54. Green-Eyed Monsters

"Ah Commander, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Vetinari set aside the paperwork he had been reviewing and approximated a smile.

"You requested an update on the LeJean situation, remember?"

"Of course. It must have slipped my mind."

Not likely.

"And what do you have to report."

Vimes sat down heavily. "Not much, unfortunately. We've narrowed the list of suspects down somewhat. The ones that pulled the ambush last week were strictly small timers. Hired muscle, but they did have a history of association with Snakes' gang."

"Ah yes. The unfortunate Mister Snakes. A pity we could not make use of him."

"At this point, about the only use he'd have is lubricating locks." He gave a short barking laugh of disbelief. "Along with Jessica Knäcke's description of the other men, that accounts for four of Snake's people. We know of two more, at least, who skipped town."

"And this leaves?"

"It's hard to say, they don't exactly keep a membership roster. But we've heard rumors there's at least one or two still kicking around, and they've made the LeJean thing personal." Vimes shook his head. "It's the only thing that makes sense. There's no way they're getting enough profit at this point, no matter how they played it."

"I have reason to believe your supposition to be correct, Commander. And Lady LeJean herself?"

"She seems to be doing well, though she's holed herself up in that house for the past week. Not so much as a peep about visiting Mister Filth or Mister Sharps or whatever he's calling himself these days." Not that I mind that one bit. A LeJean stuck in that house is one less thing for me to worry about.

For others, it had the opposite effect.

"What on the disc is eating you, Jonny?" Jessica eyed him carefully, one hand on a hip.

Jonathon dropped the lump of dough he'd been kneading and threw up flour-covered hands, creating a rather impressive pattern of white swirls in the air. "What?"

"That. You're overreacting to the smallest thing. You've snapped at three customers today, and the look you gave me when I asked you to hand me the rolling pin, I wondered whether you would give it to me upside my head."

"Oh… sorry. It's nothing."

"Right. Nothing. Well, you better lighten up before da gets in one of his moods too. I don't think I could handle both of you walking around all soured up over nothing."

It was in part the promise Jonathon had made to his uncle Pars, to spend less time at Myria's and more time working. It was true that business had picked back up and they were very busy during the day. But Pars also managed to find multiple errands for Jonathon to run that just happened to need doing in the evenings. Important things, Pars insisted. Things that Jessica couldn't manage.

It was making Jonathon absolute crap to live with at the bakery, and he found his irritability spilling over into his time with Myria too, which just made it worse. He should be enjoying his time with her, not stewing over the fact that they couldn't leave the house and he couldn't stay long.

Roustam in particular bothered him. The man was always there. Heck, Roustam got to spend more time with Myria than he did, and that grated too.

Myria noticed as well, and found it troubling. But each time she attempted to discuss it with him, he'd snap, then apologize and tell her there was nothing to be done. The bakery needed him, and he had responsibilities.

Roustam finally cornered him one evening, on his way out the door back to the bakery.

"I perceive you have become unhappy with me, offendi. Perhaps it is my hairstyle?"

Jonathon kept his eyes focused on the door and attempted to step around the bodyguard. "Not taking the bait, Roustam. And I've got errands to run."

"Ah. Then perhaps it is my accent?"

Jonathon gave him a long look. "No. Not the accent, either. And you know it."

"Perhaps it is because I have been spending more waking hours with your fiancé than you? Do you fear you have cause to be jealous?"

Jonathon's face tightened. This wasn't it, really, but it was hitting close to home.

"Well I wasn't, but now that you bring it up-"

"Offendi, think no more on this. There are men who would cut off… well various appendages, were there even the merest suspicion I would do such a thing. Besides. I have standards to keep up."

"Good." It actually made him feel slightly better, the idea of a Roustam minus some important but non-mortal bits. Not that he didn't appreciate what the man did, but there was only so much he could stand.

"Now if you'll get out of my way-"

Roustam's eyes flicked over him. "Still, in my field, a man learns to read body language. Yours broadcasts your unhappiness like a bawling camel, offendi."

Jonathon slumped. "I'm tired, Roustam. And I'm spread all over the place. And I'm not used to this." Jonathon gestured, managing to encompass the residence and Roustam all at once. "The bakery is busier than I've ever seen." Especially considering we don't seem to have that many more customers than before. The thought made him angry, and he squashed it. "I thought it would be easier once Myria's money problems were solved. But things just seem to be more complicated."

"Offendi, you are a man of toil. A man with a vocation. A man like me. A man of hard work and simple problems. And now, you see that with wealth come not fewer problems, simply different and more complex problems. Yes. But you must learn to make peace with these things."

"That's easy for you to say."

"Words are easy. Let me tell you a tale. There once was a man of my country whose business required him to travel frequently between two cities in the desert. He had an excellent camel for his long treks, who contrary to all things camel was obedient and seldom bit him."

"But one day, the man hurt his leg before the trip home, and as a result, mounting and dismounting his camel was very painful. So when this man was crossing the desert to his home, he forced the camel to pass by the first two oases, rather than stop to water it, as stopping would have required him to suffer the pain of dismounting each time. As a result, the camel collapsed in the middle of the desert and died, and the man was forced to limp with his painfully lame leg to the third oasis and wait two days for the next caravan passing through."

"I feel sorry for the camel. And that man was an idiot."

"Yes. But the lesson, offendi, is that one must ensure that in attempting to avoid one set of problems, which in your case are the conflict with your work, your dislike of Myria's safety requirements, and your anger at your uncle, one must take care not to create one that is much more difficult to address."

Jonathon stopped trying to get around Roustam and leaned back against the wall. "Such as?"

"Houses like fortresses? Disapproving uncles? Prickly bodyguards? These are small things, offendi, which may pass, or which a man can learn to come to terms with. Roustam shook his head sadly. "Letting your frustration change you into someone who no longer delights the eyes of your lover, that is a more difficult matter to repair. Do you understand, offendi?"

Jonathon was quiet for a few moments. "I think I do. But it's not as easy as you say."

"They are just words, offendi. They are always easy."

Jonathon shook his head, realized something. "Did you just compare Myria to a camel?"

"Let it be our little secret, offendi."

But Myria had heard, and the next day she summoned Bodkins Hardlee.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea, Myria." Hardlee bit his cheek. "People don't always receive a gift in the manner it was intended."

"It is needful, Mister Hardlee. I must do something to make him happier. "

Had it been anyone else entering the residence with that expression, Roustam would likely have had them pinned to the floor with an elbow in seconds or, possibly, to the ceiling with a knife. As it was, with Jonathon, he knew where his duty extended, and that was to be near in case things escalated, but not so near that he was obtrusive.

The door to her quarters slammed open, and Myria almost dropped the book she had been reading. Descent Into Insanity – A Surveyor's Guide to Ankh Morpork was the title. It had been quite engaging.[1]

"Myria!"

She processed his facial expressions and tone. "You are unhappy with me, Jonathon. What-"

"What did you do?!" Jonathon's hands were clenching and unclenching, and he appeared out of breath. His face was pale, she decided, reflecting a mix of panic, disbelief, and horror. Probably, were one's privy to suddenly sprout legs and come knocking on the front door, they would have a similar expression.

"I am sorry? I have done many things, Jonathon."

"The bakery, Myria! We just got a letter saying we didn't have to worry about our next monthly payment!"

Myria looked pained. "I had not considered that your former landlord would contact you before we spoke this afternoon." Her brows knit. "You are not pleased?"

"Pleased?! Myria you can't just pay our rent for us, it's…. my uncle would…" He shook his head. "Why did you do this?"

Myria chewed her lip. "You were unhappy, Jonathon. And it was clear that your unhappiness was in part because the bakery required extra labor, but you did not have the financial ability to hire additional assistance. Therefore, it seemed reasonable that if your family was no longer required to pay lease payments, it would be financially beneficial to them."

"Wait… did you say former landlord?" Jonathon yanked at his hair, staggering in a circle before leaning against the back of a chair. "Myria… tell me you didn't buy our bakery?"

"Mr. Hardlee was most helpful in this matter. He drew up all the required documentation, contacted the landlord and negotiated a reasonable amount. It was all very straightforward and completed in only a few days."

Jonathon considered all the ways in which the world had gone mad. "Myria. You own my family's bakery?" His stomach sank further. "My uncle's going to completely lose it. He was irate before, but now he's going to completely lose it."[2]

"Incorrect. I had considered holding it without lease, to the same effect. However, Mister Hardlee felt it would be awkward and might engender the reaction you allude to. The papers were drawn to transfer it to your family's possession. Jointly."

Jonathon's jaw dropped, closed with a click. "I don't understand…"

"The title to the property should be delivered this evening. I had not thought the prior landlord would send notification, or I would have told you before. It was to be a surprise."

Jonathon orbited the chair once and sat down heavily. Elbows went to knees, face in hands.[3] "A surprise," came from a mouth muffled by several sets of fingers.

"Is this not a good thing, Jonathon? I have done this for your family. You will be financially stable and independent, and can afford to hire assistance rather than work all day yourselves at the bakery. And you could spend your days here with me."

He stared around at the walls of the suite with its high windows that only looked inward. "It's a cage, Myria. A fancy cage with smiling guards."

"This is incorrect, Jonathon. I am able to leave."

"With Roustam's approval. And with Roustam's escort. And you haven't left in over a week, since that incident on Attic Bee." Myria started at the comment, not realizing how much it would sting. Jonathon shook his head and lifted it from his hands. "And that's not the point! Myria, do you have any idea the chaos you've caused? My uncle is pulling his hair out and in a screaming match with his own daughter. My aunt is trying to calm him down and sent me here to get out of the line of fire."

"I do not understand. They should be happy."

"You can't make people what they aren't, Myria. Especially not without asking them. You just took a family of tradesmen, whose parents and grandparents and great grandparents were tradesmen, and you turned them into…. into landowners! These are not peers, Myria. They won't know how to live like you."

"I see." It was beginning to sink in that, just perhaps, Mister Hardlee had known somewhat more than she about human nature. The possibility was disconcerting. "Perhaps I should come to the bakery now, to explain."

"No! If he's going to react the way I think, better to let him cool off before he sees you." He sighed. "Let me handle this, and we can talk later. Alright?"

He was too late.

He could hear his uncle's ranting upstairs, as soon as he entered the bakery.

"I won't have it, I tell you! I won't be beholden to that woman!"

"What's done is done, Pars." His aunt had that 'careful tone' that he recognized.

"Then it can be undone." Jonathon heard his uncle say, as he reached the top of the stairs. It was followed by the sound of tearing parchment.

He knew who he would hear from next, and dreaded it. "Oh great, da. Just great. That'll do it up proper." Jessica snorted to add emphasis.

Well if it makes him feel better, let him. Jonathon thought, though he suspected it was fruitless.

His aunt, on the other hand, had apparently reached her limit. "Pars Knäcke, that was a silly thing to do. You know very well that the letter said this was a copy, and the original was already filed with the city. I don't think tearing up a copy will magically make us have to pay a monthly lease again."

Jonathon reached the stairs just in time to see Pars face turn a particularly vivid shade of purple as he gaped at her. He managed to restart his breathing and then retorted "Then we'll sell it! I'll not be behold-"

Rosemarie's face was taut. "Do not you yell at me, husband. And that is no solution either. If we sell it, we'll have enough money that we could buy it back, or buy another one. Or retire."

"Then we'll give it away!" His voice had dropped a few decibels, but he was still irate. Luckily it was all focused at his wife at the moment.

If only Jessica could keep her mouth shut. "Da, we can't give it away. Or sell it."

Crap.

"I can do whatever I want!"

"Da," she continued in a strangely quiet tone, especially for Jessica. "That title is in all our names. We'd all have to agree. And I'm not going to throw away my future, just because you don't like Myria."

There were several seconds that stretched into eternities, where things could go any number of ways, none of them good. During those seconds, Pars noticed Jonathon. He managed, somehow, to reign in his anger.

"And you? Do you agree with your cousin?"

"Uncle, I know it's a shock, but Jessica's right."

"Gee thanks, Jonny."

"Quiet," Rosemarie snapped.

Pars looked from face to face, wondering where his family, and his place in it, had gone. His face closed up. "I'm going out. Need some air."

No one stopped him.

"I'll call on old Tom Miller," Rosemarie huffed. "Have him stop by Pars favorite pub in an hour to make sure he gets home tonight." She eyed them. "You two make sure the bakery is ready for the morning. We're going to have a rough one."

"Yes ma."

They were halfway through prep before either of them spoke. "So what will we do now that we have a life of leisure?"

Jonathon snorted. "I was thinking we could send you to schooling."

Jessica's eyes bulged and a flying salt cellar hit him in the chest. "Not funny! Sides, I'd never fit in the desks."

"Okay, okay maybe some private tutoring then."

She stopped sweeping. Was Jonny actually serious? "Why?"

"Jessie, you're a smart girl. I know I tease you mercilessly, but honestly you're smarter than me. Imagine how dangerous you'd be with an education."

"You've got a point. Maybe I'll ask Miss Susan if she knows someone."

"Heh. Maybe she'll take you on herself."

"Oh right. That'll go together like a match and kerosene."

[1]Ankh-Morpork was, to a self-respecting land surveyor, the equivalent of placing someone with OCD in a room where the furniture spontaneously rearranged itself each night. The author was currently receiving intensive psychological treatment in Ephebe.

[2]The perceptive reader will note that somehow, despite the fact that they don't own the building, and were instead leasing it, it is still "their bakery" and if, for example, Myria bought it, it would no longer be "their bakery". Yep. Makes no sense to us either, but there you are.

[3]There is, believe it or not, a sculpture in Sator Square with this exact pose "The Cryer". Supposedly, it was commissioned by one of the city's peers after they saw the results of commissioning BS Johnson to design their topiary.