[A/N: Thank you all who have stuck with me thus far. I hope you are still enjoying the story and not just slogging through. ;-) Special thanks to my faithful reviewers Fledge, SSC, Bookworm Gal, Barbara, and others. And sorry about the gap before this chapter. I was fleshing out much of the storyline behind the scenes! Cheers!]

Chapter 17 - Interview Without a Vampire

Jessica was in the midst of the most uncanny experience that had ever happened to her, barring perhaps being tormented by otherworldly creatures bent on driving her to suicide.

One moment she was sitting with Miss Susan, discussing strategy regarding Myria's gold. She heard two people enter the bakery and turned to see who it was, and turned back to find Susan… simply not there.

Partially finished tea? Check.

Mostly eaten cake? Check.

Chair? Check.

Susan in chair? Ummm. No.

She actually opened her mouth to remark about this situation and suddenly, very firmly, received the impression… no the instruction, not to do so. She found the command quite irresistible.

Fine. She turned her attention then to the two newcomers, one of whom she had recognized immediately as Stroud, the old sourpuss.

I suppose duty calls. Looks like Miss Susan is going to be no help at all. Rising to meet them, she decided that, having had her fill of talking to constable Stroud long since, she would address the women who, at least, did not appear to be yet another constable.

"How may I help you, miss? It's a bit late for tea, but we have some items that are not long out of the oven if you're interested."

The woman, to her surprise, gave the constable a wink and then turned a broad smile on Jessica. "Why thank you! Actually the reason I am here is because I have heard that this bakery has an amazing secret-"

The constable reacted quickly, actually grabbing the woman by the arm and attempting to turn her right back around and send her out the door while interrupting her with, "That's enough, let's go."

Whereupon the woman quickly added "-ingredientinyourbread!" That stopped Stroud, who stared at her as she finished at a more reasonable pace, "And I just had to try it."

The woman gave the clear impression that, had there been a halo about, she would have been vigorously polishing it.

Jessica glanced back and forth between the two of them. "What? What's going on here, Constable Stroud?" at the same time as Stroud added "What are you playing at, Miss Cripslock?"

The woman, apparently Miss Cripslock, gave what was the epitome of innocent smiles. "I just wanted to sample some of your baking."

Waitaminute, that name is familiar. "Sayyyy…. you're that reporter from the Times, aren't you?"

Miss Cripslock radiated purity of intent like a one-person supernova. "Pure coincidence."

Stroud, for his part, wasn't buying it at all, and removing his hand from Cripslock's arm inserted himself between the two females. "Ms. Knäcke, this is clearly some kind of ploy."

Grudgingly, Jessica had to agree. "Yeah… but still, a customer is a customer. Have a seat Miss Cripslock. Can I offer you some tea?"

Stroud rubbed his face and counted to three, before trying one more time. "This isn't a good idea miss, this woman is-"

"Look," Jessica interrupted him, not unkindly. "I understand you are trying to protect us, but seriously it's not like she's gonna stab us with her pencil."

"No. Worse!" He pointed a slightly quivering finger at the notebook and pen that Sacharissa still carried. "She's going to write down what you say! Every. Word. And then," he stopped pointing and made complex gestures with his hands, "they'll shuffle them around into something you didn't say, but it's close enough that you can't say they lied. It's like those "where's the ball" scams they play with the cups out at the Maul. Except that for this, the commander says we can't arrest anyone." He managed to look indignant.

Wow, she really gets under his skin. Jessica looked Stroud up and down. "That's gotta make you crazy, not being able to arrest someone."

"You think you're being funny, but you're not," Stroud huffed.

"No, I'm a teenager. I don't think I'm being funny, I think I've had enough of being told what to do. Now go. Guard."

As soon as a certain fuming constable was out the door muttering to himself, Jessica seated the reporter as far from where Susan had been as possible, and turned to find her mother already on the way with a selection of cakes.

"Here you go." Rosemarie proffered the laden tray. "Please try a couple. This one, we're very proud of." She displayed several types of bread with samples of different oils and butters.

Nibbling a few, Sacharissa was actually impressed. "Mmm…. this is lovely." She picked up her pen and began scribbling in her notebook. "I can see why you need guards now, it's to keep from being overrun with customers."

Rosemarie gave her a careful look. Jessica was not so subtle and actually snorted. "You're funny Miss Cripslock."

Sacharissa smiled. "Me? I've been told I'm not amusing at all. Repeatedly and, most recently, by several servants of Lord Rust, who refused to speak with me himself."

Jessica found her gaze drawn to the notepad. "Are you going to write down what I say?" She pointed at the offending item.

"Not if you tell me not to."

"Really…" The tone was more of disbelief than a question. Rosemarie just shook her head and returned to the back of the bakery to get out of the line of fire.

"Really. Oh it may cause me to go mad and I may need years of therapy, but if you tell me something off the record, off the record it stays. I can only hope you won't make me suffer for too long before having mercy on me.

Jessica laughed. "Oh you're good, Miss Cripslock."

"Please, call me Sacharissa."

"Oh dear, are you sure?"

"We all have our burdens to bear."

Yes and mine is Safflower. "Yeppers."

The next thirty minutes involved the kind of mental gymnastics that one might observe in a game of Thud between Lord Vetinari and Hex, the Wizard's computing machine. In one corner, a teenager with the kind of stubborn mental agility that comes from years of never actually disobeying her parents while at the same time doing exactly what they wanted her not to do. In the other corner, a young lady who had become the pre-eminent news sleuth in Ankh Morpork, able to ferret out what people did not want to say while making them happy they did so[1].

Each found, to their chagrin, that their primary weapons were useless in this fight. Jessica was not lulled into a false sense of complacency simply because Sacharissa was a female. And Sacharissa responded to Jessica's most barbed sarcasm with calm and reasonable responses. It was a bit infuriating for both, really.

Nevertheless, Jessica would likely have found herself outmatched if not for the periodic impression, and a very pushy impression it was, regarding when she should and should not answer a question. She had a very strong suspicion exactly where those impressions were coming from, and found herself glaring from time to time at the empty chair a few tables over.

The end result was Jessica feeling wrung out and in need of a drink as she watched a somewhat unsatisfied Sacharissa leaving through the open door. Sacharissa had said it was a pleasure, and Jessica snorted again.

"Well, that was interesting. Could I trouble you for some more tea? Mine appears to have gone cold," came Susan's voice from two tables over. Jessica turned to find her, seated primly where she had been before, looking quite innocent.

"How did you do that?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Susan gestured at her cup. "My tea?"

Jessica's fingers flexed and closed against the tabletop. It was a good thing she didn't have long nails, as she would have probably scratched the finish. She took a deep breath, stood up, and went to the back. A minute later she was back with hot water and a tea ball, which she placed carefully in front of Susan, before sitting down opposite her and turning on "the stare".

Susan, for her part, was unmoved. She carefully set the tea to steep and arranged the remains of her cake. Finally Jessica couldn't take it any more.

"You know I'm going to keep asking until you answer me."

A muscle along Susan's jawline flexed, and she fixed Jessica with a look that made her sit back. There was something… uncanny about it. It made her think of lightning and shadows. "Are you sure?" Susan asked.

Playing with fire, that tone said. Messing about with things you don't understand. Jessica quailed a bit, then realized what that tone was really saying…

Want to know what happens when otherworldly power, used to being obeyed meets female teenage rebellion against authority?

Jessica narrowed her eyes. "Am I sure? Miss Susan, I like you. You're… kinda bursar but in a dragony kinda way. But that is the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"Bursar… in a dragony…"

"That means crazy, but in a very cool way."

It wasn't that Susan had never been left speechless. There were numerous times in her adult life that she had been shocked beyond words. But all of them, without exception, had involved someone who was more than simply human. Her grandfather and Lobsang were the usual suspects.

To be 'good morninged[2]' by the teenage daughter of a baker was a new and novel experience for her.

"I… see."

Susan had not had an easy life. Losing both parents at an early age didn't help. Then discovering her grandfather[3] was going to outlive her by, say, the age of the universe and will likely be the last face she sees when her own life draws to a close didn't help. Worse yet, was discovering she had inherited certain abilities and at times was called upon to… fill in. All this had conspired to give her a personality that was very much of two minds.

On the one hand, there was the maniacal desire to be normal. To have a normal life and do normal things. And that part of her resented every single intrusion of her grandfather's business into her own attempts to just live a normal life.

On the other hand, she found the mass of humanity to be petty, often boring, and frankly a bit sad.

The result was that she spent much of her life subconsciously isolating herself from anything approaching family or peers. Oh she had professional relationships with her students' parents, and an uncomfortable truce had been declared with her superiors at her job. And she had a distant and congenial relationship with the council of burghers in Sto Helit.[4]

The result was that her only friends and acquaintances tended to be creatures like herself. Imp who had been possessed by some twisted fate, Lobsang who was the personification of time and in many ways like her, and now Myria…

The fact was, Jessica was probably the first 'merely human' person over the age of ten that Susan had really interacted with on a personal level since her own school days. She was finding the experience not what she expected.

Jessica, to her credit, gave Susan a few moments before she prodded again. "So?"

Susan shook her head. "It's complicated."

Jessica snorted and threw up her hands. "You sound just like Myria."

"Excuse me?"

"She told me the same thing when I caught her talking to a dog named Gaspode. Who, incidentally, spilled it that she's not human." Jessica carefully looked Susan up and down. "Are you one of them to? Not that I care, cause I like Myria. Just curious. I can't picture you ever being one of them."

Susan drew up and crossed her arms, nostrils flaring. "Most definitely not. And did your mother never teach you it's bad manners to pry?"

"Nah, ma never had a problem with being nosy." There was a sound somewhere from the area of the kitchens, followed by a coughing fit, as if to illustrate that fact.

One corner of Susan's mouth turned up. "Perhaps you should take a job with the Times then."

"Ouch."

"Yes well."

Jessica huffed. "Seriously, you're not going to tell me how it is that when Cripslock walked in you were all poof. And as soon as she left you're like wabbo?"

"That's not a word. I'm sure that wabbo is not a word."

"You're trying to change the subject."

"Yes, and you're not taking the hint." There was another long silence as they sized each other up. Susan decided that she would try a smidgeon of honesty. Perhaps it would actually work in Jessica's case. "Jessica," she continued in a softer tone, "I value my privacy, with extreme prejudice. I have some means of protecting that privacy, one of which you just observed. That is sufficient explanation for now." She toyed with her teacup and gave Jessica a very pointed look. "Now, shall we move on to the important matter at hand? That of how much The Times knows, how much they guess, what they are likely to print, and how it will impact Myria and your family?"

"Harrumph."

"That is not a word either."

"Yeah." Susan cocked an eyebrow at her, and Jessica got the distinct impression that a different type of vocabulary was being requested. She sighed. "Yes ma'am."

"That's much better. So, let us summarize. It's clear that The Times has reason to believe that a large quantity of gold is currently in Watch custody, and was nearly stolen from Rust's rental property. They don't know whose gold it was for a fact, but realize there was some dispute based on how insistent Rust's representative was that it was in fact Rust's. But of course, Rust and his lackeys are not giving any further details, which isn't surprising."

"Why isn't that surprising?"

Susan took a sip of her tea. "Ah, well Rust considers The Times to be an inconvenience at best, and an abomination against proper society at worst." One of the few things Rust and I may agree on, she added silently.

"Alright. And they also know about my kidnapping, cause they reported on it when it happened and bugged my parents about it. I still think that's pretty lame. What makes them think the two are connected?"

"Probably just guesswork and timing. First there's the kidnapping and rumors that it's related to the robbery or attempted robbery at the house on Kings Street. And then weeks later, there are suddenly guards around your bakery again. I could see how it would look like a possible story to them. Especially, I am given to believe, since they have heard rumors that your original kidnapping was thwarted through the valiant actions of an unknown 'Good Omnian'.

Jessica leaned back in the chair. "So they don't really know anything?"

"Apparently not, and that's why I mislike them." Susan frowned. "They don't have to know anything. They will print rumor as quickly as they will fact, and all they have to do is put "sources claim" or "it is alleged" and they pretend that's all jolly good. And the things they do to grammar and punctuation." Susan shuddered, almost upsetting her tea. "It's horrid. I must admit, much of my dislike may be prejudicial."

Jessica filed Susan's feelings about grammar away for later use. "So how will this work for us? Or against us?"

"I'm not sure yet, but it's something to consider. At least they don't know about Myria yet, which may allow us the leisure of deciding if and when that would work in our favor.

Sacharissa was frustrated enough when she left the bakery that she even missed a golden opportunity to dig at Constable Stroud a bit more, instead waving at him absently as she collected Otto.

A block or two away, Otto finally brought up the painful subject. "Vell, how did it go?"

"Bleh. That's how it went. I got practically nothing. She'd start to say something and then just freeze as if she were listening to a little voice, and then clam up on me."

"Zo ve are back at square vun then?"

"Pretty much. I know there's a story here. I can feel it."

There was a sound that, to human ears, would have registered somewhere just outside of the range of hearing. It was the sound of dice clattering across a marble surface.

Followed immediately by a deliveryman, looking somewhat out of his element, approaching the two with a look of confusion. "Excuse me miss, do you know where the…" he looked at a scrap of paper in his hand, "Body Street Bakery is?"

Otto tilted his head down slightly so that he was peering over his rectangular tinted glasses at Sacharissa, who raised an eyebrow at him before answering with pursed lips. "Hmm… the Body Street Bakery. That does sound familiar. Let me think." As she pondered the imponderables of life, Otto was carefully examining the parcel under the man's arm. Seeing a hand-signal from the photographer, she snapped her fingers and smiled broadly. "Of course! It is just down the street. I'm sure the Knäckes are eagerly awaiting your delivery."

The man scratched his head. "Knäckes miss? No this one says it's for a Lady LeJean."

"Oh, my mistake. Terribly sorry."

"No harm miss. Thank you for your help."

As the man strode away with renewed purpose, Sacharissa looked a question at Otto.

"Bullvorth's Exclusive Designes. I know of zis place. It iz qvite pricy."

"Otto, I have the sudden urge to do a wonderful and in-depth piece on high fashion and the nobility. And you know, it occurs to me that Bullworth's should be our first stop."

Otto smiled. The hunt was on.

[1] At the time. Then when they read the actual interview they typically go through shock, rage, threats of litigation, realization that she had not actually written anything they hadn't said, depression and at times an untimely meeting with Susan's grandfather.

[2] If you don't get the reference, you have neither read nor seen "The Hobbit", in which case I pity you.

[3] We did mention that her grandfather is Death? Tall guy. Flesh-deficient. Black cloak and scythe? Yeah that one. Long story. Read Terry Pratchett's "Mort" for more info.

[4] She considered at one point appointing an actual Regent. Then she reflected how, when translated into Klatchian by way of Agataean via Omnian, Regent corresponds roughly to Grand Vizier, and determined she could do without the cackling and poisoned food bit.