Chapter 7: Lady Rust invites to tea
Arresting Jonathan Silver had been no more than a routine job for Sergeant Detritus. Few people would feel inclined to argue, if two tons of rock put a hand on their shoulder, even if the associated mouth says: "I arrest you in da name of da law."
"You have da right to remain silent," said Detritus as he escorted Silver up to the watch house. "But I would not choose to do dat, if I was you, because da commander, he is not amused."
Ten minutes later, Detritus knocked - gingerly, so as not to break through the wood - on the door to Commander Vimes' office.
"Come in, Detritus!"
"How did you know dat it was me?" said the troll.
"Just a lucky guess, sergeant. Did you arrest the suspect?"
"Yes, sir. He is down in da cell."
"Let's see what he has to say for himself then."
They descended the stairs, passed through the front room and went down to the cells. Tall John Silver sat on his plank bed with a sullen expression. Vimes blinked. For reasons he could not explain, it had momentarily confused him to see that the suspect had two healthy legs. 1)
Vimes lit a cigar. He shook out the match, took a deep puff and fixed his eyes on the prisoner.
"Tell me, Mr Silver, what happened that day you took the Vetinaris out in your boat? Why did you return without them? Isn't the captain to be the last to abandon ship?"
"I've already told it all to that newspaper woman."
"Have you now? Well, I don't know about Limonum, but in Ankh-Morpork crime investigations aren't led by journalists. What? Oh never mind Sergeant Detritus, he's just taking notes."
In blatant defiance of this claim, the troll stood in the doorway nonchalantly holding a truncheon. John Silver scratched his ear.
"Well, it's as I told that Miss Crisplogge or whatever her name is. We came into some bad weather, and the boat was damaged - "
"Exactly how was it damaged?"
"The tiller broke. Anyway - "
"Can you explain to me, Mr Silver, how stormy weather can break the tiller?"
"Well, it's like - "
"Or shall we assume that is was broken by more, how shall I put it, conscious forces? And while we're at it, can you tell me why damage to the tiller would force you to abandon the boat? In my ignorance I had assumed that skilled sailors could manoeuvre their vessel by means of the sails. But of course you are the expert, Mr Silver. Enlighten me." Vimes blew out the smoke in a leisurely wisp.
Silver gave him a scornful look.
"That's not as easy as you imagine. It's not a thing two men can do on their own, not with that nasty wind and that treacherous current."
"And so you abandoned your ship and your passengers?"
"You have some right romantic notions about sea faring, haven't you?" Silver sneered. "Great ideas about the proud captain going down with his ship? I'm no hero. I had a life boat, so I used it. It's not my fault that the posh lady wouldn't trust her life to my little rowing boat."
Vimes scrutinized the prisoner. True enough, he didn't look like a hero. A skinny man with thin blonde hair and a lank moustache, he sat on his bed like something Harry King's men 2) had left behind. The air of guilt and defiance about him, however, was thick as distressed pudding. 3)
"You know, Mr Silver, this interests me. You told Miss Cripslock that Lady Vetinari was screaming hysterically. I have it on good authority that Lady Vetinari would be very unlikely to behave like that."
The prisoner shrugged. "Likely or not, that's what she did. She wouldn't budge, and in the end we had to leave them behind."
"Ah, now we come to the interesting part of the story. You rowed back to Limonum, a skipper without a boat. A ruined man, one would think. And still the next thing we hear about you is that you go about Ankh-Morpork spending large amounts of Agatean rhinus. Can you explain that?"
Silver's surly expression didn't change.
"I had something put by for a rainy day."
"You must have been expecting some downpour! Agatean gold coins? Damn, you're a fisherman. What did you catch, a school of fish with golden scales?"
"I was left something by my late granny. You can't pin anything on me, mister."
Vimes took another puff of his cigar and blew out the smoke slowly. He glanced at his watch. It was twenty-five to six.
"Very well, Mr Silver. You force my hand. I really regret what I have to do now, but you leave me no choice."
For the first time during the interview, Silver looked worried. "What will you do?"
"I will have to hand you over to Captain Carrot."
1) Internarrative references have an uncanny way of catching people unawares.
2) Harry King's motto was, of course "Recycling Nature's Bounty", and while his business profited from dog muck and dead horses, it must be assumed that he would have drawn the line at recycling humans.
3) If you think this is another blooming metaphor, you're wrong. Go and google "simile".
oOoOo
Rufus Drumknott had just come Home. As usual, he was a changed man as soon as he walked through the door, though the change was not a dramatic one. It was a gentle shift from one state of existence to another, a straightening of his shoulders, a relaxing of his face. He had always kept his professional and his private self carefully separated. During the years he had worked for Vetinari, he had simply considered it appropriate; now with Rust in the Oblong Office, it was a way to keep himself sane.
He sat down at the kitchen table. Elsie kissed him casually, then she put down a plate of steaming potatoes, sausages and gravy in front of him. She stood behind him and ruffled his hair, while he let his head rest against her.
"I'm sorry I'm late again," said Drumknott. "Have you had your dinner?"
"Yes, I was very hungry. I think that is normal it this stage."
He turned his head and planted a small kiss on the rounded belly. Elsie laughed and withdrew with mock bashfulness.
"Don't let it go cold."
"Delicious gravy," he said, as he began to eat.
Elsie sat down opposite to him, resting her chin on her hand, her bright, freckled face turned to him with silent attention. With her other hand, she twisted a curl of her glossy red hair around a finger. Drumknott ate in silence, with slow and neat movements of the cutlery. Each piece of sausage was skewered on the fork together with a slice of potato, dipped into the gravy and then lifted up to the mouth. 4)
"How was your day?" she asked, when he had finished.
He sighed and shook his head.
"It's getting worse. There were forty-eight letters of complaint today, and he just shoved them into his desk drawer. He keeps his pipe in his in-tray."
"That is terrible," said Elsie loyally.
"And he leaves the lid of the ink well lying about on the desk. The report about the Guild of Exotic Dancers was full of ink stains."
They looked at each other silently, while they both contemplated the horror of this.
"But haven't they been banned, together with the seamstresses?" asked Elsie.
"They have. The report was about the protest staged by their customers. There seem to be more protests going on in the city now than businesses operating. If He knew about this…"
Drumknott's tone made it quite clear that "He" was a very different person from "he". He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
"Elsie, I fear it is all my fault."
"Nonsense, Rufus, how can it be your fault?"
"His lordship would have never gone to Limonum and out on a boat trip, if he hadn't married Miss Winter. And he wouldn't have married Miss Winter, if I hadn't encouraged him."
"Really?" exclaimed Elsie and leaned forward eagerly.
"Oh, I had watched them tiptoeing around each other for months. She behaved very much like you, you know, I could see that she was in love with him, but she tried so hard not to show it. And he really didn't notice. It was strange, he had always been so astute, but in this case he was more of a fool than I had been."
They smiled at each other in reminiscence of their own courtship. Elsie stretched out her hand across the table, and Drumknott took it and gently stroked it with his thumb.
"Anyway, it wasn't my place to say anything, of course, but one day his lordship actually asked my opinion. So I gave him some cautious encouragement."
"You never told me."
"No, that would have been indiscreet while it was all still up in the air. And later on, with Miss Winter having gone away and all that, I just forgot about it. But there is no reason not to tell you now. I was the one to cheered his lordship on, so to speak, and if I hadn't, he might never have pursued her further and then he would still be with us…"
"Oh, Rufus, don't be silly. I cannot imagine Lord Vetinari needing your encouragement to court Miss Winter. He is such a splendid man, and always so confident."
"He didn't think of it that way, Elsie. He thought that she didn't care for him and that he was too old for her."
"And what did you say to him?"
"Not very much, just, eh… just to have courage, I think."
Elsie shook her head slowly and patted Drumknott's hand.
"Stop worrying about it. It is not your fault. They would have found each other regardless. Believe me, that's the truth. Very few lovers need somebody to sort things out for them. We didn't, remember?"
Drumknott smiled.
"Yes, I remember. Elsie, do you really think I needn't blame myself?"
She rose, walked over to him and embraced him. He leaned his face against her, while she stroked his hair. Suddenly he jerked away his head.
"Ouch!"
Elsie laughed and caressed his cheek.
"I'm sure you can stop blaming yourself now. If you ever had the slightest bit of guilt, somebody has given you a good kick in the head for it, and now we can consider it done with."
4) Elsie didn't know about 5-a-day, and vegetables would have just made things messy.
oOoOo
The be Trobi islands were, to put it mildly, remarkable. They shared a sunny climate with other regions close to the rim, but the sunny disposition of the be Trobi people was fairly unique and due to a combination of favourable factors not found anywhere else on the Disc. In other parts of the world a leisurely lifestyle was only achieved by those who had the means to employ subordinates for all the work. The subordinates had a disagreeable tendency to resent this, which often lead to unpleasant events like revolutions.
The be Trobi never had to work for more than a couple of hours a day, unless they wanted to. The outdoors was at any time of the year so hospitable, that their houses were small and contained little else apart from beds. Therefore household chores played a very minor role in the lives of the be Trobi. Food was so plentiful, both in the form of fish in the sea and fruit on the land, that they rarely had to do much more than stretch out their hands to get dinner on the table. The commodities of the more materially minded civilizations were purchased from the Agatean Empire, because the be Trobi were, in spite of appearances, unreasonably rich.
Nature, always willing to do the whimsical thing, had provided them with some uncommon resources, two of which were the basis of their considerable wealth. Oyster beds lay conveniently placed in shallow coastal waters, and the diamondwood forests on the slopes of Mount Awayawa yielded a timber so durable and attractive, that the Agatean merchants were willing to trade it for the finest fabrics, kitchenware and iconographs. 5) It was actually surprising that the be Trobi even bothered with the rubber plantations. 6)
The third great gift of nature was one that the be Trobi kept to themselves. In the sultry swamps at the foot of Mount Rahuaruaha grew a flower - in abundance, for this was be Trobi - of great potency. It could be called a lotus, though the be Trobi called it "that exquisite flower growing at the foot of Mount Rahuaruaha, that fills the mouth of the widow with laughter and tickles the loins of the cross-eyed youth." The effect of this plant was astonishing. All it took was a couple of lotus flowers, chopped up and added to the big communal bowl of fruit salad which the villagers liked for their breakfast, and yet another day of happiness lay ahead of them, unsullied by worries or undue introspection.
Blessed with easy access to all necessities of life and in the absence of any hardship, the islanders had nothing to complain about, and to the amazement of the gods, they didn't. Even childbirth was easy on be Trobi. Thus the islands were a haven of peace and contentment, where voices were raised only in song and fists clenched only during the Nohuihuinono game. One might think there would be a drawback. There wasn't. There weren't even mosquitoes. It had pleased Nature to create a paradise, and she wasn't going to mess with it.
For Vetinari and Angelina this meant a calm and relaxation hitherto unknown. Since there was nothing for them to do other than wait for a ship, they were forced to take a holiday. In fact, the calm and relaxation were so complete that they became almost irritating. For the Vetinaris were free from the effect of the lotus flower. They did not partake in the communal breakfast after Angelina had cast a suspicious eye on the plant and informed her husband about the narcotic propensities of this species.
"Aha," said he. "That explains how they can be attending the same festival every evening, socializing with the very same people they have spent the entire day with, without showing any signs of ennui. But since we need to keep our minds clear, we'd better abstain from these mood enhancers."
And so Worry and Introspection saw their chance and pounced on the Vetinaris. They could not help imagining all the things that might be going wrong back home. Watching the overt contentment of their hosts only seemed to fuel their irritation. There is nothing as effective as seeing a bunch of very happy people to make one dwell on one's own problems. After less than a week of walking along the beach and sitting under palm trees, they were hungry for some other occupation to stop their minds from brooding.
Angelina got hold of a sewing kit and mended their clothes, though the hot climate meant that she was usually seen in nothing but her knee-long linen chemise, while even Vetinari walked about in rolled-up shirt sleeves. One day he found Angelina busy with some of the bright fabric favoured by the be Trobi. She had cut two small triangular pieces and was in the process of hemming and connecting them with purple ribbon.
"What are you making? Some kind of loobla trap 7)?"
"Wait till I show you, it's almost done."
She finished the last few stitches and demonstrated: The two triangular pieces of cloth covered her upper half and were held in place by the ribbons fastened on her back. There was a matching short skirt. Angelina beamed at Vetinari, as she held up these items.
"It's a swimsuit. So I won't have to worry about 'the strange loneliness that come from desire to shut out eyes of friendly neighbours'."
"Do you have a name for it?"
"Well, it leaves a lot of skin uncovered, particularly the knees, and it comes in two parts, so maybe 'bi-skin-knee' would be a suitable name."
He rolled the name around his mouth for a moment. "Well done for not calling it 'a comfortable form of attire that lets the sweet winds caress the navel' or something like that."
"Thank you"
"But the garment will never catch on. Why have you painted your face green?"
"It's a moisturizing mask. I made it with coconut milk and some herbs Kamauri gave me."
"May I ask why?"
She looked up at him, her eyes two circular human windows in an oval of green goo.
"Dearest Havelock, you didn't think a complexion like mine comes naturally to a woman of thirty-six?"
As time went by, they spent less time with each other and more with the villagers. Angelina attached herself to a group of younger women around Kamauri, with whom she explored the island and swam in the balmy sea. Vetinari sought out the only person who might be considered in the same line of business. At first he tried to speak with Ka'adburi Ba about matters of politics, but the Alibi, whose main purpose was to preside at the almost perpetual festivities in the village, had little use for his lordship's advice, and so they settled for playing the Nohuihuinono game.
In that manner they spent their days separately, and at night they sat together outside their hut, talking and watching the moonlight on the sea. Rarely did they join the islanders for their evening's entertainment. The be Trobi sense of humour after a few bowls of palm wine was more than either of them could bear.
5) They had in the past offered dis-organizers, too, but for some reason the be Trobi did not want them.
6) In fact, they considered the production of Troglodyne-free rubber their contribution to the international community.
7) The be Trobi looblas are small endemic mammals with oversized paws and bushy hair on their ears. They have a habit of crawling into people's beds at night and placing wet noses against any exposed areas of skin. The be Trobi didn't mind. The Vetinari's did.
oOoOo
Sybil Vimes stifled a yawn. It seemed unfair that she would be so bored before she had even entered the room. However, there was nothing for it. She would have much rather taken a walk with Young Sam, but she knew where her social duties lay. However much she was repelled by the prospect of taking tea with Lady Rust, she was going to give the woman her due, and she was going to do it gracefully.
The footman opened the door for her and announced her arrival to the ladies inside. Hermetia Rust rose to greet her.
"Sybil, I am so glad you could come to our little party. What a charming outfit!"
"Is it?" Sybil looked down on her generic tea party gown and shrugged. "Well, thank you."
"Do come and sit down. Can I offer you a cup of tea?"
"Oh, I'll have coffee, please, if you don't mind." She knew that the other ladies would consider this not quite refined enough, so it suited her very well.
Regina Selachii moved the corners of her mouth upwards as a form of greeting. Sybil nodded to her and returned the warm, if somewhat vacant smile of Benelisse Venturi. She received her coffee in a cup hardly bigger than a thimble, and stirred it with a spoon the size of her little finger. She sighed. Why was this considered good breeding? If she had dropped in at the watch house, she would have got a decent mug.
Had the conversation of the other ladies been worthwhile, she might have felt less resentment about the time she was kept away from her pens and from Young Sam. But none of the three had the remotest interest in dragons, and she found their discourse tedious beyond measure. She allowed her mind to drift while continuing to make little affirmative comments from time to time. It was technique she had learnt from Sam. Nodding and smiling she occupied herself with mentally going over the breeding programmes for the forthcoming year. A particularly high pitched trill from the mouth of Regina Selachii brought her back to the present.
"Well, Hermetia, I cannot tell you just how delighted I am to see you as First Lady of Ankh-Morpork! It is really a position that is only adequately filled by a highly-born woman such as you are. I shudder to think what might have - but let us not speak about that."
"Indeed," replied Hermetia, patting the hair at the side of her head, "let us not speak of unpleasant things. I am very glad that my Ronnie has eventually received the recognition he deserves. I know it is only temporary, at least for now, but I think people will be very satisfied with the policies he delivers, and then I am sure he will be given the post permanently. 'Acting Patrician' is a somewhat belittling title, don't you think?"
"No doubt. But in a way we should be glad it all happened the way it did. You hear strange stories about Lord Snapcase's death. At least this time everything is above board, no mystery and no foul play."
"I wonder if Sam agrees with that."
Three heads turned towards Sybil sharply.
"Whatever do you mean, Sybil?"
"Oh, nothing in particular."
She wasn't going to say any more. It had been enough to get them worried. Not much later, she made her excuses and hurried back home.