Sweetpea—I'm so sorry—it was an accident—"
She tried to reach out, to console Sweetpea, but Sweetpea got up so fast her chair fell over.
"I don't care if it was an accident," Sweetpea hissed. "I don't ever want to see you again. Stay away from me."
She spun around on her heel and stormed out. It was a good storm, too, but she couldn't appreciate it because of the pain in her eye. That wasn't going to look good in the morning. Chelsea had never hit her before, intentional or otherwise. It still wasn't the worst Chelsea had hurt her. All the things that Chelsea had said when Sweetpea told her she wanted to leave—that had been the hardest to bear.
Sweetpea couldn't tell whether her face was hot because it hurt, or because she was so upset. Either way, the cool night air felt good on her face. She stood outside the restaurant for a little bit, indecisive about where to go. If she went immediately home, Hasan would surely want to know what had happened to her face. And if she said it was Chelsea, well… Hasan never approved of Chelsea, but Sweetpea didn't give him much credit for his judge of character. It had mostly been because she was a girl.
"Hey!" The door to the restaurant opened again, and there was John. "Are you okay?"
Sweetpea took her hand off her eye and tried to smile, but pain went shooting up the side of her face.
"Ooh," John winced. "Your eye is all red."
"I wouldn't expect anything less," Sweetpea sighed. "I'm sure it'll be bruised in a few hours."
"Come on," said John, offering his arm. "I'll walk you back home."
Sweetpea gratefully took the arm and leaned into him. Right now, she needed somebody to comfort her. Suffering in silence was all very well, and good for building up the internal supply of spite, but Sweetpea found that a friendly shoulder was better.
"Everyone got really mad at Chelsea after you left," he said as they started down the road. "A lot of them already don't like the way she treats you, but they were too polite to bring it up."
"I think the word you're looking for there is 'cowardly' instead of polite," said Sweetpea. "There's a big difference."
John opened his mouth and shut it again. Sweetpea squeezed his arm.
"I don't mean you, John. You being there for me after we broke it off was part of the reason I was able to leave her. That was a big help."
"I'm glad," said John hesitantly. Sweetpea looked at him hard.
"There's a 'but' on the tip of your tongue, isn't there?"
"Now, don't take this the wrong way, Sweetpea," said John. They passed a seamstress, who looked disappointed when she saw that John had a lady on his arm. "I was glad to be a friend for you while you were going through a rough patch. Breaking up with Chelsea hit you hard, and I know I was one of the few people there for you at the time. But that doesn't mean you should…well…"
"What are you getting at, John?" snapped Sweetpea. She already didn't like the tone he was striking.
"What I'm getting at," he said wretchedly, "Is that I'm not into you, Sweetpea."
"Great Offler," Sweetpea exclaimed. "I'm not. Did you think I was?"
Okay, so that wasn't entirely true. She had been trying to work out her feelings for John for a while now. She didn't like him for being some type of white knight that swooped in and saved her from Chelsea. That had been almost all her, anyway. John had only helped afterwards, while she was recovering.
"Well, it sort of seemed like—" John said, digging himself deeper.
"What, did you think I was so grateful for someone to get me out of my awful relationship with a woman that I'd run right into the arms of the guy who helped me?" Sweetpea demanded. "Because I'm not into guys, John."
Was that strictly true? She didn't know.
"I am," John blurted out.
Sweetpea stopped dead. Because she was still holding onto John's arm, he had to stop too. He looked at her with something approaching panic in his eyes.
"Sweetpea?"
"No, it's okay," she said, shaking her head. "I should have known." She started walking again, pulling John along, a sudden spring in her step. "And don't worry! How on the Disc could I be mad? There are so few of us as it is."
John looked as though he was going to melt with relief. "You're the first person I've told," he said. "I've known for months. I figured you would be happy for me, but it was so hard to tell you anyway."
"I know how that is," said Sweetpea. "I never got around to telling either of my parents."
They were nearing a poorer neighborhood; close to Sweetpea's building. She pulled John to face her.
"I can get home from here," she said. "Thanks for walking me this far. And thanks for telling me that you're—you know."
She kissed him on the cheek. He smiled and then pointed to her eye.
"You should got something cold on that," he said.
"I know," she sighed.
Sweetpea steeled herself for the explanations when she got to the Watch house the next day. Sure enough, Haddock gasped as soon as he saw her from the front desk.
"Hakim, you didn't get into a fight, did you?"
Dars and Fittly, sitting at desks conveniently close by, immediately jumped up to see. Damn coppers and their natural inquisitiveness. She had to admit that her bruise looked awful—it had developed into a proper black eye overnight. The ice that Hasan had gotten from the stand for her hadn't helped. What was worse was the fact that he didn't give her a lecture on Chelsea—Offler knew he'd given enough of those—he just looked sad.
"If it was a fight, it was a bit one-sided," Fittly remarked. "Or should we see the other guy?"
"Shut up, Brian," said Dars. "Who did this to you, lance-onstable?"
"Just an ex," Sweetpea mumbled. It wouldn't do to lie—she just had to get it over with.
"An ex did that to you?" said Haddock, looking horrified.
"We should all go 'round while we're off-duty and beat him up," said Dars, smashing one meaty fist into her palm.
"Or, Dars," corrected Haddock, glaring at her, "We could get him for assaulting a Watch officer. That's a few years in the Tanty."
"Ooh, even better," said Dars, her eyes gleaming.
"Really, it's fine," said Sweetpea. She tried to surreptitiously make her way to the locker room, but Fittly and Dars were blocking her way. "It was an accident. She didn't mean to do it."
The room froze, and that was when Sweetpea realized what she'd just said. The universe had lulled her into a false sense of security after her conversation with John last night. The Watch was famous for being accepting, weren't they?
Well, most of the Watch.
Fittly unfroze first.
"'She'?" he repeated, with an uncertain smile. "Does that mean that you're qu—"
"Fittly!" Corporal Flint bellowed from upstairs. Either Sweetpea was really lucky, or trolls had very good hearing. Although—Flint's door had been open yesterday, hadn't it?
Fittly groaned, and dragged himself across the floor towards the stairs. On his way past, Sweetpea heard him mutter,
"If I have to go through sensitivity training again—"
Haddock continued as if nothing had happened. "Accident or not, we can bring her in if you want to press charges.
"I don't," said Sweetpea quickly. "I want her out of my life."
"Is beating up totally out of the question?" asked Dars hopefully. "I don't have a problem hitting girls, especially if they beat up other girls."
"She didn't beat me up, Constable Ironcrust," said Sweetpea. She finally managed to sidle between Dars and the desk. "It really was just an accident."
"You know you can't punch everything, Dars," Constable Haddock said from behind her.
"I can on my days off," Dars replied stubbornly. "Oh, and Hakim, be careful in the locker room. I saw Fittly ducking out of there earlier this morning. He was probably putting his customary 'Welcome to the Watch' gift in your locker."
"Great," said Sweetpea, and viciously opened the door to the back hallway.
A few minutes later, she re-entered the station proper, wearing her full uniform and smiling oddly.
"Something wrong?" Haddock asked her.
"Not at all," said Sweetpea, and then she laughed. "Just the opposite, in fact."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small packet. Dars and Haddock leaned in to read it.
"Akmed's Genuine Messyman Curry Powder," Haddock said aloud. "Er, yes?" He looked up at Sweetpea nervously. She was grinning. This was not the usual reaction to one of Fittly's pranks.
"It's actual curry powder," Sweetpea said. "Not whatever crap Morporkians flavor their swede with. He must have just gone into a Klatchian grocery and bought the first packet of curry he saw. The joke's on him, because this is the good stuff. Dars, didn't you say we have a mess?"
"We do," said Dars slowly. She and Haddock exchanged a confused look.
"Well, it's going to get some use on my lunch break," said Sweetpea happily. "When do I go on patrol?"
"Actually, it's your turn for desk duty," said Haddock, consulting a list. "You'll get the hang of it pretty quick. Sign out anybody who's going on patrol, and then sign them back in when they return. If anybody comes in, address their problem and send them back to one of us. I'm going on patrol with Fittly, but Dars will be here if you have any questions."
Fittly came clomping down the stairs right on cue. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, heaved a sigh, and turned to Sweetpea.
"I'm sorry for pranking your locker, Lance-Constable Hakim," he said mechanically. "And for making any insinuating comments against your person. Can we go now, Haddock?"
"Just waiting for you, Fittly," said Haddock innocently. Fittly yanked open the door and stomped out. Haddock followed, but paused to wink at Sweetpea before closing the door behind him.
"That was exciting," said Dars. Sweetpea turned her chair around to look at the dwarf constable. She was very pointedly not doing her report, and instead had her feet propped up on her desk. "So, you're queer, then?"
"Uh—"
"Oh, it's okay. I can say it 'cause I am too."
"I didn't know that was how it worked," said Sweetpea weakly.
"Oh, yeah. Believe me, it's one of the least offensive words I could use."
"I know," said Sweetpea. Oh, she knew. It was amazing the number of synonyms for "a woman that likes a woman" she'd heard over the past few years. "Is it—is it easier, being a dwarf?" she asked hesitantly. "Two people with beards go around, nobody questions them."
"I don't know, I've never been anything other than a dwarf," said Dars frankly. "I can see what you're getting at, though. Surprisingly enough, most dwarfs don't seem to mind."
"Don't they?" That was surprising. There had been enough of a hubbub when female dwarfs had started to "come out".
"No. Most dwarfs start courting before they know each other's sex anyway. There have been plenty of same-sex dwarf couples in the past, not just ones that say they're both male. It's okay, though, because they can always adopt. Don't get me wrong, there are still complaints. But do you know what I say to those?"
"What?" asked Sweetpea. She could guess.
Dars grinned.
"Bugger 'em."
Fittly and Haddock returned from their patrol late, looking exhausted and dragging along two boys that couldn't have been older than ten. Both boys were griping loudly, and Haddock had to raise his voice to be heard over them.
"Saw these two throwing stones at windows. Took us quite a while to chase them down."
"When you find out where they live, I'll send Hakim over to get their parents," Dars said.
Haddock looked around. "Where is she?"
"On her lunch break. She's in the mess."
Fittly sniffed the air. "Is she…cooking something?"
"I think so," said Dars blithely.
"Yah, copper!" shouted one of the boys, and kicked Fittly in the shin. Fittly hopped away, clutching his leg and yelping. Haddock took the little boy by the shoulder and crouched down to his level.
"That's assaulting a Watch officer, my lad," he said. "Try it again and you'll have more to worry about than your parents being angry."
The boy stuck out his tongue.
"Understood?" Haddock said.
The boy withdrew his tongue and nodded. Haddock got back to his feet and grabbed the other boy's shoulder. Fittly was leaning against a desk, theatrically nursing his shin.
"Help me take these two hooligans down to the cells, just for the sake of our own sanity," Haddock said
The two boys were taken away, protesting loudly. Only moments after they'd gone, Sweetpea entered the main room, carrying a huge pot of something steaming. Her braid was coiled up into a bun, and her face was red from the heat of the kitchen.
"I thought I heard the boys come back," she said. "I've made Messyman curry with chickpeas." Dars pulled a bowl out from gods-knew-where and eagerly joined Sweetpea at the pot. "We had some rice, too, so I thought I'd mix it in."
Dars stopped in her tracks. "Are you sure that was rice?"
"Well, I put it in boiling water and it inflated like rice, so I'm guessing it was a safe bet." Sweetpea banged the side of the pot with the ladle, and Dars glared at her.
"Don't sass your superior officers, lance-constable."
"Yes, ma'am," said Sweetpea, not even bothering to hide her smile. She took the bowl from Dars and scooped a generous helping of curry into it. Despite their stature, dwarfs could always put away an amazing amount of food. "Wherever were you hiding this bowl, anyway?"
"Ah, you never know when people are going to give you free food," said Dars. She produced a tarnished spoon from somewhere in her breastplate and began to shovel curry into her mouth.
"Do people normally walk into the Watch house with food to give you?" Sweetpea asked, bemused.
"Not until now," the constable said through a mouthful of food.
There was a great clattering from both sets of stairs, and Constables Fittly and Haddock came into the room just as Corporal Flint came down from his office. The corporal was holding a pink clacks sheet between his thumb and forefinger.
"Everyone listen up," he said. "Pediment just brought in dis bulletin from der Yard. Der Sto Kerrig Three have been sighted in town."
There was a gasp from Fittly, and Haddock and Dars exchanged worried glances. Sweetpea was left feeling left out in the reactions department. Although, something that made watchmen nervous was almost guaranteed to be bad news.
"Who are the Sto Kerrig Three?" she asked.
"Haven't you read the papers?" Fittly demanded.
"We didn't hear much of the news in school," she said. This had bothered her—surely clerks were supposed to keep up with the times, to know current events? There wasn't much chance to leave the school grounds, what with classes, studies, and the strict meal schedules. A few of the older students, Sweetpea included were able to make it out about once a week to buy gum and cigarettes from the stand on the corner. Sweetpea or Chelsea would usually get the other something while they were out. Chelsea liked Jolly Sailor Tobacco, and Sweetpea liked reading the Klatchian-language edition of the Times. It was good practice.
Fittly shook his head, but it didn't seem like much more of an explanation was forthcoming on that front. Haddock explained. "Back in March, there was a string of murders in Sto Kerrig. The Watch there didn't know what to do—they'd never dealt with anything more serious than lace being stolen. Luckily there was a Sammie over there. Corporal… Glodsson, wasn't it, Dars? He was able to find out that three blokes had done it. The newspapers across the plains started to call them the 'Sto Kerrig Three'. But they were never caught."
"Now that they're here, they will be," said Dars confidently. "That lot in Sto Kerrig don't know what they're doing, even if they did have an Ankh-Morpork-trained dwarf. Did the Yard send a description of them, Corporal?"
"Not gonna send iconos by clacks," rumbled Corporal Flint, "Not when dey can send dem in der mail. Dey'll be pictures posted by dis afternoon, I expect." He sniffed the air. "Did somebody cook somefing?"
"That was me," said Sweetpea. "Constable Fittly bought me some curry powder, so I made everybody curry. Although I've sort of lost my appetite now."
"Dat was nice of Fittly," said Flint, raising a craggy eyebrow.
"Yes," said Sweetpea, smiling sweetly at Fittly. "It was."