59. Sharp Edges
Neither LeJean, nor Fedecks, had noted the slightly darker shadows hovering near the ceiling during their conversation. It was only after the room had faded from view that the three Auditors conferred.
This bears further consideration.
Those ephemeral entities which style themselves the Gods of the Discworld seek to make the entity LeJean into one of their number.[1]
Would this not remove the entity from a position to interfere with our further plans?
This is probable. However, we wish it removed from this existence, not merely removed as an obstacle.
Perhaps this can be used to our benefit.
Mister Sharps found himself uncomfortable with his former brethren's presence, though he could not say why. He found his hands clenching and unclenching the entire time.
"Why do you interrupt us now? We are still advancing our mission!"
This entity's efforts have been noted, but progress remains elusive.
"It is a difficult task. We are attempting to use subtlety! We require more time!"
There was an uncomfortable silence. The Auditors had heard these words before, months ago, from the oral orifice of the LeJean itself.
This entity will not delay further. We will provide additional information now which will expedite its efforts.
Mister Sharps listened without speaking further, his thoughts a tangled mess of conflicting desires.
This entity will proceed.
"We will do as our brethren require." But there was no enthusiasm in the statement.
Myria was surprised when Sharps arrived in the late afternoon, only minutes after Jonathon and Jessica had left with Susan for yet another "field trip" tutoring session. Myria had received Mister Sharps only one day previous, and he did not usually come two days in a row.
He insisted that he speak to Myria privately, which Roustam unhappily agreed to.
"We have found another of our number!" Sharps exclaimed, as soon as they were alone. "But they are very ill! We attempted to get them to come with us to meet the LeJean, but they would not!"
Myria heard the words with a shock. "Another? But… this is wonderful! Another of our number to be saved! What is their location?"
"We will show you! We must go alone! The brown-skinned one would insist he come. He will frighten them away again. They ran from us, what would they do if they saw him?!"
Myria glanced at the door with a sinking feeling. "This is impossible. Roustam will not allow me to go without him. Perhaps if I explained-"
"The LeJean must trust us, it will make her happy, we promise!" He thought quickly. "We told them of you, they did not believe us. We told them you were our savior. They thought us mad! They will believe you! Quickly! They suffer and they are very ill!
"I must think on this!"
Sharps leaned closer, eyes feverish with intensity. "We must save them! With more of our number, how much more quickly can we learn what we must to become human?" His voice lowered, conspiratorially. "We have been approached… by ones calling themselves Gods."
Myria froze. When she replied, it was barely above a whisper. "What did they tell you?"
"They told us that they feared The LeJean would become mightier than they. That it would challenge them for this world. We told them they were false. That we would show them that she cared only for her lost brothers and to become human!"
Myria processed this. Could this be their true motivation? The Gods were not known for being altruistic. A more selfish motive on their part seemed credible. "And how did they respond?"
"They revealed the existence of our lost brother to us! Surely, if we prove that we care only for this, they will spare the LeJean!"
Hope, the savior and downfall of countless humans, burned like a meteor through her. But it warred with fear and a nagging voice from inside her own head, which told her that this would require lying to those who she considered her friends and allies.
Roustam was relieved when Myria opened the door to her suite. "Please see Mister Sharps out. I am afraid his story was likely fabricated; there was no cause for concern.
Roustam could see Sharps, draped unhappily over a chair in the corner, and heaved a sigh of relief. "Very well, Anissa. But you look disturbed, even so." It was true; she looked pale but appeared somewhat agitated both at the same time.
She shook her head. "He raised my anxiety with his fancies, Roustam. I believe I will retire to my bed. Please ensure I am undisturbed."
"Of course, Anissa. I will see to Sharps."
Two hours passed, and something nagged at Roustam. He sought the out the cook. "Missus Jackstone, will you check on the Lady? Quietly of course."
"Of course, Mister Roast'em."
Every second brought a growing certainty, as Missus Jackstone knocked quietly before opening the outer door to Myria's sitting room. He barely heard the process repeated at the inner door to her bedchambers.
Something told him, even before he heard the Missus gasp, what he would find when he rushed into the room.
Myria LeJean was gone from her suite. Only a slight unevenness in the wall and a small pile of dust at the base of it gave clue to how she might have left, but the wall was otherwise solid. He could find no way she could have actually passed that way.
Ignoring the pale-faced Missus Jackstone, Roustam ran out the front door of the residence, into the street.
And into despair.
I must not. I must. I must not. I must.
"I will do as you insist. I will tell Roustam a falsehood, with which you must agree. Where shall I meet you?"
"In the Maul. Our body-guard no longer fears for us, and is often distracted. We will find you there."
As soon as Sharps and Roustam had left the room, she closed the outer door, entered her bedchamber, close that door as well.
Then she concentrated.
The temperature dropped. Reality resisted, gave, and a portion of the exterior wall disintegrated, just enough to pass a human body.
Myria staggered out into the side street, fighting a sense of unreality and with her head throbbing with the pain of exertion. She realized the opening might draw attention before she could accomplish her task, and turned, expecting further pain as she attempted to undo the work she had just accomplished.
She was surprised, and relieved, when doing so seemed not only effortless, but her previous pain almost disappeared.
Turning, she hurried along the street toward the Isle of Gods, and thence to the Maul. In minutes, she was surrounded by the bustle of Ankh-Morpork pedestrian life, and only sheer will forced her onward to the Maul.
Once there, her fear grew. So many humans! Any of these could be one who wish me harm!
She felt a sudden tug at her arm and gasped, but it was only Mister Sharps.
"Come we must hurry! We have obtained a coach!"
The coach ride brought back unpleasant memories, but Mister Sharps continued to reassure her. If she could fight through this fear, she reasoned, she might save yet another of their number and evade the fate the Gods had threatened as well.
When they reached their destination, thankfully not in the Shades but too close for her comfort, he stopped the coach, paid the driver, and led her away.
"Where, Mister Sharps? Where are they?"
"It was not far. Come! We must hurry!"
One street led to a second. The second to the mouth of a dim alley.
"Here! Quickly!" Sharps ran forward, giggling, past several shadowed doorways. "All will be well!" Myria followed, and found they had reached the end of the alley, filled with nothing but refuse and wooden crates.
"But… where are they?"
Mr. Sharps giggled, leaving Myria wondering whether this had been some elaborate jest on his part. Then his eyes locked on something over her shoulder, and he smiled. "We have brought her, as you asked. Now fulfill your promise."
Myria turned to find a man had slid within inches of her, from behind. His eyes burned with joy and hate all blended into one.
She opened her mouth to shout, to say something; to deny what her body knew must be coming.
His hand moved, and she felt pain blossom like a rose beneath her sternum. Pain raging like fire through thousands of tiny nerve-endings, becoming a torrent as they joined trunk-lines and washed over her brain in a flood. Excruciating pain. Debilitating pain that somehow grew by the moment.
"Hullo love," Flasher smiled, "I've been wantin' to meet you for such a long time."
[1] From the perspective of the Auditors, even the Gods of the Discworld, being in large part dependent on the adulation of human worshippers for their continued existence, were mere blips on the cosmic radar.