[A/N GeoffG, thank you for the kind review. I'm glad you liked the caper plotline. We both owe Mikell for pushing me to "liven it up a bit". Though I had to look up Willie Garvin! Will Myria be able to keep her Modesty? Stay tuned to find out! And yes, I suspect there will be many short backstories from many of these characters once this storyline is wrapped up. :-)

And Mikell, you nailed it with your review. Flasher is now more dangerous than ever. BookwormGal, yup. Roustam definitely earned his keep last chapter, and you will see here the fallout from that. SSC glad to be of service in the mornings! Fledge, Vimes is not most pleased. Suuki-Aldrea, welcome aboard the crazy train! I make no promises, for that will ruin the surprise! Mortis, I'm hoping to start an original novel after this one, so I doubt I'll be doing quite so 'epic' of a storyline after this one.

To the guest who posted a review pointing out the repeated text for Chapter 2, THANK YOU and that has been corrected.

Enjoy all and sorry this one took a bit longer. Fear not! I have many chapters sketched out, and over half of them already written in rough form. I'll try to keep updating about once a week!]

Chapter 52 - There Is No Pain You Are Receding

Missus Jackstone continued fussing over Roustam, insisting she needed to wash his wounds or at least he should retire to his bed, instead of sitting in the hallway floor leaned against the wall.

"No, Missus Jackstone. For one, in my culture it wouldn't be appropriate for any woman, especially another man's wife, to attend to me thus. For another, I would prefer a physicker's attentions, which I will send for."

There was a knock at the door. It was not so much as a knock as an insistent pounding.

"And for a final reason, I believe the Watch is at the door, wishing to speak with me."

Waving her back, he managed to lever himself up from the floor and opened the door.[1]

"Ah Captain Carrot. A pleasure to see you again." He managed wearily. Then seeing the female watchman behind him, holding the reigns of the "borrowed" horse, he added. "And sergeant. A pleasure as well."

The sergeant stepped forward and breathed in, gently. He would almost claim that she had sniffed him, if you can believe it.

She nodded to the captain.

Captain Carrot looked grim, but took off his helmet and put it under his arm. It was a very large arm. In Roustam's current condition, it was more than enough arm to cause concern if it decided to, for instance, grasp that rather large sword just there.

"Mister Rhezah, is this your horse?"

Roustam gave a low laugh, which turned into a cough. "No, Captain. I had cause to borrow it. An emergency, you understand. I have every intention of returning it to its owner."

The Sergeant raised her eyebrows at that one.

"I'm afraid it doesn't usually work that way, sir. And there are some other things we need to understand, sir. We need you to come with us to answer some questions."

Roustam noted that the sergeant… what was her name? Angry? Ranga? …seemed fascinated by the blood-stained gashes in his blouse. He sighed. "You mean, for example, questions like why exactly are there five men grievously wounded, or more likely, dead on Attic Bee, scant blocks from Short Street?"

He noted with some satisfaction that the watchmen were both taken aback, and blinked at each other for a few seconds.

"And another on Cunning Artificers, that was apparently run down by a coach," Carrot responded. The sergeant turned slightly green. That had not been a pretty scene.

"Ah." It appears that good Jackstone took me at my word. Good man.

"Then you admit you were there?"[2] the sergeant asked.

"Yes, sergeant. I'm sorry I didn't catch your name."

"That's because I didn't say it."

"Angua…" Carrot shook his head.

"My apologies, Sergeant Angua. To continue, in carrying out my duties to my client, I was forced to defend her against no fewer than six men, all armed. Some with crossbows. Apparently, it was a premeditated and prearranged ambush." He looked slightly disgusted with himself. "Did any of them survive?"

"No sir."

"A pity. I would have liked to have asked them a few questions, myself." He shook his head. "Unfortunately, with the odds so heavily against me, I was forced to be, shall we say, more final in my actions than I might have preferred. Had there been half that number, I might have attempted to merely incapacitate one or more." Roustam's eyes unfocused. "No. No there was no opportunity for that." He met Carrot's gaze, which at this point seemed slightly bewildered.

"Mister Rhezah, I need you to come with us to The Yard."

"I'm afraid that will be impossible, captain."

He noted that Captain Carrot's muscles bunched slightly but the man didn't move otherwise.

Sergeant Angua, on the other hand, put her hand on her sword-hilt and raised an eyebrow. "And just why is that?" she asked.

"Because, first of all, I still have a duty to protect my client, and there are likely other men, the men who hired the ones we encountered today, seeking to harm her. I can't abandon my client to face the next attempt unprotected."

"I'm sure Commander Vimes will-"

"And second because," Roustam interrupted, "as an accredited staff member of the Klatchian Consulate, I have full immunity from arrest."

"Where is she? Is she alright?" Jonathon demanded as soon as Missus Jackstone had opened the door.

"She's not hurt, Mister Knäcke!" She managed to move aside fast enough to not be run down. "Least not as I could tell. But she's gone and locked herself in her rooms." She looked concerned for a moment. "Where's young Nick?"

Some of the panic subsided. "Your oldest wasn't too specific on the details. He was babbling something about a fight and Roustam ordering him to get me at once. He was pretty winded. Jessica was fixing him some tea to get his legs back working again when I left." Jonathon's eyes swung up and down the halls. "Where is Roustam? He's usually hovering by now."

"He's in his rooms too, getting sewn up I expect." The words began to spill out. "It was a sight. He come a storming in, on someone else's horse, not long after Roger blew in. All cut up and still bleeding but yelling about 'how was the lady'. Then the Watch showed up and I heard Mister Roast-em tell the Watch they was attacked on Attic Bee. It must've been that bad. Had to go and get Roger good and pissed before he'd leave the horses."

Jonathon thought about what she'd said. The Watch? Sewn up?

"Is he going to be alright?"

"Oh once he's over the shock. I've seen him worse." Truth was, this wasn't the first time she'd seen him come home and get stinking drunk. Driving a coach in Ankh Morpork was pretty much guaranteed to show you the full range of what the city had to offer. And from time to time, the city offered you something that required a fifth of Bearhugger's and a virtual scrubbing pad to wipe your brain afterward.

"No, I meant Roustam."

"Oh him! Well he said it was just flesh wounds, and some for'ner doctor came by and's tending to him. He didn't half look worn out, tho." Her voice dropped. "Them watchmen said he killed five men, single handed!"

For some reason, that was the least surprising thing he had heard so far.

"I should check on Myria."

He watched Missus Jackstone collect herself. "Right. Course. I tried looking in on her, but she wouldn't so much as answer the door. But I'm sure she's alright!" She added hastily. "I'll… just go check on Roger again."

Well this feels familiar, Jonathon thought as he found himself standing before the door to Myria's rooms. Here I stand on one side of a locked door, and there she is probably crying and in hysterics on the other side.

Except this time, I know what I'm getting into.

Jonathon knocked on the door. "Myria, let me in."

He realized, after he knocked, that he hadn't actually heard any crying or sobbing. For some reason that made him more concerned. He lifted his hand to knock again, and felt a slight thrill when the lock turned and the door swung open slightly.

He pushed the door open and walked into the sitting area.

Myria was nowhere near the door. She was seated in a deep and rather stuffy looking armchair over ten feet away. She had apparently not moved at all. And the look on her face was slightly uncanny. She wasn't crying. She was just… sitting there, the picture of calm. Her face was unlined. Eyes decidedly not puffy.

Perfectly calm. The epitome of collected.

He felt the thrill turn to a chill.

Please, not again…

He struggled to get his feet stepping forward. "Myria," he whispered, "are you alright?"

"I am fine, Jonathon." Her lips had moved, which was a relief, but only just enough to form the words. And her eyes… they were looking in his general direction, and thank Io they weren't that terrifying grey-on-grey, but there was still something odd about them.

He took another few steps. "You are fine." He repeated flatly.

"Yes. I am fine, Jonathon."

Another couple steps. He was close enough to see now that the problem was that her eyes weren't focused on him. She was focused on something either inside her own head, or miles past him. He knelt down in front of her, and made sure he was in her direct line of sight.

"Myria, you had the door locked."

The mouth moved. "It seemed prudent."

"Missus Jackstone said you wouldn't unlock the door for her."

"There was no need. I did not wish to see Missus Jackstone at this time."

"Myria, are you sure you are alright?"

"I am fine, Jonathon."

"Fine."

"Yes. Fine."

"You weren't hurt?"

The more she spoke, the more he was able to see what the problem was. That's all she was doing. She wasn't moving anything else. He wasn't even sure she was breathing. But that's silly, right? She'd have to breath or she wouldn't have air for talking. Right?

"I am unharmed."

Jonathon swallowed. "Myria, Roustam is in his rooms getting sewn up. And apparently whatever Jackstone went through, his wife felt the need to get him stupid drunk to deal with it. Are you telling me that you are completely fine?"

"We are fine."

"Well I don't s- the what the gods did you just say?!" He grabbed one of her hands. He was terrified he'd find it ice-cold or hard as stone, but it wasn't. It was soft and normal flesh, thank gods. But she didn't grasp his hand back. It was as if her muscles didn't work at all.

Her face twitched, just under her left eye. "We-" Her throat bobbed once. "I am fine."

And she was. She was perfectly fine. Absolutely perfectly fine. She could tell this, because she was not upset at all. If she was upset, then things would not have been fine. Everything was fine. She was here, in her rooms. And Jonathon was here, in her rooms. And this was fine. Jonathon was fine. And the door was open. The door should be closed. And locked.

Jonathon jumped as the door slammed shut behind him, hard enough to crack the plaster above the header, and the bolt shot home. He felt a sudden cold trickle down his spine. "Myria, you shouldn't do that. I would have closed the door for you."

"It was not required. The door is closed and locked now. Everything is fine."

Fine.

Fine.

Fine.

Except for that annoying noise. It was like a mosquito. A low whine. A buzz. A high-pitched babble.

"What is that noise. I do not like that noise."

"Myria, you're scaring me spitless." He listened for a second. "There isn't any noise."

Her eyes shifted for the first time, shifting back and forth. "You do not hear it?"

Jonathon shook his head wordlessly.

"It is annoying. It will not go away. I have been hearing it for hours. I have told it to shut up, but she will not shut up."

She will not shut up. Oh hells…

"Myria, I think… I think you are having a bit of a crack up."

"I do not believe this to be so. We have been mad before, when she was alone. I am not mad now. Why will she not shut up? She should stop screaming at me. She keeps screaming and screaming."

In a very careful tone of voice, Jonathon hazarded a guess as to how to proceed. "Myria… can you… can you tell me what she is screaming about?"

Her cheek muscles spasmed several times in rapid succession. "She keeps screaming. She wants to know what was happening. And there were sounds. And smells." He felt her fingers start to curl around his hand. "But she could not see what was happening because she was locked in the coach and the coach was jerking back and forth and the horses were screaming and Jackstone was screaming and men were screaming and she could not stop screaming and," he felt his finger bones grinding together, "there was screaming and Roustam was gone and I heard a man screaming and the thumps and we ran over something and it screamed and I could smell blood."

Her eyes locked onto his. "Screaming and screaming." He watched them focus suddenly, full of dawning awareness and pain.

"It is me screaming, in my head."

Jonathon nodded.

"That is well. I would not wish to think there was someone else inside here with me." She smiled, and then her eyes rolled back and she slumped bonelessly forward in the chair against his shoulder.

Jonathon took a deep shuddering breath and closed his eyes for a minute or so, listening to the sound of her breathing, before he gathered his strength to carry her to her bed.

It could have been worse, he reminded himself at least three times. For practically everyone.

"What the gods are you saying, Vetinari? That we can't touch him?!"

"That, Sir Samuel, is exactly what I am saying. There are diplomatic prerogatives here. If foreign diplomats could be arrested at will, practically every nation would be at war by now over the most minor infractious excuses.

"Minor infractions!? He killed five men! In broad daylight! And stole a horse! In my city!"

"Yes well, sometimes there are excesses, it is true. And there are mechanisms to handle those excesses."

"Like what?"

"We can, for example, issue a formal protest and strip him of his diplomatic credentials."

"And then I can arrest him?

"Unfortunately no. The most that can be done is to return him to the consulate and demand he be repatriated to Klatch on the next available ship. This could, of course, take weeks."

Vimes actually growled at that.

Oh dear. Vetinari considered sparing him the next tidbit of information, and reconsidered. "Assuming, of course, Klatch does not protest, in which case it could drag on for months."

Vimes stood, knocking the chair backward. "What?!"

"We could, of course, ignore protocol and have him immediately arrested. I don't suppose you'd care a repeat of the Leshp incident?[3]

Vimes froze in mid-pace and answered through gritted teeth. "No."

"Good." Vetinari shuffled papers on his desk. "Besides, it is my understanding that Mister" glances at paper, "Rhezah was acting in defense of his charge. Surely were one of your men placed in-"

"That's not the same! Not the same at all. My men are coppers, not paid thugs.

"Indeed. And in light of that, perhaps we should focus our energies on the men who initiated this situation, and place the blame squarely on their shoulders. Wouldn't you agree?"

Jessica was trying to finish her chores as quickly as possible. She'd shoo'd Nick Jackstone back to Myria's two hours ago, and had been running herself into the ground ever since. She hadn't even considered asking her da for permission to leave early. He would have given her the look and made comments about it being bad enough that Jonny was over there, but having both of them gone would be too much and they were busier than ever and never mind that Myria might be hurt or a wreck.

"Had it up to here with da and his thing about Myria," she groused to herself.

When the bells above the doorway signaled a customer, she nearly lost it. "I'm sorry we're closed!"

"In that case, it is fortunate that I am not here for tea and biscuits."

"Susan!"

This time, Susan didn't even try to maintain her dignity, and let Jessica fling herself at her without even a cocked eyebrow. "You seem pleased to see me. Is Myria here? How have things progressed?"

Jessica gave her an inscrutable look. "I think maybe we should talk about that on the way to her place."

"Oh? She has already obtained her own lodgings?" That's encouraging.

"That's the least of it. Wait right here, I'll tell da that I'm going out."

"You needn't come, if you have duties to attend to. I'm sure given the address-"

"Miss Susan, I wouldn't miss this for the world."

[1] It wasn't that his wounds were that serious, but more that after jumping around among several men with rather sharp, pointy objects, then running his legs nearly off before he "borrowed" the horse, his legs and he were not on speaking terms.

[2] Having a criminal* admit that they were at the scene of the crime was tantamount to growing a fourth ear.

*They're all criminals aren't they?

[3] See the Pratchett novel "Jingo" in which Klatch and Ankh Morpork sort of kind of went to war over an island.