Chapter 27 - Choosing Names

The next few days were a frustrating mixture of relief and maddening anticipation for Myria. On the one hand, she appeared to have an actual advocate, which had at one point seemed an impossibility. And she had been able to repay the Knäcke's previous loan of $500 and her advocate's retainer, now that she had a letter of credit from the bank.

On the other hand, Susan had send her a clacks telling her that it was going to require days and perhaps weeks to undo the 'klatchian knot' that Vetinari had instigated, she was sure, in Sto Helit.[1] As a result, she still wasn't sure she could be relied upon to serve as Myria's panel choice. When Myria contacted Mister Hardlee regarding this concern, he had responded dismissively.

"We still have over a week before the panel can convene. That's the rules. There are at least fifteen things that will go disastrously wrong without worrying about whether this might go wrong."

She did not find that reassuring.

The only reason she was able to cope with what she was identifying as the 'stress' of the situation was because Jonathon was clearly improving daily and Jessica was, by now, back to her former bubbly self. In point of fact, Jonathon was now able to take short walks without serious pain, and was spending several hours a day sitting in the bakery chatting with Myria and his family as they worked.

The only real smudge on the proverbial picture was that both she and Jonathon noted his uncle's disapproval at the slightest interaction between them, and the glower deepened by the day.

"Lord Rust, it has been several days, and you have not yet notified me of your choice for the panel of peers."

Rust waved his hand dismissively. "I fail to see the need. You have already confirmed that that woman has been unable to obtain an advocate for the hearing." He gave a small, smug smile. "I understood that without an advocate, the decision defaults to my claim. The gold is as good as in my possession."

Slant coughed, ejecting a moth and two earwigs in the process. He chose his next words carefully. The client, no matter how incorrect, is always right[2]. "Your grasp of the legal aspects is inexpressible as always, my lord. Be that as it may, precedent requires that a panel issue the recommendation, even a default one, to the Patrician. Without a representative, on the panel, you would be at a severe disadvantage."

Rust's smile had faded, and his eyes began to glaze over as Slant, in his mind, babbled on. "A gentleman doesn't concern himself with minutiae. Just get to the point."

If he had still needed to breathe, at this point Slant would have heaved a sigh that would have made the wind through the trees look pathetic. As it was, he merely closed his eyes for a few moments, then opened them.

"My lord, if you do not choose a representative, then you lose the hearing."

"Why didn't you say that in the first place, Slant? Bah, then get Lord Selachii. He's always reliable." Rust removed his monocle and polished it, the matter fully resolved in his view. "By the way, have you any idea who she will pick?"

"I had expected she would request the Duchess of Sto Helit, though we would of course have objected on the grounds she is not Ankh Morpork nobility."

"A pity she has no true nobility to draw upon in her hour of need. Sto Helit." His lip curled slightly. "A glorified cabbage-exchange with pretensions of grandeur. Just as well then." He thought for a moment.[3] "What happens if they do not name someone?"

"As I mentioned previously, then the two remaining panel members would make the recommendation."

"Excellent. There should be no concern then. They are unlikely to obtain a panel representative, and they cannot find an advocate. Any rumors who Vetinari will choose as the city's seat?"

"Apparently he has…" Slant shuddered "bent the rules somewhat and requested a tenured staff member of Unseen University for that position. I cannot say that I approve of his decision. There are some grounds for filing a protest."

"Bah, it doesn't matter. Wizards are more interested in the next meal than matters such as this. I'm sure he'll agree to whatever Lord Selachii recommends."

"Your confidence in the absence of verisimilitude is of epic proportions, Lord Rust."

"Thank you. Now go, earn some of that outrageous retainer that I pay you."

"Do you know, Sam, we received a clacks today from Sto Helit?"

Sam Vimes paused, fork halfway to his mouth, but kept his gaze fixed firmly on his plate. "Really."

Sybil sighed. "You're doing it again. You know it's perfectly natural. And you insisted you agreed with my decision not to use a wet nurse."

Vimes bit his cheek and put his fork down. "Yes d-"

"Don't 'yes dear' me, Sam Vimes." Her voice went up a few decibels. "You-" There was a squeaking noise from torso level, and Sybil Ramkin-Vimes visibly calmed herself. "Sam, it's part of the wonder of life."

Sam rubbed his face. She was right. And he should just be glad that, after a very difficult childbirth, she had recovered quickly enough to even manage it. But as a first-time father, he was fascinated by his son's unerring ability to choose the most embarrassing times to demand a meal, and afraid he'd make some sort of social stumble by even noticing. So he tried looking everywhere else other than… where business was being conducted at the moment.[4]

He cleared his throat and very pointedly looked his wife carefully in the face, trying to mentally blur out everything going on below chin level.[5]

"You were saying something about a clacks from Sto Helit?" Vimes changed the subject, then paused as the words worked their way back through his own ears, past the sound of young Sam adding body mass.

He remembered hearing somewhere that the kids these days were reading[6] these things called 'musings'. De Worde had started including them in the back of his news paper. Vimes had, out of morbid curiosity and assuming it was the one part of The Times that wouldn't upset him, perused it for himself.

The 'musings' seemed to consist of three or four frames of poorly drawn figures acting out some scene. Usually it involved a kid pulling one over on adults, or talking animals pulling one over on each other.

One in particular had caught his eye. The Amazing Hedgyhogg was the story of a talking hedgehog, who went around stopping miscreants by rolling into a ball and barreling into them. It was created by someone named G. Ogg and contained, he felt, several references that could be interpreted as on the 'riskay' side.

But the thing that had really caught Vimes' attention about this particular character was that when danger threatened, Hedgy would feel a tingling sensation in his spines, warning him. He could imagine how that felt at this moment. His spine was tingling all to blazes.

"Wait. Let me guess. It was from the Duchess of Sto Helit."

"How did you know?"

"A little hedgehog told me."

"Sam, you really do say the most adorable things."

"I won't in a minute. What did she want?"

"She seemed to imply you owed her a favor, and mentioned something about needing a peer to sit on some hearing panel."

"The LeJean hearing. Hah." He picked his fork back up and mulled it over as he chewed. "As much as I sympathize with LeJean, what makes her think I have the time, or would want to spend hours listening to Slant drone on?"

Sybil smiled. "Oh I agree, you are far too busy for that Sam. Besides, she was actually asking me. It all sounds rather intriguing."

Fork back down. "Absolutely not."

"Sam."

"You aren't well enough."

"To what? Sit behind a table? And keep your voice down."

Vimes flailed around mentally. "The dragons need you."

"You know very well the gels have been tending to all that for months now."[7]

He gestured at his son, comfortably nestled in acres of bosom, forgetting to be embarrassed at all. "What about young Sam's schedule?"

"I'm sure we can work around that, or just work with it."

"Work with it? You mean have Sam in the room with you?" Vimes jerked his head, trying to keep his voice low. "No. He might… he might end up having to listen to one of Slant's adventures in twisted logic. Who knows what that would do to the brain of my only offspring. He might end up becoming a lawyer." He shuddered. "I don't want him within-"

"Sshhh." Sybil made cooing sounds and rearranged the baby before continuing. "Sam, you're being unreasonable. Besides, it's my civic duty, and it sounds like jolly good fun."

Vimes buried his face in his hands. Once Sybil pulled out words like "obligation" "duty" and "wouldn't it be jolly fun" he knew he was doomed.

"Jonathon, I should obtain alternate lodgings."

Jonathon was propped up in his bed, trying to find a comfortable position. His chest still ached fiercely by the end of the day, but he was tired of lying flat for hours at a time. He patted Myria's hand sympathetically.

"It's my uncle isn't it?"

Myria nodded. "Yes. In part." She smiled slightly as she continued. "It is also because every morning I awaken with insufficient circulatory fluid in one or more limbs. Jessica utilizes an entire bed, regardless of her intentions each evening. I am finding it uncomfortable and I feel…" she considered various word choices, "constrained and unable to rest properly."

"I've noticed. What you are suffering from, Myria, is a lack of space to call your own." He squeezed her hand slightly, and she decided it was a nice feeling. "But you can't go back to the house on Kings Way. Isn't that place still a disaster?"

"That is correct. And the owner's representative has made it clear that I am unwelcome there until I have paid for the repairs, and my advocate has said that I should not do so until after the hearing." She chewed on her lip, realized she was doing it, and stopped. "I have made arrangements to return to the lodgings I had used prior to that."

"La Extravaganzia."

It had been a difficult decision for her. On the one hand, there was some comfort in the familiarity of the location and that seemed important. She had considered a new hotel, but the unknown aspects of it were daunting. On the other hand, there were also a few unpleasant memories associated with it. Like her former nightmares and what she had been trying to accomplish at the time. In the end, she had opted for it, and mitigated some of the bad memories by requesting a suite as different from the prior one as possible.

"Yes. It is merely across the river, and Cheery has said she will escort me to and from each day. I will stay there while I seek other lodgings."

"I guess it's for the best, at least for now. But I'm going to miss seeing you flopping around on the floor in the mornings," he laughed.

"Jonathon!"

"Well, it is kind of cute." He sobered. "I'm sorry about my uncle. I've tried talking to him, but he just gets more upset and says he's trying."

"I understand. It is not rational; it is an emotion thing. I believe that perhaps, if I am absent for portions of the day, it will reduce his anger."

They both sat quietly for a few moments, and Jonathon noted the bag just outside his doorway. "So you are sleeping there starting tonight?"

"Yes. Cheery is downstairs."

Jonathon reached up and caressed her cheek gently. "I really will miss you. It was comfortable, knowing you were just a room away."

Myria felt a weight on her chest. "Yes. This is difficult for me. It feels almost painful." She analyzed the feeling and realized, with a start, that it was similar to how she had felt, when she first became human and tried to discorporate and return to the other Auditors. That slight tearing sensation, a resistance.

"Don't worry, it's just a hiccup. We've gone through worse." Jonathon smiled ruefully. It was infectious. Myria felt her own mouth turning up at the same time as her eyes started to sting

"Yes. We have. How can I feel both happy and sad at the same time? And my eyes are leaking again."

There was a slight sound from the doorway, followed by a snort. "It's because you love him, you goof."

Myria and Jonathon gasped and turned to see Jessica standing there, looking both mischievous and sad at the same time. "Jessie," Jonathon warned.

She smirked a little, but her voice cracked when she continued. "You love him, Myria. Deal with it."

Myria shook her head. "What if you are wrong? Emotions are difficult to quantify. I have nothing to compare to."

Jonathon, however, tried halfheartedly to stop the conversation right there. "Jessie, that's enough."

"Oh can it, cousin. You two are going to dance around this for weeks if I don't give you a push. Seriously, you're no better at this than she is. And Myria, trust me, I'm sure. You've got all the classic signs. Face lights up when you see him. Want to spend every waking minute together. You even laugh at his jokes, even when you don't get them." Jessica laughed. "You're not fooling anyone with that, by the way, but bravo on the attempt." She pointed an accusing finger at her cousin. "And he's doing the same thing."

"I swear, Jessie, I'll-"

"What are you going to do? Gimp your way over here and tackle me? Look, you guys sleep on it." She made a face. "Separately, please. Can't have you corrupting the innocence of my youth. And I'll expect a report on the results tomorrow." She walked over, dangerously within range of Jonathon, and gave Myria a hug. "I'm going to miss having you around all the time too, Myria, even if you do make a crappy pillow." She pulled back, then bounced out of the room. "Stop being buttheads!"

Jonathon just stared at the doorway for a few more seconds. "I'm gonna kill her." He collapsed back against his pillows. "Tomorrow. Tomorrow, when I can catch her."

"Jonathon."

"Fine, maybe I'll wait a week on killing her. Let's just… sleep on it, ok?" There was another one of those moments, and they made use of it.

The kiss was nice. It had some 'good night' in it, a dash of 'goodbye for now', and thankfully some 'see you tomorrow' as well.

And, just for kicks, perhaps a few unspoken promises as well.

Flasher scowled at his partner in crime. "I'm getting tired of waiting. Trashman says we've got everything we need. You said you can put the thing in motion. Why is that nob still breathing?"

Jolly wobbled his head and spread his hands out in front of him. "Look, you asked me to help out with this, make sure there weren't no fingers pointin' back at us. And that's the part I been working on. The part that trashman gave you, that part's easy." He held up a flabby hand, stopping Flasher's objection. "It was easy, but it only works if we get her away from that damn baker. That was the problem."

Flasher scowled. "So you got any ideas in that fat head on how to go about that part?"

"This fat head's making sure yours stays on your shoulders." Jolly laughed, louder than necessary.[8] "And, just so you know, our luck just changed. The nob checked into a hotel this evening. All's we gotta do now, is find the right time."

[1] Those were not Susan's actual words. Her actual words included things like "camel excrement", "dishes best served cold", and "absolute bastard". But Myria was learning to paraphrase.

[2] The amount of right that the client is, is directly proportional to the expected size of the invoice to be submitted times the percent likelihood of said invoice being paid. In this case, Lord Rust was extremely incorrectly right.

[3] Feel free to applaud him for the feat.

[4] New fathers are just hopeless goofs.

[5] Which was, frankly, impossible. The word "ample" didn't even begin to address the situation. Ramkin women were physically built, through generations of natural selection, for producing strong offspring. Philosophically, they had selected for bulldozing their way through anything embarrassing. The combination made them quite formidable.

[6] Or in the case of 8 year old Kevin "Bruiser" McGivvens, threatening to clobber one of the smarter kids until they read it to him.

[7] That was actually the first time Vimes had seen his stalwart wife near tears during the pregnancy. It was only after Dr. Lawn expressed a firm concern that exposure to dragon flatulence might be bad for the baby's development that Sybil reluctantly handed the reins, temporarily, of the Sunshine Sanctuary for Sick Dragons over to the various young lady volunteers that seemed to gravitate to such things.

[8] Picture someone built like a roundworld Santa Claus, but younger and more homicidal. Jolly got his nickname in part because of his appearance and laugh, because he found other people's blood very very amusing.