Chapter 11 - Fools Gold

Between the lingering head ache and her despair, Myria had little interest in conversation as Vimes escorted her out of the building and back to the waiting coach. Leaving one watchman to board the café back up, he ordered the rest back onto the coach, one with the driver and one on the sideboard, and entered with Myria.

He was solicitous regarding her well-being, but that was of little consolation. Instead she withdrew into her own thoughts, barely hearing him.

Which will it be? Will he take me to the bakery, keeping the gold? Or will he detain me in the cells, now that he knows what I am capable of? Either way, I am in no better condition than before, and perhaps worse.

Have I made an error, in not remaining in the cemetery as I was? Was living simply a foolish desire, one that for my sins I cannot be allowed?

Round and round her thoughts went in this vein, her mood becoming bleaker as the coach rumbled through the streets of Ankh Morpork and Vimes, realizing she was not listening, also lapsed into silence.

It was only the sudden cessation of movement and a "We're here, LeJean," that startled her out of her private suffering.

Composing herself as best she could, she allowed Vimes to assist her from the coach with what dignity she could muster, and took in her surroundings.

It was the Watch House. Pseudopolis Yard, if her memory was not faulty. Her heart sank even further. So it is to be this, then.

Fighting against a wave of nausea, she found herself unable to move for a few moments, until Vimes gently took her arm. "This way," was all he said, and she blindly followed him into the building.

Inside, she felt exposed and vulnerable. The large common area, scattered with desks, was practically full of watchmen. The presence of so many officers, with she in their midst and at their mercy, reminded her horribly of where she had been mere weeks earlier. Of furtively running from alley to alley, terrified that her fellow Auditors would fall upon her and end her existence. Though most of the watchmen here were ignoring her, each one that didn't made her feel like prey.

Something nagged at her senses in particular, and she felt her gaze drawn, against her will, to the left where she met one set of eyes in particular. Flinching, she instead looked at the floor.

It was the sergeant. Angua had been her name, and the dislike in her expression now was obvious. So was the implied threat in her eyes. Myria's arm ached at the memory.

Worse and worse. Taking a deep breath, she managed to face the Commander again. "I suppose our destination is the detention cells?"

Vimes looked surprised. "That was the intent, yes, but I didn't expect you to be in a hurry to get there."

"Why should we delay?" she imagined she could feel Angua still glaring at her, whether it was true or not. "I would prefer not to defer it."

She heard the Commander yell for someone. "Fred!" A watchman hurried over, rather on the large side. He and Vimes had a quick and quiet conversation, and the man nodded and moved away.

"This way." Myria found that Vimes continued to be businesslike but considerate. That at least was better than she expected. Working their way through the busy room to the stairs, they descended to the lower cells. Several of the ones on this end contained other prisoners, including a set of dwarves under direct guard by an unamused human constable. They appeared to be trying to include him in a sing-along.[1]

Had she known that this was the same path that Jonathon had taken mere weeks earlier, and the same location where Jessica had initially been brought, it might have cheered her slightly. The next door had another dwarf constable guarding it, and he unlocked it quickly and opened it as Vimes and Myria approached.

Beyond was a row of empty cells. At the far end, one seemed full of stacked objects. It was a bit difficult to see, however, because the way was mostly blocked by a huge troll.

"Constable Bluejohn." Vimes nodded.

"Command'r Vimes Sir," the troll seemed to think for a second, then saluted[2] and moved aside.

When they reached the cell, and Vimes unlocked it, Myria realized that the cell was full of flagstone. A lot of flagstone. Enough flagstone, in fact, to cover the floor of a rather large and well appointed sitting room. Rather nice flagstone. And deceptively flagstone-like. But Myria knew them well, and what was inside them. Silently she cursed them in her heart, then took a breath. "So, I am to be kept here, with these? I would have to see them every moment." Torture!

Vimes eyebrows went up and he seemed confused. "Kept here? Woman why would you want to be kept here?"

Despair gave way to exasperation. "I do not!" She waved her arms, the most emotional expression he had seen from her. "I assumed I was to be detained. Why else would you bring me to the cells?"

Vimes looked surprised, "I didn't think you were listening to me in the coach." His face softened into sympathy, then indignation. "LeJean, you are not under arrest. I told you before you had not, as far as I could tell, committed any crime." She flinched at that, and he noted it. "At least no crime that I am aware of." He pulled out a silver cigar case and rubbed his thumb across it. "I'm not even detaining you for your own protection. You're free to do as you please."

Now it was Myria's turn to be shocked. She felt it wash over her in a wave of relief, one that left her feeling lighter and slightly dizzy. "Then why? Why are we here?"

"Because you suggested it, remember?"

She realized with some surprise that this was true. "Then… you assumed I wanted to inspect these." She motioned to the pile.

"Well, yes. Since we were here. Though I thought you'd rather rest some first. That little performance at the crime scene seemed to take a lot out of you."

It was as if he were speaking a foreign language. She ran back through everything that had happened, trying to reconcile what she thought was occurring with what he was saying. None of it made sense.

"But…" her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping, "you took my gold from me. I thought you intended to confiscate it and…"

She stopped as she saw the expression on Vimes' face. His jaw tightened, she could see the muscles bunching and almost hear his teeth grinding, and his eyes narrowed.

Even worse, she heard a grating noise, like two rocks being slid across each other, and turned to see Constable Bluejohn looking at her and frowning too.

"Ma'am. Der Command'r don't take nuffin from nobody 'cept he gives a slippa paper what says der Watch has it." He thought for a second, then gave a careful nod and turned to Vimes. "Beggin yer pardon Command'r."

Myria turned to see that, somehow, Bluejohn's observation had drained some of the anger from his face. Taking her by the arm again, this time somewhat less gently, he nodded at BlueJohn and led her out of the cells, through the back of the main room, up another set of stairs, and into a sparsely decorated office. Closing the door, he turned back to her, and she stepped back from the look on his face.

"Lady LeJean, I know you've been through a lot recently," he rumbled as he dragged a cigar out of the case, bit the end off, and with a slightly shaking hand, lit it.

He is very angry with me. Like Jonathon was, but not like that Angua person was.

Vimes continued, "and I saw the state your parlour trick left you in." He drew the smoke into his mouth, and blew it out, taking some of his indignation with it. "So I'm going to forgive you for making what I consider a stupid assumption."

Stupid? Myria felt her face redden and a surge of chemicals flooded her bloodstream. It made her feel… suddenly alert and no longer someone's victim. Did this human… just call me stupid? "Sir Samuel," her voice seemed to have something wrong with it. It was vibrating in an odd way, "I am not stupid. I am perhaps the most intelligent cr- person you will meet." Her hands curled into fists, and they seemed to be demanding she fling them at something. "It is not correct to call me stupid just because hu- people do not use correct words."[3]

Vimes stood for a second, cigar held up to his mouth and smoke trailing from one open corner of it like he was about to breathe fire on her. She wondered for a second if he would strike her.

Then one corner of his mouth crooked up slightly, and he barked a short laugh. "Well," he managed, then lowered his cigar and turned his back for a few moments to lean against the desk. She could not be sure, but it appeared his shoulders were shaking slightly.

Have I driven him to some sort of physical malady? The change in his behavior took some of the… intensity out of her own reaction as well. She felt the previous surge of fierce energy fade rapidly.

Finally he turned back around, his face carefully blank. "Lady LeJean, I do believe I've finally found the second thing you will stand up for."

"I am sorry?" It is impossible to keep up with him, she pouted to herself. He changes direction in his thinking before I can understand what he is saying.

He smiled slightly. "Don't worry about it. Let's start over." He held out his hand. "Name's Sam Vimes, Commander of the City Watch. You can call me various things, and at this point you may have a few in mind, but I suspect you'll prefer Sir Samuel."

Myria looked at him, completely confused. Perhaps she had, indeed, caused him mental injury. It appeared to include short-term memory loss. Would it be best to go along? She carefully extended her own hand, and he shook it gently. "I am Lady Myria LeJean." She considered for a moment. "You may call me Lady LeJean."

Vimes seemed to struggle for a second with controlling his face, then nodded. "Very well, Lady LeJean. You are here, in my office." He swept an arm. "Such as it is, under your own power. You are free to come and go as you please, though I ask that you take at least one of my men with you."

Carefully Myria turned this information over in her mind. Alright. "Thank you, Sir Samuel. May I ask, then, what the purpose was in bringing me here, instead of returning me to the bakery? And why you took-" she carefully reconsidered of her words as she saw a dangerous glint in his eye, "temporarily took possession of my gold after implying that I could have use of it?"

Vimes gestured to a chair in front of his desk, and walked around to sit in his own. Several stacks of paper were upset in the process, and he studiously ignored them as they toppled to a larger mess on the floor in that area.

"That is a good question, Lady LeJean, and one deserving an answer. My purpose in bringing you here was because I wanted to get a feel for exactly what kind of person you are, and I didn't want to do that out on the street. As for why I took your gold and put it in my own pocket?" His smile broadened "My thoughts were, at that moment, that you," he pointed at her dress, "had no pockets, my lady."

Myria looked down at her dress, very much lacking in pockets, and felt very, very stupid.

[1] "No no no… it's Hi Ho. Hi Ho. Not Hi Lo Hi Lo. And that better not have been a try at humor, because our tempers are a bit… frayed! I was going to say frayed!"

[2] And impressively did not knock himself unconscious in the process.

[3] And strangely, she felt a sudden urge to hiss and make horrible swallowing noises. Since she already knew what the nasty Vimes had in its pockets, she resisted the urge. Oh yes she did, Precious.

[A/N I know this is a short chapter, but it was there, and the ending of it just begged to be the ending of the chapter. I hope you enjoyed it!]