Chapter Eight
In which a turnip a day fails to keep the doctor away and Madam interrogates anyone unlucky enough to be nearby
Madam left the Palace with what those who knew her would recognize as an extremely smug expression on her face. That is to say, the casual observer might have noticed the barest hint of a smirk around the curl of the corner of her mouth.
She stepped smartly into the coach and told the driver to take her to the Lady Sybil Free Hospital. The name itself was promising, she thought, as the coach jolted along. Clearly this Dr. Lawn had been connected to Vimes in some way if he'd named the hospital after the man's wife. A childhood friend, perhaps? In any case, it didn't seem like Havelock had sent her on an entirely wild goose chase, since, at the very least, her own sources had informed her that both hospital and doctor existed.
And she hadn't promised not to turn her other attentions to Louisa, which was just as well, since she found breaking her word distasteful, although she did it often enough. Especially with family. After all, Madam thought of herself as a sweet, loyal, loving aunt who only manipulated the rest of the world out of a genuine desire to do good. That is certainly what she would have told anyone who asked.
Unless it was more convenient to tell them something else, obviously.
It was a short ride, but the sky had darkened from the dark slate of twilight to an impenetrable sort of darkness, tinged with orange where the clouds reflected the city lights back down to the ground, and looked faintly sinister. She ignored it. Ankh-Morpork was probably the least psychotropic landscape on the Disc.
The hospital was a sensible, square sort of building on the corner of the block, with a large sign in front embossed with the name of the institution. She regarded it for several moments before entering.
Striding through the front room with more aplomb than a Lipwig on a warpath, she quickly located Lawn's office and knocked, politely.
The door opened, and she caught a glimpse of a thin, intelligent face belonging to a man who looked to be about her age, though he didn't carry it as well as she did, before her attention was drawn irresistibly to what appeared to be the world's largest syringe. It was loaded with some clear, greenish, slightly sticky looking liquid.
He stepped to the side and nodded to her. "Good evening. Is there something I can do for you?"
"Why, yes," said Madam, stepping inside and offering him a charming smile. "I am Lady Roberta Meserole, Doctor, and I was hoping -"
She was interrupted at that moment, however, by a second set of footsteps approaching
History likes neatness. It believes, at some level, that neatness really gives it credibility as a holistic concept and makes it more acceptable, even respectable, in the eyes of its customers (i.e., historians). This is probably a result of all the noise it hears made over those happy coincidences that led, for instance, to the downfall of the S'ang dynasty(a).
It may be just looking for attention, really.
Whatever the reason, Lady Sybil herself was the owner of the footsteps. She greeted them brightly, did an almost unnoticeable double-take when she recognized Madam, and asked in a slightly brittle voice whether Dr. Lawn would be so kind as to come to Pseudopolis Yard?
The good doctor frowned and nodded. "If you'll excuse me, Lady Meserole..."
"I will wait, of course."
Lady Sybil looked at her curiously for a moment, but did not seem inclined to argue differently. She turned on one heel and headed off, taking it very much for granted that he would follow. To be fair, he did actually do so at once, but it still revealed something of the Lady Vimes' basic character to Madam's discerning eye. It wasn't surprising. She was a Ramkin, after all, and Madam knew something of the history of the family, which was, true, mostly to its credit, but notable for its production of... ah... call them natural leaders.
Yes.
She looked around the office without much interest. It was a small, neat room not much molded by its owner's personality; if anything, it suggested a lack thereof. Pity, she liked to get a feel for a person's character before meeting them, and she eventually decided to take a brief, unscheduled tour of the rest of the hospital, in the hopes of more useful information.
He'd taken the syringe with him, she observed before leaving, but she thought nothing of it at the time.
(a) The Seventh Dynasty of the Agatean empire, usually remembered for its completely child-appropriate limericks. The most famous starts like this: There was an empress from HungHung...
---
Igor was having difficulties.
Igors, on the whole, aren't natural psychologists. They don't hold with all that fuzzy, "talk about it" perspective. In their view, if it can't be solved by lightning and, in drastic cases, transplants, it's not worth solving at all.
This view did not appear to be approved of, however, by the various more squeamish officers who were in charge. Igor had protested that Vimes would have been perfectly alright by now if he'd just been allowed to try out a new, very popular technique introduced by his cousin, Igor, with assistance from his cousin, Igor, which was already yielding high success rates and earning them lots of accolades and plenty of money to put rubber gloves(a) on the table. It involved, admittedly, a turnip, but that was Progrethth for you.
Captain Carrot and Lady Sybil, however, had been polite but firm. No brain transfers, no lightning, and certainly no turnips. He'd tried sulking about it, but no one had noticed the difference between his petulant expression and his smile, so he'd given it up, in a blacker mood than before.
To be precise, he corrected himself, conscientiously, in a state of higher adrenaline than before caused by negative electric impulses in the limbic system...
And now they'd brought an Ankh-Morpork doctor in.
Dr. Lawn was also less than happy about the situation. He was not a stupid man. He was perfectly aware that Commander Not-Keel, while suitably grateful for his services to the family and also for his continued lack of questions or commentary, would be less than happy to know who exactly was supposed to be curing him, because he was a Watchman and naturally suspicious.
And there was the other thing, which was currently resting in his briefcase. He gripped the handle of his bag a little tighter.
Vimes was sitting on the slab. He appeared to have calmed down considerably from the state of agitation Lady Sybil had described, and was staring blankly at the wall with an expression of blissful unawareness of the rest of the world. Lawn waved a hand in front of his face, by way of experiment.
Not even a flicker. Hmm.
He turned to the young man who even he recognized as Captain Carrot. "Are you sure Constable Igor hasn't done anything yet?"
He'd tried to keep any accusation out of his tone, although some must have crept in from the way the man looked at him, with sincere concern on his face. Well, it wasn't his fault. There was an Igor working in the Lady Sybil Free Hospital's basement, after all, and that was all that needed to be said to anyone who had previously encountered an Igor.
Wonderful people, of course, but... singleminded sorts.
Metaphorically speaking.
"No, sir. Igor would never do such a thing without permission, I'm sure."
Youare, aren't you thought Lawn. He kept his thoughts to himself and shrugged instead of speaking.
"Do you need anything, Dr. Lawn?"
Mossy couldn't remember if he'd told Carrot his name yet. Oh well. No doubt Lady Sybil had mentioned it.
"Not yet. I'll just... have a look first..."
"Call me if you need anything," said Carrot, with perfect seriousness, and withdrew to the room where Vimes' wife was, Lawn was sure, waiting in a reasonably composed manner.
Since he was, for all intents and purposes, alone(b), he opened his case and prodded the syringe for a moment. The greenish stuff inside slid about too slowly for a normal liquid.
He shook his head and turned back to the Commander.
There wasn't much to go off of. He took the man's pulse, peered at the inside of his ears with the funny little Makes-A-Bright-Light-And-Reflects-Things-At-Hard-To-See-Angles device, a genuine da Quirm his Head of Nursing Staff had made what he considered to be a rather pointed gift of last Hogswatch, and tried to communicated a few times. He prodded him in various enlightened and scientifically accepted ways. Vimes, who seemed to be practically comatose, didn't so much as blink.
Lawn tried a series of trigger words. Sybil. Sam. Young Sam. Vimes. Even, after a while, Keel.
Nothing.
"City? Ankh-Morpork?" he said, wearily.
A twitch, maybe. It was so fast that it was hard for even an experienced doctor to tell whether it had been there at all. More encouraging than anything else in the last half hour, though.
"World? Disc?"
Again, the faintest of flinches.
"...planet? Er..." he tried to think, then stopped, because it clearly wasn't working, and decided instead to just scale up "...er... Universe?"
Pause, then:
Vimes screamed, in a blood curdling fashion.
Once Dr. Lawn and his hemoglobin had both recovered, he discovered that Vimes had returned to his previous inanimate state.
A careful observer might have noticed that the air around Lawn's ear was turning blue. This was because the swear words he was refraining from uttering were escaping through other outlets.
(a) Although his cousin Igor was getting some funny ideas about weight loss, and was now arguing that rubber gloves were fatty and cholesterol-inducing. He was now subsisting on a supplementary diet of erasers. Constable Igor didn't see the logic of it, modern though he was; what was the point of dieting when you had all the tools for a liposuction ready at hand?
(b) Vimes didn't count. He was clearly on another plane of existence entirely.
---
Madam was genuinely impressed. The nursing staff had completely failed to respond to her "I know exactly what I am doing here, and that is the only thing that matters in any way shape or form whatsoever" look, but had instead tried to get her to donate with any means possible up to and including physical threats.
You had to admire them.
Admiration, however, did not stop her from making some suitably pointed comments about the quality of the serviced in 'This Place'(a) and issuing a few only barely more subtle threats concerning law suits and financial crises.
Nurse de Iceberg(b)had promptly seen her Threats of Financial Crises and raised her a Threat of Public Scandal, when the much-tried doctor had arrived on the scene, looking resigned, and broken up the small skirmish, to the disappointment of the watching janitors.
"You are a brave woman," he said, deadpan, before quickly putting on what, if she were to hazard a guess, was probably his official face. "Although of course I will not hear a word said against the nurses, wonderful women to the one. What was it you needed?"
"Could we speak in your office?" said Madam.
"I suppose so, yes."
They walked in rather heavy silence. Dr. Lawn looked at her curiously from time to time.
Once they were in the office and the door had closed behind them, Madam said quietly,
"To tell you the truth, Dr. Lawn, I did not come here to discuss anything particularly medical."
"Oh?" said the doctor, looking somewhat distracted. "What is it, then?"
"I was wondering what you could tell me about Commander Vimes."
There was a silence that went on for slightly too long. Thank you, Havelock, thought Madam.
"Commander of the Watch? Duke of Ankh? I helped deliver his son," said the doctor, carefully. He sat down with exaggerated carelessness. "Why do you ask?"
"I was directed here by the other people I have made enquiries with."
Now that was an excellent phrase, she thought, satisfied, keeping an eye on his expression. It was just as well she'd had a chance to practice her threats on Nurse de Iceberg.
"I see," he said, after another awkward silence. "What was it you wanted to know, exactly?"
"Oh, I don't know. Whatever seems relevant."
He made no comment on this blatantly dishonest sentiment.
She decided to try a different tack. "I wonder, Dr. Lawn, if you remember the Glorious 25th of May?"
He reached for a pen, and looked up with a perfectly crafted blank face. Madam was once more mildly impressed. She supposed she should have expected it. If he hadn't been practiced in keeping things a secret, there was no way the details of the... mystery would have remained suppressed up to this day.
She was perfectly content that it should remain that way, in general terms. In specific ones, however...
"Yes," he said calmly. "I most certainly do."
"Really? What do you remember?"
"Your Ladyship..."
"Please call me Madam."
He seemed to deliberate for a moment, before coming to some sort of conclusion.
"I was a doctor then, as now - Madam. I was being... ah... paid for my services to the rebels. I have some fairly vivid memories."
"Goodness," said Madam. "How exciting. Did you know... what was his name... that Sergeant..."
He gave her an incredulous look. "John Keel?"
"Yes, that was it."
"He rented a room from me, for about three days. Before the Revolution." He was speaking more sharply now, and she made a note to tread carefully here. It was a sore subject for her, too, but she was better at hiding it. She had years of practice. But this was extremely promising.
"Oh? I know he was one of the ringleaders..."
"The ringleader, Madam."
"Quite so."
"Did you know him, too?" The question was fast, out and hanging in the air before either of them could think. The expression in the doctor's eyes was that of very sincere dismay.
On the other hand, sometimes honesty was the easiest way. And, more relevantly, the best one.
"I met him. Once," she said shortly.
Lawn was the one waiting this time.
"And I was wondering, because although I've never met His Grace before, he was... most familiar. Please be frank, Dr. Lawn. What exactly do you know about... them?"
"Who are you?"
"I am many things, Dr. Lawn. Havelock's aunt, among others."
It took him a moment to work this out, but when he did Madam was rewarded with a blink.
"The Patrician?"
"That is the Havelock to which I refer, yes. Now will you tell me, sir?"
He looked at her for a full minute, and then he told her.
(a) Madam had a talent for injecting all the scorn, disgust and pity that comes with the words "What a nice job you've done on this hovel. All things considered, I mean" into any given phrase as it became convenient for her. She'd once achieved the same effect with the words 'And this is your palace?' Doing it to the innocent phrase 'this place' was the work of a moment.
(b) By a curious coincidence, the nickname Madam gave to that formidable lady was almost identical to the description used by Postmaster General Moist von Lipwig. In fact it was, through some strange twist of fate, the only name(c) the woman was ever referred by by any enterprising patient or relative thereof; her real name was never discovered by anyone at the hospital, that was for sure. Dr. Lawn, who was technically her boss, called her "You" or, more often, "Er... Quick! Look over there!"
(c) With slight variations, naturally. Examples include: Iceberg-woman, Ship-killer, and She-Who-Floats-Innocently-Through-Major-Shipping-Lanes.