Chapter 49 - Living Arrangements

The next few days passed in a blur.

Roustam spent a few hours each day grilling Myria regarding her recent history, whom she had angered, what events had led to and followed the kidnapping and the attempted poisoning.[1]

He came away less than satisfied each time.

"You are not telling me all, anissa. I cannot protect you unless I understand fully your potential enemies. And to understand this, I must understand you. Explain to me again, how exactly these kidnappers were defeated and you and Jessica rescued?"

Several times he asked this question in different forms, and each time Myria provide the story she and Jonathon had previously fabricated for public use, and not the full events. Essentially, they gave all credit to the watchman who happened to stumble upon the scene, with Myria (supposedly) having amnesia and wandering off only to be found weeks later.

After the first round of questioning, Myria had suggested that just perhaps they should tell Roustam the truth.

"This isn't like Hardlee." Jonathon said in response. "Roustam doesn't have to know how you put gold in flagstones to protect you from some assassin." He shuddered at the idea. "I mean, it would be different if the bad guys were the ones that could do what you do. Then I'd say tell him everything."

Myria still felt slightly unsettled. "I am uncertain, Jonathon."

"I'm not. Not this time. The fewer people who know about how you are 'special', the better."

Myria was less certain, but was willing to accept Jonathon's judgment.

Jessica stopped by the first day to 'oooh' and 'ahhh' over Myria's new housing, and made not-so-subtle digs at Jonathon regarding 'which room was his'.[2]

Jessica's presence also turned out to be fortunate, though. Roustam had previously promised to bring in a designer associated with the Klatchian embassy, a young man with hawkish features and quiet demeanor named Hisham Laloo. Hisham spent the better part of a morning questioning Myria regarding her tastes, before coming to the conclusion that all she had was a mishmash of things she found appealing, none of which matched with any of the others. Jonathon watched as the man sank into despair, and threw Jessica into the mix before it came to tears. In the end, the décor would probably end up being more what Jessica thought Myria would like than anything else, but that was good enough.

Myria also learned that as titular head of the household her primary role was to make high-level decisions, which was new for her, and to enjoy herself,[3] which was a welcome change. For the first time in her short life, found that she had minions to do her bidding. It was a slightly heady feeling. "I would like this," she would say, and it would happen. She imagined that this was how the Patrician or Sir Samuel felt.

Perhaps things were not as she would have wished them precisely, but it was usually sufficient. At least for the time being. Reflecting, she decided that perhaps 'minions' was not the correct word, and determined that saying it aloud would be ill-advised.

Roustam, she found, was a very capable manager and even pleasant, when not directly performing his protective duties. It was as if he were two different people. One ready and obeisant, the other arrogant and demanding.

Mister Jackstone on the other hand settled into his new job with little change in demeanor. He drove about the city on such errands when asked, including shuttling Jonathon and his own family members about on errands.

His wife crowned herself queen of servants, and proved efficient if rough around the edges. Myria learned this when she awoke the second day to find the household in possession of a well-stocked larder and with a threatening gleam in Missus Jackstone's eye if anyone set foot near the kitchens without her say-so.

Myria nearly broke the poor woman's heart when she informed her that the Lady of the house would be unable to eat any of the foods Missus Jackstone normally prepared. The disappointment was blunted when Myria clarified that she could still cook for Jonathon, the rest of the staff, and any guests.[4]

Stocking the larder, it turned out, had been a group effort between Roustam, Missus Jackstone, and Jonathon. Roustam had insisted that all meals be prepared onsite, using only those ingredients at the residence, which pleased Missus Jackstone. Jonathon insisted that only he be allowed to prepare Myria's special diet, which did not. After some heated words, Missus Jackstone grudgingly accepted that Jonathon would be allowed to use 'her kitchen' for that purpose.

She tended to find herself busy nearby when he did.

The Jackstone's oldest boy, Nick was often running about on errands or delivering messages, while the younger boys, One and Two[5] thought it was sheer Hogswatch and turned the entire residence into a game of seek and find.

Then there was her attorney. Hardlee seemed to find a reason to visit daily with documents to review and sign, and invariably managed to get into some sort of argument with Roustam for good measure.

Even Jackstone's horses appeared to thrive in the new conditions.

The only thing that chafed (besides Roustam's questionings) was that she felt somewhat confined, but she could not muster a compelling reason to convince Roustam that leaving the residence was required.

Jonathon had his own worries, which included a 'Come-to-Om' meeting with his aunt and uncle regarding the need to stop spending all day 'holed up with Myria'.

Pars had fixed him with a critical eye one morning. "The bakery's busier than ever, we're exhausted, and you're spending all your time at that mansion."

"Sorry, uncle."

"Sorry doesn't put dough in the ovens. We need you here, Jonny."

In the end, he agreed to spend the mornings and early afternoon at the bakery, only leaving when the bulk of the work was done for the day. He suspected, probably not wrongly, that part of his uncle's motivation was also reducing the amount of time he spent with Myria. Jessica likewise got dark looks from her uncle when she announced she was visiting Myria, so she had taken to dropping in when running other errands, and then buzzing off after only a few minutes.

The routine, barely established, was broken when a message arrived in the late afternoon, delivered to Roustam by a watchman.

"Anissa, who is this Mister Sharps person, and why does the Commander of the City Watch wish to speak to you regarding him?"

Myria and Jonathon looked at each other.

"That is complicated," Myria managed in a quiet voice.

Roustam waved the message. "Complicated. A message arrives stating that the Commander of the City Watch wishes to speak with you personally regarding a man I have not heard of. Yes I can understand how hiding information from me could be complicated. Perhaps it would unburden your spirit if you attempted to make it less complicated."

Jonathon frowned. "Roustam-"

Roustam turned to him. "And I assume you are complicit in this, since you seem unsurprised? Do you not see that this is something that impacts my ability to protect Myria, offendi?"

"It hadn't come up yet." Jonathon glanced at Myria. "I was hoping it wouldn't come up at all."

"And now it has. I ask again. Who is this Mister Sharps?"

Myria fidgeted slightly, and Roustam made note of the 'tell'. She is about to tell a half-truth.

"Mister Sharps is… a distant relative. He has suffered a mental breakdown and is under the care of the Watch. For his own safety."

"Under the 'care' of the Watch. I have few dealings with the city guard, but I do not believe that they place people under guard 'for their own safety'."

Jonathon interjected, "They did Myria. And me for a day during the kidnapping, for my own safety."

Roustam looked back and forth between the two. "This was because you were in danger, was it not? Do you believe someone is trying to harm this man in the same way? Is he also a victim of the same men? This would have been useful information."

"No! It is not related to those men at all. Mister Sharps is… not well. We worry he would come to harm if he were able to roam free in the city."

Roustam was not the kind of man who paced. Instead he tended to sit or stand very still, eyes locked on a target. Only a slight tic under his eye indicated he was less than calm.

"I wish to meet this Mister Sharps."

Myria felt a cold feeling wash over her. Roustam would not be good for Mister Sharps, she was sure of this. He would see that Mister Sharps was… different, and he would forbid her seeing him. "I do not believe that to be necessary."

"Will you be alone with this person at any time?"

"No," Jonathon interjected just as Myria answered, "Yes."

"I will meet this person."

Myria felt that she might throw out.[6]

The coach ride to Pseudopolis Yard was unpleasant. Myria sat, tense, wondering how badly Roustam would react. Jonathon was torn between hoping Roustam would forbid her from seeing Mister Sharps, and hating the idea of her being miserable because of it.

As it turned out, that wasn't the problem.

When they reached the Yard, Sergeant Cheery was outside waiting for them, with an unhappy expression, which lightened when she saw Myria exit the coach. Myria felt the same. "Cheery, it is good to see you again!"

"You too Myria. I hear you've been settling into your new place. The commander is waiting for you in his office." Cheery's moustache drooped slightly as she turned to the bodyguard. "Roustam, I'm sorry but he gave instructions that you are to wait outside."

"I think not." Roustam didn't move a muscle, but Myria got the distinct impression of a spring beginning to tighten.

"The commander was very clear on this, sir. I'm very sorry."

"If I am unable to accompany her inside, then we will leave."

Myria panicked. "Roustam, this is important. Leaving is not an acceptable outcome."

Cheery tried to reassure him. "Roustam, there's a whole building full of watchmen here. Nothing is going to happen to her here."

"Men can be bribed, officer."

There was a sudden silence, the kind where you imagine you hear the quiet hiss of a lit torch lofting innocently toward a fireworks factory. It was broken by the sound of creaking leather. Roustam and others looked up to see a large man with short red hair and freckles standing in the doorway of the watchhouse, hands on his waist and leaning slightly against the doorframe.

"Mister Rhezah, I'm sure you didn't mean to imply that the loyalty of any of my men was in question."

There was an air about him. His face was open and pleasant, but something about the way his biceps bulged spoke in a language that Roustam was able to translate clearly.

This man, he thought, is no constable Nobbs.

Myria found her thoughts wandering.

It is fascinating. Conflict ceases with his simple presence. Is it because he radiates authority? Or do they find him intimidating? No. He dominates the gathering without making threat. It is as if his presence represents strength, and honor, and-

"Close your mouth, Myria." Jonathon whispered, which she did with a click. Myria saw, with some nervousness, the figure of the female sergeant behind the captain in the doorway. She shivered, remembering the feeling of sharp fingernails piercing the skin of her upper arm.[7]

"My apologies…" He eyed the man's uniform, "Captain. Your men are loyal to you first, and to the city second. I believe Lady Myria falls somewhat further down the list. I am contracted to sacrifice my life if necessary to save her. Your commander would never order you to do this." His voice lowered. "If your Commander Vimes ordered you to arrest her at this moment, you would do so. Is this not true?"

"Only if she doesn't stop staring at Carrot," muttered Angua, probably louder than she had intended.

Roustam's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, and Carrot reddened. He raised his hands, palms open. "Mister Roustam, orders are orders. But I will personally guarantee their safety here."

There was a slight growl behind him, which Roustam didn't miss.

"And you…" he peered at the woman's uniform… "Sergeant? Will you vouch for her safety as well?"

Angua showed her teeth, which wasn't the same as smiling. "As long as-" Carrot gave her an eyebrow. "Yes," she forced through clenched teeth.

Roustam bowed to Myria. "I shall remain here until you return." He turned to Carrot. "Captain, I release my charge into your hands. She is your personal responsibility until she is returned. Promptly and unharmed."

"Have a seat."

"Thank you, Sir Samuel. Your message said you wished to see me with regards to Mister Sharps?"

Vimes tapped his fingers on the desk and nodded slowly. "I thought about what you said, and I made… arrangements that I think you'll approve of." He shook his head and picked up the half-burned cigar from its ashtray on the left side of the disk. "But I want to make it clear that I'm not comfortable with this, LeJean. Anyone who comes in contact with this creature is in danger."

"I object to your characterization, Sir Samuel. Mister Sharps is not a creature, he is of like kind as I. If so, would not others be in equal danger in my presence?"

"No, that's different." He pointed at her with the cigar. "You have rules. This man has a head full of squirming snakes."

"Surely you can see that he is not as unstable and dangerous as you say. He could dissolve the bars and walk out. He does not. Does this not reassure you?"

"Not one bit. All that means, in my reckoning, is he hasn't thought of it, or doesn't realize he can. What happens if he decides he's had enough of humanity?"

"I do not believe that will happen. He is conflicted, yes, but he does not wish to become an Auditor again. If he did, he would have already."

Vimes shook his head. "I still don't like it." He noted that Jonathon didn't seem any happier.

"But you say that you have made arrangements? Is he no longer here?"

"That's right. I had a talk with Dr. Lawn… I didn't tell him much, but enough that he would take some precautions. Dr. Lawn agreed to set up a room at the Free Hospital of his, and we transferred him there."

"This is excellent."

Vimes shook his head. "I'm not done. There are some restrictions. He doesn't leave without my personal permission, and then only with an escort. I provided one of my men, at least for now, since I consider him a potential risk to the city."

"I will be pleased to escort him, if he desires to leave the facility."

That hit a nerve with Jonathon. "No. Myria, you are not wandering around alone with this guy, even if there wasn't someone else out to get you."

Vimes nodded his head in agreement.

Myria shook her head, feeling cornered, and grasped Jonathon's arm. "Jonathon, you must believe me. I am in no danger from Mister Sharps."

Vimes snorted. "No danger… LeJean, you are a walking, talking, Piecemaker with a faulty safety catch. I'd be surprised if 'designed by BS Johnson' wasn't tattooed on the bottom of your foot." He scratched at his eyebrow. "But you don't scare me like this… person does. You are in no position to determine what this man is or isn't capable of, and whether he's a threat to you."

"Nevertheless, you note I am capable of protecting myself."

Vimes forehead wrinkled. "Is that so? Then why do you need that assassin of yours shadowing you everywhere and insulting my men?"

Myria leaned over the desk, her frustration needing a vent. "Because I do not know from whence the real danger will come!" She felt better, having expressed it so plainly, and leaned back. Yes. This is correct. I am strong. I can defend myself if I see the threat. Her back seemed to straighten, she felt taller. "I give you my word, Sir Samuel," she continued quietly, but firmly, "were Mister Sharps to attempt to do me harm, I would be prepared."

Vimes regarded her for a few more moments. "Well, you are certainly more confident, I'll give you that." He shot Jonathon a look. "I hope it's justified."

He took a deep breath, fiddled with the cigar for a few more moments, then opened a drawer from which he extracted a small card. "Here's the address. Ask for Doctor Lawn."

"Thank you, Sir Samuel."

"How do you like the residence?"

Myria blinked. The man had shifted subjects. "I am sorry?"

"Sybil mentioned that she had reviewed some paperwork from our agent."

"Ah. Then the residence where I reside belongs to you?"

Vimes expression drew up, as if he had eaten something sour. "It belongs to my wife."

"And thence to you."

There was the quiet crinkle of a cigar being crushed between finger and thumb. "You're learning confidence, LeJean. You need to work on when to stop talking. That's a hint." He regarded the cigar with disgust and threw it in the bin. "Some people have sore spots that shouldn't be poked at." He glanced at Jonathon. And I'm not the only one feels that way.

Myria replayed the conversation and grimaced. "I am sorry. I am learning this as well."

"Good." He pulled another cigar from its case, lit it, and puffed for a few seconds. "When things have quieted down, the Lady Sybil would like to have you over for tea."

"I... that is most gracious, Sir Samuel."

"Your glorified bouncer will have to come to an understanding with Willikins, though." The thought gave him a comfortable feeling, like swallowing a shot of Bearhuggers. It burned warmly all the way down.

[1] Which, in Myria's opinion, was only slightly less painful than having ones' fingernails pulled off.

[2] Which question remained unanswered, because he sure didn't know what the hell he was doing.

[3] That is, to enjoy herself when she wasn't being inquisited by Roustam.

[4] It should be noted that these meals were unlikely to be anything a typical peer would recognize. Let's just say the first nobbish dinner guests are in for quite a surprise.

[5] Myria felt this was a wholly inappropriate name for human children. As it turns out, their actual names were Robert. Turned out the Jackstones had expected one and gotten a two-fer out of it. Things being what they were, they named them Robert The First and Robert The Second. Being called One and Two was a bit of a blessing, all things considered.

[6] Or up. Whichever worked.

[7] Her first meeting with Angua and Carrot didn't go well. See "From Dust to Flesh".