Chapter 53 - Rules of the Game

"Yes!"

"Yes!"

"Yeth!"

"Yes!"

"Wait… what?"

There was an awkward moment as the more dominant gods, gathered around the Game Table, began to suspect that all was not right with the Game.

"What do you mean, 'Yes'?" hazarded Blind Io as he peered simultaneously at Offler, Fate, and The Lady.[1]

The gods in question eyed each other warily as well, before Fate cleared his throat. "Clearly, it was fated that the Bodyguard defeat those mortals. There is no other explanation for the fact that, outnumbered and out maneuvered, he managed to do so." He turned star-and-void-filled eyes to the others, daring them to dispute his claim.

The Lady shook her head sadly, glowing green eyes full of pity. "I believe you are mistaken. It was only due to good fortune that he noticed, at the last possible moment, what was about to transpire."

Blind Io leaned back, a slow smile spreading across his eyeless face. "I would chalk that up to his most superior and, dare I say, god-given skills at observation," several sets of eyes wobbled to emphasize the point, "rather than a mere roll of the dice, wouldn't you?"

"Hah!" Offler pounded the table, nearly upsetting several pieces and causing frowns all around. "You are all mithtaken! You notithed, did you not, the Bodyguard'th careful uthe of the thauthage vending cart to fathilitate hith chargeth getaway? Obviouthly an offering to me. Quite apropos, conthidering he ith from Klatch after all."

Rod the God of Infatuation watched all of this from the back of the group. He hadn't been able to get a direct hand in for several plays, now that it seemed the Grey Lady had moved beyond infatuation with The Baker and into something much more boring, in his opinion, and had been growing slightly bored with this match.

Now though, he was questioning whether the players themselves knew which side they were on. It was almost as if… he looked to his left to find Errata, apparently uninterested in the current status of the Board, seated on one of the marble benches and filing her nails.

Rod was not known for his feats of mental agility. As a god, he was more into impulse and emotion. So it was more driving curiosity than any sort of clear suspicion that moved his feet that direction as the argument around the Game Table continued to heat up.

"I don't suppose you know what's going on over there?"

Errata smiled and examined a cuticle. "There does appear to be some minor misunderstanding regarding who is controlling which pieces at the moment, doesn't there?"

Rod sat down and watched the disagreement ramp up into a full-scale argument. Several of the other lesser gods decided, probably with good cause, that this was going to be more interesting than watching the Board itself. Anoia had produced a popcorn machine, and was handing out bags of the oily-salty stuff to those around her.

"Yeah… you know, I've been thinking."

Errata's eyebrows attempted to climb her forehead. "Oh really? Did it hurt?"

"A little… but still. Do you think… they really don't know which pieces they are controlling? I mean…" he fidgeted uncomfortably, "I always got upset when they took one of my pieces away, and they always did when it looked like I was making any headway. But what if-"

There was a boom and bright flash, which momentarily blinded him. He blinked the starbursts from his eyes and beheld a smoking hole where Fate had been moments before, and blinked again as the god reconstituted himself a few inches to the left. The yelling ramped up a few more decibels and now included accusations of breaching Game protocol.[2]

"Really Io…" Errata turned to Rod. "He really should learn to control that temper, or next meeting I'm going to nominate Offler." She thought a moment about the general increase in spit that would ensue. "Well, maybe not Offler…"

Rod frowned, trying desperately to keep his thoughts focused on what he had been trying to say. It wasn't easy. "Yeah but… what if… what if they don't really control any of the pieces, they just think they do, right?"

Errata cocked her head at him.

"I mean… then it's like… they aren't taking my pieces away, they're just making it up as they go along. They're just pretending they know what they are doing. Right?" He looked at Errata hopefully.

"Rod, that is the most coherent and well-though-out proposal I think I've ever heard from you."

"Gee thanks!"

"And it's a totally stupid one too. Shut up and enjoy the show."

Rod slumped miserably for a few seconds, then brightened up as, by sheer chance, one of Io's eyeballs veered off course and smacked Fate in the forehead. He caught a slight smirk on The Lady's face before Offler blocked off his view.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Hey, wanna go mess with a couple of mortals? I hear there's two star-crossed teens in Quirm that might be a blast."

Errata shrugged. "Sure, why not. This'll wind down in a few minutes anyway." There was an angry protest from Anoia on the other side of the room. It appeared Seven-Handed Sek had demanded popcorn with no butter, attempted to retrieve it for himself, and gotten his head stuck in the machine again.

"Then again… maybe this isn't completely played out."

Missus Jackstone was seriously considering demanding a pay raise.

She had known, from what Mister Roast'em had said, that things were liable to get exciting. And she had to admit the pay and perks had sounded very appealing at the time. But cleaning up Mister Jackstone's sick in the stables had not been on her list of 'things I want to do when I take a position with a nob.'

To make it worse, he'd been in no condition to tend to the horses afterward, and they'd clearly been rode as hard as she'd ever seen. Poor Bethny was near collapse. She'd only just finished her when thank the gods Nick returned from the bakery and she was able to put him to finishing Flower.

As luck would have it, just as she got her feet up in the kitchen the blasted bell for the door rang again. She did some maths in her head. Roast'em was with that strange ferner physicker, getting all stitched up. Mister Knäcke was locked in the lady's suite, doing she was sure she didn't know what and didn't' want to know what. Mister Jackstone was passed out drunk. The Roberts were hiding in their rooms to avoid her wrath. Nick was in the stables. That left…

She sighed and dragged her feet from the stool.

Opening the door, she beheld young Jessica Knäcke. She didn't mind Jessica. She'd made a few hints to Nick about how much she didn't mind Jessica, but the boy was thick as a plank.

The nob that was with her, though. She wasn't so sure about.

"It's a foul night, young Miss Knäcke. Not a good time for visitors, begging your pardon." She eyed the young woman with her, all dressed in conservative clothes and white/black hair pulled back in a severe bun. Odd that, white hair on a young lady and that black streak.

"I know, Missus Jackstone, but this is Miss Susan. She's a friend of Myria's."

"As you like, but she's locked in her suite." She gave Jessica a look and lowered her voice. "She was in a state. Young Mister Knäcke is tending to her, I'm sure. Not that it's any of my business."

Jonathon started out of a sound sleep. Someone was pounding on the door of the suite, loud enough to filter through the sitting room and into the bedroom. He blinked his eyes blearily, and tried to absorb his surroundings.

Bed.

Myria's bedroom.

Myria's bed.

Myria lying in the bed next to me.

He took quick stock of the state of his clothing (still there) and hers (still there) and her physical and mental state (psychotic break followed by passing out) and his (emotional/physical exhaustion) and decided he had very little that required explanation.

But that damn banging was getting on his nerves, and he could see Myria starting to twitch with each strike on the door.

Grumbling, he dragged himself off the bed and staggered through the doorway. "I'm coming!" he hissed between thumps, loud enough to stop the racket. Turning the bolts was no easy task. Apparently they had been jammed with some force into the slots. Finally managing them, he threw the door open.

"Susan!" He saw that Jessica was with her, looking amused, blast her.

"The same. I am told our Myria has had an adventure. Again."

He sighed. "Yeah."

Her eyes flicked to the other doorway. "Is she well?"

"She's had a scare, but I think she'll be alright. She was talking crazy before she passed out, but she didn't do anything too uncanny."

Susan hadn't realized how tense she had been until she allowed herself to relax. "That's encouraging. Shall we sit and catch me up?"

Jonathon scanned Myria's sitting room. "What? Here?"

"I would think you would wish to remain close by. The proprieties can hang themselves for the moment, wouldn't you agree?"

"See Jonny, I told you that you were too uptight."

"Oh, quiet. Go see if Missus Jackstone will bring some tea without resigning."

"On my way!"

Minutes later, they were mostly caught up on Myria and had started on Susan's dealings in Sto Helit.

"It was all very boring, frankly, though exceptionally difficult to unravel. It appears a disagreement had arisen between Lord Puttermills and Lord Caine regarding the ownership of a particularly fertile strip of agricultural property."

"Wait." Jessica's face shone disbelief. "You were gone for over a week over a cabbage patch?!"

"It does seem foolish, does it not. But no. This in and of itself would not have required my attention. You see, both of these fine gentlemen hold senior positions on the Council of Burghers. And again, this alone would not normally have been an issue either."

"But it appears that, in addition, they both received letters which led them to believe a certain Lady Chattersmith had certain… interests in both of these gentlemen, and that interest might hinge on who owned that particular stretch of property."

"Oh. Yeah I could see how that-"

"Oh we aren't done. For you see, Lady Puttermills and Lady Caine were not best pleased with the entire situation."

"Oh."

"Needless to say, by the time I received the Clacks, Lady Caine had attempted to remove Lord Caine's head with a ceremonial sword in the midst of a council meeting."

"Then… this wasn't the Patrician's doing at all?"

Susan's lips whitened as she pressed them together. "Oh I'm not saying that at all. Clearly, the situation was weeks in development. But it can be no coincidence that it reached its apex at the moment I became directly involved in the hearing. And everywhere I looked, I found mysteries. The so-called Lady Chattersmith turned out to not exist at all. No one could determine from whence the letters came, and I was unable to make heads nor tails of the entire matter until, suddenly, everything resolved itself as if by magic."

"And the next day, I received word 'from an anonymous friend' that the hearing had been concluded, and a satisfactory agreement reached a few days prior."

"Wow."

"Yes. I believe that sums it up."

Susan had been infuriated, but now she was simply in awe. The fact that Vetinari had an incident, prepackaged and ready to go, such that it could be initiated at need, was practically impossible to resolve at the time, but dissolved as if by magic at a moment's notice… well she didn't have to like the bastard, but she had to admire his statecraft.

But there will be a reckoning, oh yes.

"So now what?"

Susan sighed. "Now I must try to repair the damage that my temporary substitute has doubtless inflicted upon the fragile psyches of my students." She smiled, remembering the state of the last two substitute teachers after previous sabbaticals. "Or perhaps vice versa."

"Who is this person, and why is she in Lady LeJean's private quarters?"

Susan's eyebrows went up, and she slowly turned her head to behold a man, of Klatchian ethnicity, standing in the doorway. The look he was giving her, she decided, was very similar to the look she gave interlopers into her classroom. The thought brought a smile.

"This is Miss Susan, Roustam." Jessica explained quickly. "We told you about her."

"Hmm. I would have preferred that you notified me before bringing people into the household, Mister Knäcke."

Jonathon sighed wearily. "You were being stitched up, and frankly she was already here before I knew about it."

"Even worse. Still. It is a pleasure to meet you, milady."

"Likewise. You were wounded in today's excitement, I assume?"

"Professional hazard, milady, and nothing to cause concern."

"Would you care for some tea?"

"Hmm? Ah yes thank you. Four sugars please."

"Four?"

"It is a habit of my country. Rather a poor one. You do not so much drink tea, as excavate it."

They chatted amiably for a few minutes, which surprised Jonathon and Jessica. Roustam was the first person they had seen meet Susan without eliciting a prickly response.

"My lady, forgive me for saying so, and I'm sure it sounds preposterous. But do you have any relations who may have visited Klatch?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Again, I must ask your forgiveness, but you remind me of someone. An officer Beau Nidle. I encountered him several years ago when escorting a caravan though the remote deserts of Klatch. He had joined the Klatchian Foreign Legion. I remember him as being tall and quite…" he struggled with the words, "quite pale. Now that I consider, it is difficult to recall details, only that you remind me of him in some manner."[3]

Susan raised an eyebrow. "I can only imagine that to be a coincidence."

"Yes. Of course. But tell me again about this school at which you teach."

At one point he was called away briefly.

"You know," Jessica smirked, "I think Roustam likes you."

"Really? I can't imagine why."

[1] One of the fringe benefits of having several dozen eyeballs which can wander about the room independently. It also makes the other gods very wary of playing poker with you.

[2] The gods were, for all practical purposes, indestructible when at home in Cori Celesti. But that didn't stop them, from time to time, losing their tempers and attempting to smite one of their brethren to ash.

[3] See the adventures of Death in Terry Pratchett's Soul Music.