Chapter 40 - WIB

"So you believe that Lord Rust will accept this offer?"

"Oh I'm sure he'll rant a bit. But eventually Slant will explain to him that he really has no choice in the matter." Hardlee smirked, his glasses catching the gaslight. "Three out of three," he mused. "I honestly didn't expect that."

"But were not your expectations of a dismal failure? Am I not correct?"

"Oh that." Hardlee waved dismissively. "Like I said, 'set expectations low, and you're never disappointed'. This is more than 'not disappointed' or 'pleasantly surprised'. He laughed and took off his glasses, began polishing them. "You should have been there to see the look on Slant's face. I thought he was going to grind his teeth to fragments. Do you know it took them five minutes to extract one of his fingernails from the tabletop?" Myria's damnable imagination supplied the visual for that, and she shuddered sympathetically. "Oh. Sorry, probably not something you wanted to picture."

"No it was not." She shook her head, trying to banish it. "So what is the next step in the process?"

"Well first off, you can now relax. You are completely out of the woods on this." Myria's brows knit, and he rephrased. "Your part of the process is completed, at least until the Patrician has the final papers drawn up. Those will require your signature, or that of your representative."

"Ah, then you will handle that as well?"

"I am afraid not. I served as your counsel in the hearing. Handling the follow-up would be outside my responsibility in this matter." He raised his glass and took a drink, allowing the words to sink in. "However, for a sizeable retainer, I would be happy to make myself available to you for all of your future legal needs.

"Retainer?" Myria turned the word over, analyzing it. "I see. I would 'retain' your services through a prepaid fee?"

"More or less. More or less. It really ensures that if you needed my services I would drop any other clients and focus on your needs."

"But, Mister Hardlee, you have no other clients to speak of."

Hardlee's face fell, then rallied. "Well there is that. But my lady, where else will you find an attorney willing to put his entire reputation[1] on the line for you? One who understands fully the particular… peculiarities of your legal situation?"

"I see. Yes. I understand what you are saying." Myria sighed. "And I do appear to be quite wealthy…"

"Quite wealthy? Madam you are absolutely putridly wealthy. I'm amazed I can stand to be in the same room with you." He laughed, and Myria blinked. "Sorry, your young friend Jessica tried to warn me about the idioms, but old habits die hard." Hardlee stood and began pacing as he talked, gesturing animatedly. "As I was saying before, assuming that you hire me as your on-call attorney, I can manage the remainder of the process for you. That would include supervising the remainder of the funds being deposited or disposed of as you see fit. You can now breathe easy. Rest." He took in the outside world with a sweep of his arms. "See the sights! In general, enjoy your hard-earned…" He stopped for a moment. "Well I suppose you didn't really earn it did you? Not that any of them do, really."[2] He fixed her with a strange look that made her slightly uncomfortable. "I understand what you're capable of, you told me as much, but you didn't really go into detail on where you got the gold from in the first place."

Myria considered not answering, shrugged. What could be the harm? "I mentioned that I am able to manipulate matter directly."

"Right." Hardlee's eyes gleamed as the gaslight reflected off his glasses. "So you just created it out of nothing? Or was it the alchemists' old dream of lead into gold?"

"I'm afraid it was neither. I suppose I could have done either, at that point in my existence. But it seemed… cheating. Now I am unsure that I could do those if I tried."

"Then how?"

"I brought it together, as it already existed." She noted his confusion. "Mister Hardlee, there is gold, you see, all around us. Grains in the cracks of the floor of the goldsmith's place of business. Flecks caught in the lining of a purse. Countless atoms dispersed throughout the sediments upon which Ankh Morpork rests." She smiled, an artist revealing her technique in its simplicity. "All that was required, you see, was to gather it together into one place. Still, even then I do remember there being… a strain. I doubt I could do so again, even in another location."

"Ah, so that's why you can't just 'make' more gold, then. You've already gathered all there is to be had."

"This is correct. There is no more. At least none that is not already claimed by others."

Hardlee stood still for a moment, staring through the wall and frowning. "It never occurred to you to take some that was already owned by someone." It wasn't a question.

Myria's brows rose, her eyes moving up and to the left. "I… No." She chewed her lip. "That would… that would not be correct."

Hardlee shook his head. "Would not be correct." He looked at her again for a moment, then walked over and sat heavily in the chair opposite her and regarded her carefully, his thoughts along the lines of: You could empty Rust's strong-room without breaching a wall, and no one the wiser. And it never even occurred to you to do so, did it? She began to feel uncomfortable under his gaze, and even moreso when he began to laugh quietly.

"I do not understand why you find this humorous."

"My lady, I am sitting next to someone with nearly godlike power, who placed what I believed to be her fate in my hands. Someone who acted as if she had something to actually lose in this whole mad situation of hearings and gold flagstones. But you don't really, do you?"

Myria's head snapped back. He hadn't meant it as an accusation, but it felt like one. Was he right? She inhaled sharply through her nose, and shook her head in denial. "You are incorrect, Mister Hardlee. I do have something to lose. My humanity." She looked around the room. "It is the only thing of value I possess."

Constable Stepanoff had been having a very good evening for several reasons. The first was because, as previously mentioned, he was originally from Bonk. Any night not spent groin-deep in snow was a cause for celebration.[3] The second was because he had managed to wrangle guard duty instead of patrol.

And the third was because he was guarding, among others, Jessica Knäcke who he found rather pretty in a snarky sort of way. His evening improved even more dramatically when she suggested he could guard just as well from inside the bakery as he could outside. He wasn't sure Corporal Stroud would agree, but decided nothing wagered nothing gained. As it was, he had managed to spend the last hour drinking tea, eating some rather delicious pastries, and chatting with a girl. Jessica, he learned, had a wicked sense of humor and seemed to be completely immune to his attempts at flirting. Maybe it was a cultural thing.

Thus he was both concerned and disappointed when someone dared knock at the door and interrupt. "Let me get that."

"Oooo… my hero."

"Just doing my job, miss."

Jessica snorted. "I know, constable. I was being funny."

"I know, miss. I was too."

Checking through the window, he beheld a youngish man, dressed in some sort of black trousers and jacket and leaning on what looked to be a walking stick.

"Well, he doesn't look like an assassin. More like a clerk." He waved her back toward the stairs. "Why don't you back up a bit, though."

"How many assassins have you met, exactly?"

Stepanoff flashed her a grin and unlocked the door, cracking it open slightly. She noted that despite the smile, his hand was on the hilt of his sword.

"Excuse me sir, do you have business here?" With the door open, he got a better look at the man. He was a bit on the heavy side, with dark tinted glasses and a black cravat.

The man cleared his throat. "Er… yes, you're guarding the bakery, right? I need to talk to the Knäckes. Official business. He flashed some sort of card with calligraphy scrawled across it.

Stepanoff narrowed his eyes. This guy looked sort of like that photographer with The Times. "Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not. You some kind of reporter?"

He looked offended. "Certainly not! I am a wizard! Official business!" He waved the card around again.

"A wizard, eh? Then where's your hat and robes Mister Wizard? Wizards are always about with hat and robes." He sized him up. "And you don't look nearly enough neither. Big on buffets, wizards."

The man looked down as if realizing how he was dressed. "Oh. Well. Look, I'm on special assignment. You know, undercover. Like…" He looked around for inspiration "… like you chaps do when you are trying to look into things without drawing attention."

"Dunno what you mean, mister. And seems to me you would of drawn less attention from me if you weren't trying to sneak in after hours. And you still didn't tell me your name."

"Oh. Sorry it's Agent PS, Unseen University, UTRI Division."

"Ooooo-Treee Division…"

"Unlicensed Thaumic Release Investigations Division, constable. Now really, I need to speak to the Knäckes."

"Unliced-onit-whatzit?" Stepanoff had opened the door further, but now his arms were crossed. This Agent PS fellow was definitely no assassin, but he wasn't buying wizard either. He was leaning toward idiot.

"Unlicensed…" Ponder Stibbons sighed and threw up his hands. "Look it's not my fault. Ok? The Archchancellor just gave me the position today and said I should wear this ridiculous outfit. And I'm really no good at this."

"You don't say."

Ponder leaned forward conspiratorially. "How about this, you let me through and we pretend this conversation never happened," Ponder lifted his walking stick, which Stepanoff realized now was a staff with a small red gem at the top. "Would you mind looking into the gem for a moment? This won't hurt a bit."

Jessica saw Stepanoff open the door, heard a brief mumbled conversation, a small red flash, and then a shorter conversation before Stepanoff closed the door and turned back to her. "Who is it? What was that red flash?"

Stepanoff blinked. What was it they had been talking about again? Oh yeah. "He's a wizard, says he's investigating and needs to talk to you."

Jessica thought for a moment. "Do you think a wizard would want to kidnap me?"

Stepanoff seemed to consider this carefully. "Are you hiding an all-you-can-eat buffet about your person, miss?"

"Um. No."

"Probably not then, miss."

"Fine then. But you keep an eye on him."

Stepanoff was starting to get his wits back. "Right. I'll just stand over here by the door. If he starts looking hungry, I'll call for reinforcements."

"Ok. I believe you when you say you're a wizard. You look like a wizard, even without the whole pointy hat and robe thing. But I don't see why you are talking to me."

Which was a big fat lie. She knew exactly what he was there for. Wizards equaled magic. Magic equaled Myria. Myria equaled trouble.

"Perhaps if I spoke with your parents."

"Perhaps if I screamed bloody murder and claimed you made unwanted advances."

Ponder blinked.

"Madam I-"

"Did you just call me madam? Did you just madam me? I am sixteen. I don't rate madam. Are you trying to get on my good side?"

Ponder looked miserable. "I'm sorry, ok? Er… miss. Right? Young miss? I don't get to spend much time around women. Girls? Gnk!"[4]

Jessica stood up. "Maybe you should leave."

"I can't." If possible, he looked even more miserable. "Look, the Archchancellor wanted me to warn you."

"Warn. Me."[5]

"Well, your family. About Lady LeJean."

Jessica did not have Susan whispering guidance in her ear this time, but she had learned a thing or two since facing the commander of the City Watch. Ponder spent the next hour trying to get her to admit that she knew something, anything about Myria's abilities.

And failed miserably.

"I give up! You win! You know absolutely nothing about Myria LeJean."

"Thank you. So you'll go now?"

Ponder's round face scrunched up. "No. If you won't tell me anything, I'm going to at least tell you a few things."

Ponder spent a few minutes going over, in what he considered layman's terms, what they had learned about certain magical events. He was pleasantly surprised that it was less painful than trying to explain it to the Archchancellor.

He also noted that Jessica kept looking over at the constable, making sure he was still out of earshot.

When he had finished, Jessica took a deep breath. "Alright. Let's say you're not insane, and Myria has these" she made quotes in the air with both hands, "powers you are talking about. What's the big deal?"

"The 'big deal' is that reality is mutable." Jessica gave him a blank look, so he tried again. "It's like… like a giant… what's something thin and flexible?"

"Bread dough."

"Really? It thought bread was lumpy and full of holes."

Jessica rolled her eyes. "That's after it's risen and been baked. See when you first make it, it's all nice and blobby. But you can roll it out into a thin sheet. We do that for pie covers."

"So… those are stretchy?"

"Until we bake it, yeah."

"Oh. Well that's… ok. That works. See, reality is like a giant pie cover." Jessica snorted, but he carried on. "Except it's not a meat pie, it's… it's a Dungeon Dimensions pie."

"Dungeon…"

"Right. Dungeon Dimensions pie. The filling is this otherworldly dimension full of nasty things with too many eyes and tentacles and such."

From the look Jessica was giving him, he might have sprouted some himself. "Okayyyy…"

"Right. And the pie cover is the stretchy thing that separates the filling from… um…"

"The cinnamon sugar sprinkles." Jessica's delivery was deadpan, but there was a slight twitch under one eye.

"Er… I'm not sure this is holding up well."

"No really, it's perfect. We are all cinnamon sprinkles, right? I always thought that."

"You're laughing at me."

"Only inside. Seriously this is great."

Ponder took a breath. "As I was saying. Reality is that uncooked pie crust. And Myria is like… like a finger pushing down on the crust. Stretching it down."

"Uh, don't you mean poking a hole through it?"

"No this pie cover just stretches." We hope. "And the more you stretch it, the more it resists stretching."

"So… like rubber."

"Right. A rubber pie cover." He shot her a look because she was suddenly very interested in her own hands, and her eyes were starting to water. "Now I know you're laughing at me."

She covered her mouth but managed to get out a muffled, "Sorry. Can't help it."

"Can I just finish? Ok so what happens is, Lady LeJean is changing things, right? And every time she does, the pie cover stretches a little more, but it resists more too. And the bigger the change she makes, the more it stretches, and the more it resists."

Jessica was quiet for a minute, her humor faded rapidly. "And so…"

"Look, reality is…

"Like a pie full of crazy?"

"What? No. Forget about the pie. I mean, reality doesn't like being mucked about with. Something's going to give if you push it too far. Either she will punch a hole through the middle of it eventually, and you don't even want to know what that looks like, or…"

"Or what?"

"She's more or less human now, right?"

"No comment."

Ponder sighed. It had been worth a try. "Assuming she's becoming more human, there are probably side-effects. Have you noticed her having any sort of fits? Brain fever? Headaches?"

"Maybe."

"Well, if she is, then it's just going to get worse the more things she tries to change. This is a cumulative thing, miss. Every change she makes causes more pressure on reality. And reality fights back. Eventually, even small attempts to tweak things could be fatal, or break reality. It's very hard to say."

"Ok, let's say I believe you, and I'm not saying there's anything at all going on with Myria. What exactly do you expect me to do here?"

"Warn her. tell her that she she has to choose. She can be a human, completely normal and no fiddling with reality. Or she can give up being human and do something else. But she can't do both."

"I see. Well thanks. I got your message. Now I'd appreciate it if you'd leave."

Ponder wasn't sure he had gotten the message across or not.

"I guess so. But before I do, would you mind looking at the top of my staff?"

"ExCUSE me?! What kind of creep are you?!"

Ponder's immediate confusion gave way to horror. "No! I meant- gah. Never mind!" He was so flustered that he let Stepanoff lead him away without doing the flashy thingy on either of them. Outside he tore off the black silk cravat and dropped it in the gutter before stomping off back to the university.

"I hate my jobs."

[1] He opted not to elaborate on the fact that his reputation was worth approximately one Hershebian half-dong.*
(*Worth approximately 1/8 of a penny)

[2] Most inherit it from their parents, who inherited it from their parents, who inherited it from their parents, and so on up the line until you get to 'great-to the-nth' grandfather who no one really discusses because, in all frankness, he stole a rather large amount of money / was a pirate / ran the slave trade / had a rather lucrative business in some rather addictive substances / etc.

Generational inheritance… the only acceptable form of money laundering.

[3] Constable Stepanoff was part of a City Watch exchange program with Bonk. This was explored in more detail during my first fanfiction "From Dust to Flesh".

[4] In fact, the majority of his experience with women was the staff at the Unseen University. He had the same reaction to them too.

[5] Not exactly what the Archchancellor had said. It was more like. "See what you can pry out of those bread people she's been living with."