So, reviews first as usual.
Mad Possum: You sick sick little Limey. I'd kill you, but your compliments did too much fo my ego. You get to live another day.
Big Cat: Thank you so much. I apologize for the wait. Hope it was worth it.
So after such a wait, I'll let you guys go now so you can read this and get to the proper work of killing me out of anger.
Unseen University, the most prestigious school of higher learning on the Disc is an impressively large compound. What made it so impressive was the fact it was a few times larger than it actually was, physically speaking. This surveyor's nightmare was created from the ridiculous amount of magic in and around it. There are entire villages of pasty faced post-grads working on their theses or ornery young instructors actively trying to keep away from students.
It is in one of these small enclaves of cartographic exile a young post grad of the tall and chubby variety lived. His name was Peter Kimmel. Like many young wizards who chose to stay at the school after graduation, and most bivalve mollusks, Peter had found his niche in the realm of highly impractical magic and had made himself comfortable. He specialized in Local Biomantic Engineering of the higher classes of small mammals. His thesis had been making a vegetarian ferret named Charlie, who was a lot like most ferrets save for his mellowness and penchant for plum wine brewed in Peter's cuspidor that the wizard himself didn't use. Peter himself had a small pipe, but was not the nicotine addict most wizards turned out to be. When not enjoying the pretty much never ending smorgasbord of the University's cafeteria or having to put up with Charles' constant monologue about free love and world peace, he was in the library, giving the Librarian a hard time.
Unseen University had the privilege of having a librarian who was capable of not only carrying books in three limbs at a time, but could also cleanly knock out any unruly student that decided to read under the influence of cheap wine with a casual flick of a four-and-a-half foot arm. He was, in fact, a three hundred pound orangutan, a state that he took every pain to stay in. The fellow just didn't know what to do with Peter, though. He was a nice enough kid. He was quietly intelligent, impervious to angst, and was such a slacker no one worried about him trying to do anything so drastic as actually have ambitions, or even goals. The problem was he read too much.
The Librarian got rather annoyed by his constant reading. He could practically hear the words on whatever book the young wizard was reading wear down into nothingness. He often tried to talk to Peter about this, but Peter was smart enough to keep a bunch of bananas with him when he went into the library. This was almost certainly enough to keep the Librarian from taking any action against him for a good amount of time.
But on this particular night in the story, he was sneaking past the University's porters. All the University students knew about the brick wall in the back, but Peter found it was just as easy to walk out of the front door, provided he didn't want to be seen. Peter was exceptionally good at not being seen, as was anyone who lived within the Shades for any period of time. Even the slightly tamer immigrant villages weren't without occasional problems, and unobtrusiveness was a virtue. The porters were laughably easy after his real life schooling.
After finally leaving the University premises, he pulled a bodhran out from his expansive robe. Not expensive. Just big. Most wizards were not good musicians, as magic and music mixed about as well as, well two things that don't mix well. No need to get metaphorical about it. As the reader has no doubt picked up though, Peter was not anything like most wizards.
Though it seems odd, the Kimmels are big fans of authority in general, unless you can evade it. It's for this reason that Jon and Simon were special constables, because they want to make sure that the wossnames that deserve to be caught were.
As it is, they believe that guilds can for the most part shove it where the sun doesn't shine, and Peter was part of an unlicensed band called the Cosmic Whales. On this night, the band was going to play at the Mended Drum, the owner of which didn't mind unlicensed bands because he didn't have to figure guild rates into their payments.
Peter was starting to enjoy his walk. Ankh-Morpork nights were rather interesting in the winter. There were huge mounds of off color slush where young kids made snow fortresses and devised military strategies that no general would have thought of. There is nothing more ingenious and/or cruel then a nine year old boy. Peter had this confirmed when he was pelted from all sides by snowballs and rather dirty jeers. A few of the little blighters even mocked his hat. What has the world come to when a wizard is mocked? Strewth, did that little blackguard put pebbles in his snowballs?! Fighting back the urge to turn the little thingummies into newts, Peter was forced to retreat to an alley. There his karma wrote him another check it would promise to pay back later on in the form of a young thief. Peter was lucky enough to have been jumped by a guild thief though.
"Hello, sir, how are we today?" the thief, a rather nice looking girl of about nineteen said. "If you'd be so kind, this is my first time on the job, so if we could do this without too many problems we could be on our way. If you're interested, we have a number of immunity plans for this month which you might find to be especially useful."
"First off," Peter said, deciding to put this young cut-purse in her place. Who did she think she was anyway, stealing from a wizard? "I happen to be a full fledged wizard, not a student. Now I wouldn't do anything so drastic as turn you into a frog-" then he spun around and promptly kicked the older man who had been sneaking up behind him with a sap square in the knee. "But if you wouldn't mind a bit of advice, don't look over my shoulder while you're talking. It looks a bit suspicious. No hard feelings, Danny."
The older thief, a short and dumpy sort, smiled weakly as he staggered back up. "It's fine, Peter. Shame you or your brothers didn't come to the guild. You would have made grand thieves. Gods preserve us though, Lizzie. I told you to make sure to either maintain eye contact or at least avert your gaze bashfully. And what were you thinking trying to get money from a wizard?"
"Sorry Mr. James," Lizzie said while looking at the ground sheepishly.
"Besides, these guys almost never have so much as a tuppence on em, anyway!"
"When you can turn a man inside out with just a flick of the hand, you tend to get what you want, Danny."
Danny nodded and smiled. "True enough, true enough. Well, I suppose this is it for us tonight. Lizzie, you're getting extra… well, confound it, what's punishment like nowadays? I haven't had an intern for a long while."
"You could dock my pay, sir."
"I don't pay you, Lizzie."
"Exactly, sir."
"I reckon I could have you wash my windows or some such. Maybe help the wife around the house. Anyway, good seeing you Peter. Take care, right?"
"Whatever, Danny," Peter said, smiling. "Take care, Lizzie."
Lizzie looked down bashfully and mumbled something Peter couldn't hear. She was an attractive young girl, very youthful. Peter fought back the remnants of his hormones telling him maybe he should have just been a plumber and settled down. As a twenty six year old wizard, his body was still trying to throttle his brain for what it was doing to it.
"Lizzie, stop mooning over the wizard and get over this wall!"
Blushing profusely, Lizzie nimbly hopped and grabbed the wall's edge before rolling off to the other side.
Peter shrugged and walked into the door, but first remembered to take off his pointy had and slipped off his robe. Under his wizarding clothes, Peter was wearing common slacks and a buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He then stuffed all of the stuff in a satchel he'd been carrying, but it was a painful decision. It almost physically hurt a wizard to part with his clothes, which meant he'd had to part with the authority they gave him as well. But whatever, the band wouldn't be playing for a while and he had someone he wanted to see.
Stepping into the Mended Drum, you could almost see the testosterone wafting through the rafters. The night's brawl hadn't started yet, but everyone was being divided into teams and fellows were getting acquainted with each other. The older guys were also giving tips to the younger men on the finer points of a good bar brawl.
"I recommend a well balanced knife, son," a man with blue whorls across his expansive belly said to a younger man who had a scar on his forehead. " No more then nine inches should be fine. It's amazing the havoc you can reek when you throw one at the band. Never mind aiming though, just watch the buggers dance."
Elsewhere a man with a face like a wild boar, tusks included was talking to a friend. "It's the fingers you gotta watch out for, more than anything. Look here," the man brandished a thumb noticeably darker then his other digit s. "Me and some Klatchian chap both lost a thumb and the Igor got em mixed up. It really isn't a big deal, but I recommend tying colored strings to them, makes it easier on the guy. Gods know he tries."
"So Lidda was trying to get her number eight ball peen hammer but hadn't noticed that Shellie's pottery wheel was still spinning. It probably wouldn't have been such a big thing if she hadn't tripped over the broom handle, but as it was, we had to spend half an hour trying to get her beard out of the thing!" Finally hearing what he had been listening for, Peter homed in on the slightly nasally voice and beheld his two brothers, each with a pint in hand.
"Hey you two," he called to them.
"Well, if it isn't our estranged occult brother," Simon said grinning. "Finally come to repent for your sins against Offler?"
"Stuff it, Simon," Peter said grinning. "Besides, I still make it to evening mass. When I'm not sleeping or eating dinner or I haven't forgotten at any rate."
"Well, whatever bro," Jon said and called for another pint. "So how did your thesis presentation go?"
"Oh it went terrific," Peter smiled. "They were especially impressed when Charlie tried to smoke some of Modo's fungi compost mix and he turned bright blue and started to speak backwards."
"A vegetarian weasel, eh?" Simon said.
"Hey, I passed, and got free tuition, room, and board for my post grad work."
"What are you planning on doing next? A passive aggressive badger?" the priestly Kimmel said to the general mirth of all three brothers.
"Yeah yeah, and how goes your search for the fictitious fang of Offler?"
"Surprisingly well," Simon said, "it was weird, but last night, I got a whole lot more done than the usual amount, but I remember taking a nap and doodling in the margins like I always do. Oh, and here are the new factors." He rummaged through his pack and gave his brother the large folder he had spent all the previous night not exactly working on. Peter thumbed through the pages and contemplated the cartoons.
" What's the deal with the pointy haired baron?"
"He's just stupid and corrupt."
"Oh, so that's why the alchemists are so angry at him. Well, I'll just take these to the Thaumo geeks, like always."
"You don't do too much with HEX, do you?" Jon asked. Though he wasn't all that interested in wizardry, the tinker in him was always rather interested in HEX.
"Me? Nah, I'm too traditional. Someone's got to keep creating new and exciting ways to waste magic, might as well be me. Besides, it's just fun to give those guys some ridiculous idea and watch them scurry about. It's better than watching sea monkeys!"
As the three brothers sat about talking, a rather large hand fell onto Peter's shoulder. Attached to this hand was a body that was shaped rather like a large cow, specifically those special cows that live like kings and get fed beer everyday and have a life which though short, has a better overall experience level than that of a good three fourths of anyone living in Ankh-Morpork.
Peter looked up. "Oh, hey Nik. Guys, this is Nikolas Von Krigzen, Black Ribboner and the Cosmic Whale's fiddle player."
The other two brothers stared at Nik. It is very difficult to look at a fat vampire. It is a complete and utter oxymoron. Your eyes start crossing and darting in different directions as your instincts tell you what you are seeing is impossible. Vampires, as your instincts desperately try to tell you, are sleek and handsome and androgynous to a certain degree. Nikolas was comfortably not any of these things at all.
He wasn't ugly, and carried his weight very well. He had a well trimmed little beard that came to a point, and a round face. He was built like a ball, but his tailor had managed to give his clothes a certain cut that made him look like his extra weight was that of added authority, instead of just regular extra weight. And there is no way he could be confused for anything but a large and slightly solemn man.
"It is an honor to meet zer brothers of our harmonica player" Nikolas said with a little bow. His voice was spot on for a vampire, despite his appearance. He managed to sound as if each letter was hand illuminated and made of stained glass and lead. There was a slight hint of pointed roofs in its timbre. "I hope you vill be enjoying zer show."
"I take it we're starting to set up then?" Peter said as he got up from his chair. The wood groaned in thanks.
Nik nodded. "I shall see you up on zer stage in five minutes. Lucas is setting up as vell."
Peter waved as Nikolas accentuated himself across the floor to the stage. If you can imagine a basketball or a really big sack of pudding accentuating itself across a floor, you can imagine what a sight this was. You probably also get some pretty high quality nightmares.
"Well, it was good talking to you guys. Take care."
"See you at Hogswatch,"
With that he got up and made his way to the top of the stage. Ducking behind the curtain, he beheld the rest of his band. Lucas, the banjo player smiled and waved at Peter. Lucas was a professional candle dribbler, a profession that demanded complete and slightly neurotic concentration. He and Peter became friends when the Kimmel brother went to Lucas's shop to fill an order for dribbly candles. It was amazing how quickly a young wizard post grad could go through those things. At any rate, Lucas's personality was perfect for mastering an instrument as demanding and temperamental as the banjo. "Are you ready to play, Peter?" the young candle dribbler asked.
"Oh, of course," Peter grinned. "Now we just have to wait for Nik to get up here."
"I am ready," came Nik's deep rich voice. He opened up a rather shabby leather case and took out the most beautiful violin Peter had seen in his life. It was black and seemed to emanate a dark charm, much like its player. The violin's catgut strings were dyed blood red. Indeed, there was something slightly sinister about it. It was something you expected to hear as an indicator of one's coming doom. It wasn't something you expected to hear played in a folk fusion band crewed by fat people.
"I know I say this every time I see that violin Nik," Lucas said in admiration, "but I have never seen a more beautiful instrument in my life. It gives me chills."
Nikolas nodded. "It is indeed a handsome instrument. I vas lucky to find it in zer basement."
Peter had a little laugh at this. Nik's family just came to Ankh-Morpork a year ago, and was a member of the new poor aristocracy flooding in from Uberwald. These are people who have almost no land, maybe two or four peasants under them, and crushing real estate debts. Yet somehow, they always have something or another that shows that though they are at the bottom of the rung financially, they are still nobility.
"Well, the curtain's about to rise, is everyone ready?"
"I reinforced Marian's back for the occasion," Lucas said grinning. Like most banjo players, he gave his instrument a girl's name. It's best not to ask why. "And I've got the steel guitar in the back if things get too bad."
"Unless you saw any flasks of holy water or flares in zer audience, I vill probably be fine."
Peter grinned at his motley band. "All right, let's give them Scrotey Jim's Jig. That's good brawling music."
The band nodded. The raggedy cloth was pulled away from the stage, and as the saying goes, hilarity ensued.
It started with the basic laughing and jeering at the band. As the beer started to work its magic, a few people threw mugs at them. These were easily deflected, Lucas even batted one back at one of the fellows who threw it at him. It hit him in the head, and a hearty laugh was enjoyed by all.
Then the man who was laughed at hauled off and punched a guy beside him, who then took his crossbow to the fellow who punched him. Unfortunately, he was drunk, so he merely succeeded at shooting another man's stein to pieces. The brawl was now starting to gain potential energy, waiting for the breaking point. The song was getting to the part where Scrotey Jim, a fine Sto Plains lad, is captured by a young Lancre Witch. I won't go into details for the sake of the children, but suffice it to say that only one particular witch from Lancre would consider what was detailed in the ditty, and she wrote it. Connect the dots, my beautiful readers.
It was at that moment that another crossbow bolt was shot, this time into the band, and found its way into one of the player's chests. The music stopped as the Cosmic Whale's violin player stared at the offending missile. Nik pulled it out nonchalantly, looked at it, and flung it into the man's leg.
"They have a bloody vampire? Sod that!!"
"Ah, shut it, you pansy; you couldn't take a toothless fly!"
"What for then, mister! Put them up!"
The band shrugged and started playing again, and the brawl really started.
Furniture broke, swords were drawn, and the species of various fellows mothers were hypothesized by the accompaniment of the corpulent music makers.
Meanwhile, the other two Kimmel brothers were playing catch up.
"So we're thinking of hosting Hogswatch Night here in Ankh Morpork," Jonathon finished telling Simon.
"You're even getting a coach ticket for Mam?" Peter asked while instinctively ducking as a lighter scrapper was thrown over the bar.
It is a an oft quoted stereotype in Ankh-Morpork that if you happen to be of Lancre stock, have a rather large clan-like family, and have said family ruled over by an old matriarch of a grandmother, your granny is automatically a witch. This is not true. It's fairly common for most old grannies to be regular old ladies of the crocheting and part time distilling sort. Mam, the master of the Kimmel clan, was not one of these normal biddies. She was a witch of some power, and lived in the "foothills" between Lancre proper and the hilly beginnings of the Sto Plains. Sweet as molasses to her grandkids, a dour and obscenity spewing chainsmoking hag to anyone she didn't particularly like, especially her beloved only son and oldest child, Joseph Kimmel. Jon, Simon and Peter's dad had rushed off to work in Klatch very quickly thanks to her. She considers him one of her greatest successes.
"Yeah, but I think she'll find some way to keep the money," Jon said smiling. A large man rushed up to smush Jon into the bar's surface, only to be knocked on the side of the head by a beer mug wielded by his brother.
"Another half pint of porter for me, barkeep," Simon said as he drizzled the dregs onto the man's face.
"Righto, you're eminence."
Meanwhile, the band was keeping busy as well. Though the customers had enough sense not to do anything to Nik, they were willing to take it out on his fellow musicians, but the effect wasn't what they expected. One Hubland warrior found out the damage a reinforced banjo could do during one of Nikolas's frequent violin solos and though Peter couldn't do magic lest his cover was blown, he still managed to get some kicks in, and stamped a few fingers as well.
After the night was through, Peter said bye to his brothers and shimmied up the removable bricks in the University's wall. He counted out five AM dollars, and put them in his satchel. Then he easily made his way back to his little room in his little pocket of UU, and flopped down on his bed. Beside him, a weasel smelling of exotic spices and fermenting fruit looked at him dazedly.
"Hey there, buuuudy," came the slow mellow tone of Peter's post grad thesis.
"Hi Charlie. How was your evening?"
"Pretty goood. A couple of the crows and I tried the new plum wine I set down, and it was juuust right, man."
"Have you been using Thomas's Internal Temporalatron to age your wine again, Charlie?"
"Naaaw dude," the weasel said slowly waving his paw.
"Charlie."
"A little."
"Charlie."
"Okay, we got six more spittoons full, all right, man? Don't get oppressive."
"You messed with the Infinite Universe button to get the extra spittoons, didn't you? That's Thomas's thesis project, Charlie. You shouldn't use it like it's yours."
"You can't own stuff, man. Not any more than you can own the air around you."
"Lady Ramkin owns forty percent of the air in Ankh Morpork. Anyone building more than three stories up in the greater Ankh district has to get her say so."
"And you support those facists, man?"
"Yes. Now appologize to Thomas when he comes in tomorrow, okay?"
"Suuure, man."
With that, Peter yawned and blew out the candle beside his bed. "Okay Charlie. Good night."
"So that's my adversary, eh?" Io said, his eyes swiveling to look at Peter from all sides. "He doesn't seem like a proper wizard to me."
"Hast though looked upon the sword what shall be your downfall, dear Theopalus?" Old George said, his beard caked over with chocolate frosting as he finished his eighth piece of Quirmian Doubly Demonic Cake.
Io's eyes squinted at the old man. "I almost never know what you're saying, but I don't like how you say it."
Om, who opted to sit this one out, looked upon these young small gods. He had been a small god for a while, and realized the gravity of challenging the larger faiths. If they lost, they would make life a living… well hell for them, but if they won, they could do just as much damage. Looking into their eyes, Om tried to discern their nature. Austania's eyes held the disc. The realm of the physical world was her domain. Every insignificant rock, she knew the location of. Nothing escaped her all knowing glance, and Om had the distinct feeling that he should keep his head down and pray she didn't have a ruler. He looked into Michael's and saw two brown feral orbs, laced with a sort of shrewd intelligence. In another age, he would have made a great war god. Then to Old George, whose eyes looked grey. Only when you focused could you see what they really were. On the whites of his eyes were words, flipping along at a ridiculous place, as if he was reading every book in the world at once. If knowledge was power, Om decided he'd rather not think of what the old man was capable of.
And so, the game between Discworld's most powerful gods and this small plucky pantheon began in full.
Another chapter, another pointless navel gazing moment. Review if you would, and feel free to insult me for my ridiculous American procrastination. I shall give a cookie for whoever can insult me the worst. For serious.