[A/N: First off, an apology for those who were hoping for all new material for this chapter. I had intended to incorporate the 'foreshadowing' epilogue from "Dust to Flesh" into this story, and this was the spot. So no, you aren't losing your mind, you have read this before.]

Chapter 3 - The Injured Lord

A large and elegant mansion rises from a well-manicured estate just off Scoone Avenue. Like its inhabitants, it embodies both former glory and a slight aura of wounded pride.

Attend, as we worm our way through a formal entrance designed to intimidate, past purpose-built and strangely uncomfortable seating in the formal sitting room, down private corridors to a spacious if somewhat decadent room smelling of tobacco smoke, dry paper, and old bookbinding glue.

Inhale deeply through the nose, and you might find that lurking below these, and in some ways overpowering them, is the reek of old money and privilege. It is the kind of stench associated with the aggrieved and frustrated self-importance of a lion that has been too long held to second-place in a too-small fishbowl[1].

(Ahem, where were we? Ah yes…)

Sitting behind the ponderous and ornate desk, a self-defined gentleman adjusted his monocle and frowned at his servant.

"So you mean to tell me that this… Lady," his face pinched slightly in distaste at applying the title to her, "LeJean is responsible for extensive damage to my property, totaling… what was the number again?"

"Yes milord, it was over $10,000 AM. And it was only indirectly the lady's fault milord. It seems she stored a large amount of gold on the premises without paying her Thieves Guild dues, and miscreants attempted to steal it." He tensed, anticipating his master's displeasure.

"I see. Harumph," he harumphed." And you have notified this… person that she is responsible for returning my property to its original pristine condition?"

Mr. Feddleman decided that correcting him on the prior condition of the residence would not be in his personal best interests at this point. "Of course milord. She indicated she had the ability to pay for the repairs in the time specified by the terms of her lease."

"Bah. Then why do you waste my time Feddleman? Have it taken care of!"

"Unfortunately milord, there has been... a complication. Lady LeJean has since been kidnapped."

Lord Rust's eyes ceased their aimless appraisal of dust motes and turned toward Feddleman. "Kidnapped eh? Not surprising. Bloody foreigners, wandering around the city with their foreign wealth, flaunting our established traditions[2]. They have no breeding you know, might as well give sausages to savages." Feddleman blinked at that one, but Rust kept going. "Fah, they are almost as bad as those damnable dwarves and trolls." He stood up and began pacing behind the desk. "The ruination of our way of life. That's what it is. Diluting our culture, supplanting the natural order of things. Getting above their station!" His monocle fell loose, hanging from its chain, and Feddleman suspected the topic of conversation had shifted slightly. "Allowing commoners… commoners, to assume titles their family never earned!" He fixed him with a watery glare and paused. "Why are you still here Feddleman?"

Feddleman shuddered. "Er, there is one other thing milord." He took a step back. "It turns out the gold was somehow hidden in the flagstones of the floor milord, and after she was kidnapped the Watch declared the area a crime scene and-"

Rust reared up against the desk, leaving Feddleman grateful for its presence even though the massive bulk of it actually shifted beneath Rust's ire. "The Watch? The Watch?! The Watch has declared my property a crime scene! Is there no end to the insolence of that… that commoner?! That pretender! That… that Vimes!" Feddleman cowered before the sight of a nearly apoplectic Rust. Spittle and foam flew as his master jerked his head savagely. "Enough! Vetinari will bring that thief-taker to heel! This time he goes too far. They declare my property a crime scene because of… because of…" He quieted suddenly, and Feddleman thanked whatever Discworld gods might be listening. "Did you say, Feddleman, that the gold was hidden inside the flagstones of the floor?" His eyes glinted suddenly. "How much gold is there?"

"It-!" Feddleman squeaked, then coughed and cleared his throat, "It would appear something in the seven figure range milord." Rust's face went suddenly unreadable, and he slowly straightened. He walked back to his overturned chair, straightening it and sitting calmly as he polished and replaced his monocle. "I see."

There was a long, pregnant silence as the two men silently counted up various things with lots of zeros after them.

"And you will attest that the flagstone in question was installed there before the property was leased." It was not a question.

Feddleman sagged in relief. "Yes milord. Of course milord." And, he could hope, there would be a sizable commission involved. Well he could hope couldn't he?

"It seems to me. " Lord Rust rubbed his chin. "It seems to me that I do not need to trouble Lady LeJean for the funds to repair my property. For one, it appears that Lady LeJean may not be in any condition to return to the property. Not that a gentleman would wish any harm to a Lady of course." Feddleman nodded vigorously. "And secondly, it does not appear that Lady LeJean has any funds with which to have such repairs made after all."

Rust's eyes gleamed. "Thus it appears that, sadly, we will be forced to make such repairs out of funds that, it seems, I already possessed. Is this not correct Feddleman?" He did not wait for a response. "Yes. Yes do go and call Mr. Slant. I believe I need to consult with him regarding certain... legal questions regarding my continued ownership of a large amount of precious metals that... certain others may seek to improperly claim as their own."

Feddleman made to leave.

"Oh and Feddleman, should Lady LeJean prove to be at liberty after all, you will of course inform her that it will take many months to repair the damage. I'm afraid the Lady will have to seek other lodging." A slight smile creased his lips. "Yes, indeed."

[1] Yes yes we are mixing our metaphors. Fine. It's a LIONfish. Are you happy now?

[2] Traditions such as the venerable "My family has always had all the money and those other families have always been poor, how about we keep it that way?" and "Social mobility? What on earth sort of infernal idea is that?"