Chapter 46 - You Get What You Pay For

After finishing their tea, during which they provided a brief overview of who might wish Myria well or ill, Myria signed a letter authorizing what Jonathon considered a ruinous up-front fee.

Roustam scanned it briefly, and nodding tucked it into an inside pocket. Then he rose from the table as if propelled to a standing position, and waved the rest of them to stay seated.

Myria observed that his entire demeanor had changed. His head slowly rotated as he took in the other diners, the waiter, and others in the street. While his head rotated at a steady rate, his eyes were playing connect-the-dots with the landscape. After completing a single pass, he nodded slightly and spoke without taking his eyes off the street. "Lady Myria, do not move from your seat. Constable, if you would please stand here," he pointed to the location where he was standing, "and observe the avenue for any threats, I will be but a moment." With that, he nodded to the waiter, stepped into the street, and disappeared to their left.

"Well that was odd," Jonathon mused. "What just happened here?"

Cheery stood and stepped to the location Roustam had indicated. "I think… he's doing what we would call a reconnoiter. He is thorough, I'll say that for him."

"Thorough, or paranoid. Are you sure about this guy, Cheery?"

"Did you see what he did to those sticks?"

"Well, yeah… but-"

Myria interrupted. "I find myself satisfied, Jonathon. He is perhaps taking greater precautions than we might feel necessary, but it is what we have obtained his services for. It would be counterproductive to ignore his advice once retained."[1]

"Alright… assuming he actually knows what he's doing and isn't just putting on a show." Jonathon frowned, considering a future that contained Roustam hovering around them like a fly around a dessert tray, and felt his annoyance ramp up a couple of notches. There was also the matter of his apparent betrothal that he needed to discuss with Myria, as soon as they had some privacy.

They would have some privacy, right?

A few minutes later Roustam slipped back into the front dining area of the café from the right, and nodded at Cheery, apparently satisfied that his instructions had been carried out. "The immediate vicinity is as safe as can be expected, considering the neighborhood, but we should leave here as quickly as possible." Myria started to speak, and he lifted a finger. "Not back to the hotel, anissa. We need to obtain defensible and secure quarters for you." He smiled thinly. "As money does not appear to be an issue, and from your words you have made enemy of Lord Rust and elements of the underworld, our choices are both broadened and narrowed."

Cheery, joining them back at the table, spoke up. "Want me to flag down a coach?"

"No, constable, we will not do that."

Jonathon frowned more deeply. "What, we have to walk everywhere?"

"Of course not, offendi. But a coach acquired at random is unacceptable. Not knowing the history and motives of the driver, you would leave yourself at the mercy of anyone clever or skilled enough to insert one loyal to their cause. A person with enemies would risk attack or kidnapping with every use."

Jonathon started to object, then stopped when he felt Myria clutch his arm. Turning his attention from Roustam, he saw that she had paled. "He is correct, Jonathon. This I have learned."

Jonathon felt some of his annoyance subside. "Yeah. Yeah I guess if we had realized that a few weeks ago, things might have been less painful all around."[2]

"Very well. For now, I will arrange for a coachman we can trust to return us to a more savory portion of the cesspool that is this city." He waved the waiter over, and murmured quietly to him. "Achmed, please have Marulf arrange a coach for us, if you would be so kind. Someone he trusts."

"Immediately sayad," the man said, and hurried away.

Myria noted, for the second time, the respect in the waiter's voice. "You appear to be held in high regard."

"Ah. Likely this is due to a small service I once did for Marulf."

"Oh?"

Roustam eyed Cheery, and then smiled that brief smile again. "I would be pleased to relate the full story, but I do not believe our constable would approve, and I would not like to put her in the unfortunate situation of having to arrest me."

Cheery barked a laugh. "I'm not sure I'd want to try, considering how you handle yourself." She stroked her beard. Hmph. Maybe if I had Captain Carrot and Sergeant Angua with me.

"Indeed." He turned back to Myria. "Let us simply say that the less honorable inhabitants of this part of The Shades gained an unusually intense appreciation for one of Marulf's more spicy sauces, and now have a good incentive to leave his person and business well alone."

"Ah."

Well, there's one mystery solved, thought Cheery, remembering an incident that had occurred two years back. The bodies of three men had been found lying on the crusty surface of the Ankh[3]. Upon examination, the Watch discovered that the men, who were known toughs with a habit of shaking down businesses in The Shades, had been roughly handled and their mouths crammed full of some sort of reddish paste with a smell that made the eyes burn and water.[4] So, Cheery thought, that was a message, and an effective one, to leave Marulf's alone. I'm sure Commander Vimes will be interested in that little discovery.

Thirty minutes later a coach arrived, driven by an elderly Klatchian man wearing traditional dress despite the sweltering humidity of Ankh Morpork. Roustam held a murmured conversation with him and then motioned the others to enter the coach.

Cheery hesitated before finding her seat. "Can he drop me off at Pseudopolis Yard?"

"So eager to free yourself of my company, constable?"

Cheery shook her head. "No choice. Commander Vimes will be expecting me back."

"Very well," he replied as he mounted next to the driver.

It didn't take long to reach the Yard, where Roustam had the coachman stop across the street. While Cheery bid them farewell, Roustam scanned the vicinity briefly, then dismounted and leaned into the coach.

"So, anissa, while this coachman is trustworthy, his age and culture make him less than optimal for our purposes. We are safe enough here, for the moment. Had you, perchance, begun efforts to hire a permanent coach? Or shall I begin this task now?"

"I… I remember a man. We hired him for an entire day. He was most reliable and discreet. Had he wished us ill, we were at his mercy many times."

"This man's name?"

"Jackstone. It is possible that Jessica knows how to contact him."

"Not necessary. You will both stay here. If you wish air, you may open the shutters a crack. No more."

Myria and Jonathon both did so. Jonathon had a wonderful view of brick wall a few feet away. Myria's view was of both the street and the entrance of Pseudopolis yard, so she was able to observe Roustam attempt to hail a coach, as well as the comings and goings of the watchmen across the street.

She was surprised when the first coach to pass Roustam's location didn't slow. Nor did the second. Nor the third.

"Surely some of those were empty?"

"What do you mean, Myria?"

"The coaches. They do not stop."

It was the fifth coach, appearing to Myria to be in need of significant repair, that finally creaked to a halt before Roustam. The coachman also appeared to be somewhat worse for wear. Myria watched as the two spoke, though she could not hear what they said. Money changed hands and Roustam returned, while the nearly derelict coach creaked away.

"What transpired?" Myria asked when he opened the door.

"He offered to take us to our destination, but in the end I was able to convince him to instead bring the man Jackstone to us."

"I see. But why did the other coaches not stop?"

Roustam flashed a humorless smile. "They are offended by my tan."

"I do not understand."

Roustam looked at Jonathon who shrugged and shook his head slightly. "It is a very small joke of my people, anissa. Do not trouble yourself. As I said, now we wait. He will return having completed the task, for I offered a princely sum for his assistance with only half paid beforehand." Having reassured them, he closed the door and she felt the coach springs shift as he climbed up next to the driver again.

Several times in the next half hour, Myria heard the elderly Klatchian coachman utter what sounded like a complaint, followed by the clink of coins. She presumed it had to do with compensation for otherwise lost fares.

Jonathon, for his part, thought several times of bringing up the whole 'betrothal' topic, but changed his mind each time. This wasn't as private as he would like, and he wasn't sure how long they'd actually have before this Jackstone showed up.

Myria and Jonathon felt Roustam dismount again, and Myria soon afterward saw the decrepit coach return, with a third, familiar and much more presentable looking coach following. Roustam tapped on the window on her side. "Anissa, is that the man you hired previously?"

"Correct. That is Coachman Jackstone. I recognize both his appearance, and that of the coach."

"Very good."

Roustam hurried to the decrepit coach, where coins again changed hands before the driver went on his way. Then there was a brief conversation with Jackstone who, looking somewhat suspicious, tied his horses and allowed himself to be led to Myria's location.

Roustam rapped gently on the coach door again, before opening it. "As I said, someone wishes to retain your services."

Jackstone's face registered surprise, then he smiled. "Well! Don't she look 'alf familiar. All you had to do was say."

"You remember me, Mister Jackstone?"

"That I do. Not likely to forget a full day's hire like that. Be happy to do it again, miss."

Roustam cleared his throat. "Good man, the Lady Myria wishes to hire your services for a longer period of time. It is possible it may become a more permanent position." He looked for confirmation from Myria, and received a nod.

"Well… well…" Jackstone chewed his lip and frowned in thought.

"It will pay handsomely, of course," Roustam added.

This struck a nerve with Jonathon. He had noticed that money kept changing hands, and he suspected that it wasn't Roustam's money that was, in the end, being spent. Now the man was promising 'handsome payment' to this Jackstone. He leaned close and hissed in Myria's ear. "Myria he's giving away your money."

"I am inclined to trust him," she murmured.

"Myria, you can't just trust people you don't know." He realized Jackstone and Roustam were watching them, and probably heard what he was saying, and threw up his hands. "Sorry." He frowned. "No, no I'm not sorry. Myria you are being too trusting."

He and Myria were both surprised by Roustam's response. "In this, offendi, I believe I agree."

"But, Mister Rhezah, are you not tasked with guarding me? Am I not required to trust you for this purpose?"

"Of course, anissa, but this is not the same as trusting someone with your coin. There are indeed very skilled people who would keep you safe from physical harm, and rob you of your wealth at the same time. Your fiancé is correct." He noted Jonathon's flinch at the term.

Myria frowned. "I do not understand how this can be so, but I cannot find a logical flaw with your reasoning. And yet, you advise me that I should not necessarily trust you, while at the same time your advice proves you trustworthy."

"Or, anissa, perhaps I am simply obscenely devious."

Jonathon snorted, and Myria found herself gazing from one to the other, trying to process this. "Mister Rhezah, I believe you are making humor at my expense."

"Never, anissa. And please, I am now your employee. I would be honored to be simply Roustam."

"Very well. Roustam, perhaps I should be involved in negotiating the fee."

"As you wish, anissa," and he backed off to the side.

"Mister Jackstone. Previously we hired you for a rate of one dollar for eight hours of service."

"Yes, lady."

"I believe that, were we to include stabling and feed on the one hand, with the possibility we might require your services for longer periods on the other, a fair compensation would be eight dollars per week."

Jackstone's eyes widened slightly, and tehre was a slight intake of breath from Jonathon. Roustam merely raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I'm not sure, Lady. Old Bethny and Flower like family, they are. I'd want 'em stabled with me."

"Bethny and Flower are your horses, correct?[5] Then perhaps we could procure housing for you as well. At a rate similar to your current costs."

"There's my family to think of too, lady."

"They would of course be housed as well."

Jackstone looked thoughtful. "Well, not sure we'd want to leave the old neighborhood, you understand. My pappy grew up there. And his pappy too."

Myria could feel her face reddening, and her teeth grated against each other. Why was this human being so difficult? Surely I am was offering compensation that is quite fair, and have addressed his concerns.

"If I might be so bold, anissa." Roustam murmured. "Perhaps if you offered a fair rate, allowing him to retain his current stabling and living arrangements for now, he might consider other options at some future point."

"I- yes. That would be correct. Thank you Roustam."

"It is my pleasure." He turned to Jackstone. "So we are agreed?"

Jackstone immediately spat in his hand and held it out. Myria looked from the hand, confused, and back to Roustam's amused expression. "Allow me, anissa." He said, copied the coachman's gesture, and they shook on the deal.

"I'm your man, lady."

Myria sighed. It would be good to leave this place. For some reason, sitting in this coach outside Pseudopolis Yard made her feel anxious. She considered requesting they visit Mister Sharps briefly, but reasoned that Roustam would probably not agree to it. And she had been there already that morning. "Shall we proceed, Roustam?"

"Yes. We have much to do yet. Please remain here." He motioned for Jackstone to follow him.

"One moment, why are we waiting?"

"I am going to check the other coach." Jackstone's face reddened, and Myria though he might have taken offence.

"Surely it is safe."

"You are paying me an exorbitant sum to keep you alive, anissa. I intend to earn every penny."

"I see."

Roustam returned quickly, paid the Klatchian driver, and escorted them back to Jackstone's coach. Myria felt a sense of relief wash over her when they began moving. There was a comfort in the familiarity, even several weeks later, of sitting in this particular coach. She remembered bouncing from business to business in it with Jessica.

She wondered what it was like for Roustam, sitting above with Jackstone, eyes flicking from person to person, window to window, as they had at the café. Did it provoke excitement? Fear? Or did he become bored at the tedium?

It was a short while later that the coach stopped and Roustam opened the door just enough to speak to them.

"Please stay inside." The door closed, and Myria again cracked the shutters, watching him at work. One thing she noticed was that he repeated a set of motions he had performed at the diner as well. Upon standing, he had run the fingers of one hand through his hair, while at the same time checking the buttons of his coat. He did the same here.

I wonder what this signifies.

Then he stood still, head turning and eyes scanning for several moments, after which he walked to a nearby door, opened it, and spoke to someone inside.

"Myria, are you sure you're prepared to live this way?"

"Surely Jonathon, it is not forever."

He shook his head, but his expression was not pleasant. "I guess not. But it may start to feel that way."

When Roustam stepped back to the coach, Myria and Jonathon learned they were actually not far from her previous residence, just off Kings Way, at the offices of a property agent. The man in the office was extremely polite and much less oily than the previous agent she had used.

At his request, she provided general guidance regarding her desires. In truth, she cared little.[6] Roustam, on the other hand, had very specific requirements. Several bedrooms, for example. Separate stable and servants quarters. Double-gated front entrance. Separate servants' entrance that could also be secured.

And, they did not wish to lease from Lord Rust.

The agent blinked, but otherwise didn't react when they named their budget. "Ah. I see. Yes a discerning client. We do have several properties that meet your criteria. I am afraid, however, that I am unfamiliar with your surname, my lady. Forgive me, but my clients would in these circumstances require me to see documentation regarding ones… resources.

"I do not understand."

"He's means money," Jonathon translated.

"I see."

When Myria provided her letter of credit as surety, he quickly offered to show them several properties. Roustam suggested they view two that were within walking distance. Upon leaving, she found his behavior fascinating. He walked slightly ahead and to her right, head moving left-to-right. Eyes flicking from detail to detail. He never seems to stand still, she mused. Always observing. What does the Disc look like to this human?

The first residence was a three-story affair in classic Ankh-Morpork peerage style, with a sweeping entrance right on Kings Way, and a servants' entrance on the side street. The agent unlocked the front door, and gave them a thorough tour. It was partially furnished with neutral but tasteful décor, and several nonthreatening paintings[7] hung on the walls. Myria noted the aesthetic appeal of the rooms and architecture. She found it most pleasing, especially the large radii arches at each doorway.

Roustam, on the other hand, seemed fascinated by the oddest details. He tapped walls, scratched mortar with his fingernails, and lifted paintings to peer behind them. He also tended to stop when he walked, which she had not noticed when they had been outside.

He was particularly interested in any doors with locks, especially exterior ones.

The first tour completed, they proceeded a block away to the second residence. This one was shorter, only two stories, and less ornate in appearance. As they walked through its halls, Myria noted that there were absolutely no furnishings or artworks. She also found herself disappointed that there were fewer and smaller windows on the first floor, and these all looked inward toward the central courtyard.

Roustam repeated his prior behavior here as well.

"Would you like to see further properties?"

"No," Myria responded, "I believe that the first one is sufficient to our purposes."

There was a polite cough from her right. "Yes, Roustam?"

"Anissa, if I may be so bold. You should choose this one."

"Why is this?"

"The other was on a busy avenue. This one is on a dead-end street, with the servants' exit available on a second street in the rear instead of the side. No one can approach the front unless they are expected, and since it is a dead-end, there is no traffic passing the front of the residence. Further, there is no location from the exterior where you can see both the visitors and servants' entrances, which gives you two isolated methods of exit or entrance."

He pointed to the front coach gate. "This gate is good solid wood, reinforced with cast iron, as is the visitors entrance. Do you remember the antechamber? We can reinforce the inner door there as well, so that visitors can be isolated before gaining entrance to the house proper. We can do the same with the servants' entrance if necessary."

"Further," he continued, "the windows on the first floor are high and narrow, providing additional safety as well. The walls here are thicker, and the mortar is solid." He pointed to nearby buildings. "The neighboring structures are all shorter than this one, and there is sufficient gap to make it difficult for someone to span from one of them to this one."

"You are mad." Jonathon interjected. "You know that, right?"

"One can never be too cautious, or too breathing, lest one become too deceased, offendi."

Myria turned back to the agent. "I believe we shall take this one."

[1] Translation: If you hire a master chef to prepare the meal, don't complain if he insists the sauce be chilled to precisely 17 degrees Celsius for exactly fifteen minutes prior to serving to your guests. Just go with it and enjoy the meal. Of course, in this case, the meal wasn't trying to cut your throat.

[2] This refers to Myria's unfortunate experience with a rented coach in "From Dust to Flesh" when attempting to come to Jessica's rescue.

[3] The fact that the bodies were on the surface was in itself telling. In many cities, criminal elements dispose of bodies by throwing them into nearby waterways. However, no native criminal of Ankh-Morpork would attempt to do this with the Ankh River, as every native knew that you'd first need to spend thirty minutes breaking through the crust on the surface, and by that time you'd probably be too exhausted to get the body into the hole before it sealed itself up again.

[4] No one was tempted to taste it to find out what it was, which was just as well. Pure areesa paste is a very spicy Klatchian sauce, and is second only to Archchancellor Ridcully's wow-wow sauce in its effect on the human digestive tract. Based on the quantities involved, we can surmise the men were deceased before it had been put there. Because otherwise their hair would probably have melted.

[5] Gods know, Myria is not taking any human's habits for granted at this point…

[6] At her previous residence, she had really only used the bedroom and sitting room to any degree. She assumed it would be the same here. And we all know how great assumptions are.

[7] As opposed to the type of painting that was clearly a threat and an affront, such as the painting "Bald Man Who Stares At You From the Wall As You Walk Up The Stairs At Night"