36 - An Unconventional Assault

Myria noticed the smell when she and Jessica were only a few steps from Mr. Hardlee's offices.

It smelled of Ankh Morpork. And not the more flowery parts either. If you thought Gaspode, who smelled vaguely like a wet privy carpet, was ripe, this went about four levels further up on the olfactory scale. The King of the Golden River would have been tempted to mine something that smelled like that.

"Ye gods, what is that?"

Myria struggled for a moment to concentrate over the odiferous assault, then dialed back her sense of smell about four notches, at the same time that Jessica, eyes watering and holding her nose, waved a hand toward a nearby alley entrance.

"I think it's coming from him. Gah he stinks!"

The figure, possibly a man, stared at them. Beetle-like eyes glinted behind a thick layer of filthy beard, hair, and mustache. The… human… appeared to be smeared with mud.

At least Jessica hoped it was mud. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

The figure's mouth cracked open, showing a ruined mouth as it cackled madly. "Oh do we stink? Of course we stink! We are Mister Filth!" He looked uncertain for a moment, hands playing with something under his beard. "And we know it. Yes we do. The renegade! The legion!" Myria started at the origin of her name. "Oh does she not recognize us? The I! How does it do it? Be an I? It must tell us!" He advanced a couple of paces, and the stench actually increased. Jessica fell back before the smell.

Myria stood her ground, peering uncertainly at the creature before her as her brain worked furiously, attempting to match what few features she could clearly see with memory. Piecing together behavior. Who would have such sure knowledge?

The answer came as a profound shock that weakened her knees. "You… You are… Mister Brown?!"

Her response seemed to set him into a fit. His body shook as his eyes widened and rolled. A wet, sobbing laughter ripped from his throat as he staggered toward her, grasping her clothing with filth-encrusted hands.

"Mister Brown!? We were Mister Brown!" He pulled her closer, and her brain, deciding that this was quite enough thank you, seemed to shut down her sense of smell entirely. She was vaguely aware of Jessica yelling something behind her.

"Oh no. No! Nononono!" He jerked back and forth on her dress, shook her back and forth. "We are not Mister Brown! We are Mister Filth! We are Mister Pain! We are Mister Terror!" Snot and drool and tears mixed, leaving a dirty trail down a grimy face and into a matted beard.

Myria gasped, and gagged a little. She could actually taste the odor he gave off. "But… you survived? Are there others? Did all of the rest die? You must tell me!" She grasped his hands, trying to loosen his hold, but couldn't get a grip on them.

"Die? We cannot die! We are not alive! We cannot die! We CAN! NOT! DIE!"

Unfortunately for Mister Filth, he could, in fact, be rendered unconscious by the flat of Cheery's axe.

"Gods Myria, what have you been rolling in?"

"I am afraid it may take several attempts to remove the smell. It is quite lingering."

"You think? Jessica was right, there's no way you can come by the bakery smelling like that. People would think something had died in there." He pinched his nose and blinked. "I'm surprised they let you back into the hotel."

"I was prevented initially, until I promised to use the servants entrance. I found it quite educational[1]. I have bathed once, but am still unable to allow my sense of smell to recover."

"This is after you bathed?"

"I am afraid so. I was forced to dispose of my clothing as well." She looked crestfallen. "I was beginning to like that particular dress. I will miss it."

"Well I call that progress." He wrinkled his nose. "I think my eyes are starting to burn."

"Should I bathe again?"

Jonathon's eyes, moments ago starting to water, took on a slightly glazed look, then his face flushed and he suffered some sort of coughing fit.[2] "Uh-no-you're-fine. I mean, I think I'm getting used to it. Or I'm losing my sense of smell too." He shook his head and focused on Myria again. "Jessica said it was someone that you knew?"

"Jonathon, it was an Auditor. Another Auditor. From that day."

"But… you said they all died."

"I am apparently human enough to be in error."

Jonathon frowned, paced back and forth a bit. "Is that a good thing?"

"That I am wrong about something?"

He snorted. "Not the first time for that, Myria. I mean, didn't you say they tried to kill you? Are you sure it's a good thing that there may have been survivors?"

"Oh. I see. I do not know. That is, he did not seem intent on doing me harm and he had opportunity." She chewed her lip. "I believe that he is actually quite insane."

"Ah. And not big on hygiene either?"

"I do not believe so. He was covered in… various substances. I do not believe he has eaten anything."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that he has not eaten as of the present. I suspect he has been attempting to survive by osmosis." Jonathon looked puzzled by the term. "Osmosis, by absorbing nutrients through proximity. He covered himself in… substances… to absorb the materials his body required to continue functioning." Jonathon started turning several colors. "I am sorry. It is not pleasant, but you did ask."

"That's… that's horrible, Myria."

"Yes. I believe he has suffered greatly. And I believe he is insane as well." She looked at Jonathon strangely. "You understand, that when Susan found me I was little better." She examined her hands. "It is likely that it was Susan who prevented me from either dying or becoming much like Mister Brown is now."

"Myria that's… don't talk that way."

"I must. Jonathon this is important. You must understand that it was Susan, and then you and your family, who allowed me to hold on to sanity. I do not believe I would be functional now, otherwise." She felt her eyes stinging, and not from the smell. "I see now what I might have become. It is very sad, and somewhat repellant."

"But you didn't."

"No. I did not. Because humans helped me. Because I had humans willing to be my friend." Jonathon could see where this was going, and started shaking his head. "I must, Jonathon. Do you not see? I owe a debt. And this is a way I can pay that debt. He means me no harm, and he is of my kind, and he is pitiful. It is as if..." she struggled for the analogy "as if he were my cousin or sibling and I found him suffering. How could I not at least try to assist, to give him the same gift that I have received?"

And you are saying that there are two of them, now.

"Yessir."

Vimes shook his head. "Vetinari is going to love this."

"Yessir."

"That was sarcasm sergeant."

"I know sir."

"And, also, I'm not sure that perfume is regulation."

"Covers up the stench sir." Sergeant Littlebottom had bought it months ago, on a whim, but had never been able to muster the nerve to use it, until now.

"That bad?"

"Commander, I almost asked Foul Ole Ron to breathe on me, for a break from the smell."

Vimes put his head down and had a short coughing fit. "That bad, eh? Where is he now?"

"Got Constable BlueJohn hosing him down out back of the stables. Not much can burn the sinuses of a troll.[3] And I've got Igor working on something to neutralize the odor for afterward. Myria says we have to be careful, because he'll probably absorb anything we put on him through his skin. Might poison him."

"Seriously?"

"Yes sir. She says he's got very sensitive skin."

"Sensitive skin. Sergeant, you said he's been rolling in sh-"

"Yessir. I don't understand it either, but I've learned to take her word for things like this."

"All right. Then what?"

"We're gathering up a few clothing donations for now, and Igor has offered to give him a shave and haircut.[4]

"That should be entertaining."

"The men are taking bets on who comes out second best, sir. Mister Filth seems really fond of that newt."

[1] Which was putting it mildly. The looks she received from the various maids, bellhops, and assorted staff ranged from shock that she was in their domain to disapproval… right until they crossed paths with the reek, at which point all thoughts turned to escape.

[2] His first thought was that yes, she should bathe again. His second, third, fourth, and fifth thoughts ranged into forbidden territory before he slammed the door shut on them.

[3] Unfortunately, the same can't be said for the few animals the watch kept there. The horses had their fill after about 15 minutes and bolted, refusing to come within thirty feet. The chickens stopped laying for a week, and the pigs stuck their faces in the mud and almost drowned themselves. Even pigs have standards.

[4] In point of fact, Constable Igor had noted with glee that there was an entire ecosystem living in Mister Filth's beard and hair, and planned to set up a small terrarium to see if it would survive in captivity.