More Tales from the Guilds Ch. 11

Oresmiter wiggled the drill out of its hole, put his ear to the stone and tapped it with his ax. The ring was another clear sign of a hollow behind it. He tapped around while the entire mine crew held its collective breath. The Dezka-k'nick expected silence when he was concentrating and he got it.

"Alright, you two lawn ornaments, drill three more holes here, here and—here. Then chisel between them. With any luck, the block should come out in one piece and we can just reach in and pull the Axle out. At least, I'm presuming it's an Axle. It could be a Cube or an Average Bar but Shelger says it hears the low tone Axles give off so it probably is. Drill!"

Swinging her hammer with renewed gusto, Smarmy quickly sank three more holes and then, taking the wide stone chisel that another dwarf handed her, joined them all with neat straight lines of cut. On the last blow, with a slight 'crunch' the block fell out. Helmeted heads all craned to get a glimpse when Lars reached two trembling hands into the opening and withdrew—an Axle! He turned it this way and that in the lamplight before handing it to his Dezka-k'nick.

Gustav blew the dust of millennia off and handed it around so that all could see and touch the treasure. Murmurs of awe and wonder followed its trace down one side of the tunnel and up the other until Oresmiter once more held it in his hands.

"Pickswinger! You and Shieldsplitter put together a squad and get this thing back to Bonk without delay. And, Smythsnephew, get topside and send a clacks to the Low Queen. She'll probably dispatch a company of guards to meet you halfway there. We don't want to have any possibility of it 'getting lost' on the march."

*****

In the back room of Raey al'Sijjad, Makirat abn Altharwa had led young Sam and Purity to a wall reaching to the high ceiling. It was all cubbies filled with various textiles, a good many of them rugs. Not all flew. The wealthy and tasteful of Ankh much appreciated the fine weaving from Klatch but most of them had no desire for the dining room suite to disappear down the street between courses. He pulled a rolling ladder over to one side and climbing to the top pulled down a small, narrow roll of carpeting. Carrying it down the ladder he grabbed the tassels on one end and snapped it out. The Cloudsplitter stiffened into a runner a foot and a half wide and six feet long. Then it slowly lifted into the air and hovered a foot off the ground.

Rolf trotted over to it, sniffed a few times and barked. The carpet obediently sidled over to Sammy and lowered a little.

"Did Rolf just tell the carpet to do that?" Sammy asked.

"Oh, yes, Master Sam," the shopkeeper replied, "Kh'olli's have been bred for generations to manage both the Syrrit sheep and the carpets. And the carpets know it. Should it get out of line, it can expect a severe worrying and your puppie's teeth are sharp. He will also keep it under control while you are learning to pilot it. That way you won't get thrown off from a dangerous height."

"Lady Sybil will be happy to hear that!" Purity sniffed, "And by any chance would you take his 'trainer' carpet in trade."

"No, no, Purity," Sammy protested, "it must go in the attic. Ramkins never throw anything away unless it becomes completely useless. My old one will make a fine heirloom."

Purity thought about that for only a moment. The boy was right. The several townhomes the family owned all had capacious attics that were generally stuffed full of items that 'might be of use' in the future. All were labeled and cataloged so that no more than an hour or so would be required to exhume and dust off some antique treasure. This saved money and as such added to the accumulated wealth. As Vimes noted, the rich stayed rich because they spent less.

"May I ride it home?"

"I believe your parents will be happier if you rode the old one home and then practiced in the back lawn. That way, should fall off, you won't get scraped."

Young Sam thought it over. It was a very sensible idea though a bit disappointing. And, as Prof. Oswaldo had said, he was a sensible lad.

*****

On the roof of the High Energy Magic building, a series of blocks in pairs were spaced on stools several feet apart in a rather long line. Each pair was made of a different material in what Prof. Oswaldo hoped were increasing heat resistance. The idea was to see how Twyla's flame compared with a certain level of wizards' fireball.

Ridcully, having gotten wind of the experiment, insisted on being on hand. "If there's goin' t'be shootin', I need t'make sure it's within bounds of University regulations!" he'd announced, though everyone on the Council knew full well what he really meant was that he intended to participate. Where there was any possibility of shooting taking place, you could be certain the Archchancellor would be on hand.

"So, what level fireball dijer plan on usin' as yer standard, Jonas?" the Archchancellor asked after carefully inspecting the 'range'.

"I have given that question considerable thought, Archchancellor," the Reader in Obstreperous Zoology replied, "Obviously a #1 would do nothing more than make a black smudge on the sample and a #10 . . ."

"Would take the bleedin' roof off!" Ridcully broke in, "Were yer thinkin' of 'bout a #6?"

"Perhaps for the second round, but to start with I think #4's would be sufficient."

"Sound judgement, that man! Alright, chaps, who's for takin' a shot? Runes? Horace? Barcbeadle?"

Jeremy Barcbeadle, D.Thau (Unseen), M. Mgc., B. App. Th., shot out his cuffs in the traditional manner of a wizard getting serious. It was the thaumaturgical equivalent or racking the slide on a pump shotgun.

"A #4, you say?" he muttered, "Right then!"

Stepping forward he pointed a forefinger at the first, wooden block. It vanished in a gout of flame.

"What ho!" "Well done." "That's showin' it!" and similar commendations burst from the assorted faculty.

"I'm next," Recent Runes insisted and vaporized a copper block.

This continued with much hilarity down the row until block of obsidian refused to budge.

"On to #6's!" Ridcully shouted, taking a shot at the black volcanic glass. It glowed white and melted but the back blast from the #6 had several of the wizards patting the smoking parts of their beards and checking to make sure they still had eyebrows. "Perhaps we'd best take a step or two back before the next one," the Archchancellor mused.

Proceeding more carefully, the test resumed until they arrived at the last target.

"Jonas," Ridcully asked, "is this octiron?"

"Yes, Archchancellor, I thought it might be the most resistant of materials."

Silence settled down on the group. Octiron, that ultimately dark, rare earth that is imbued with magic and therefore ill-behaved. It can be smelted and founded but that is best done with normal coal or coke and a great deal of care. Hitting it with magical fire was suddenly becoming a less attractive idea.

"Yer know, chaps, the old saw 'just because somethin' is possible don't make it a good idea' is loomin' here."

"Archchancellor, the more I think about this, the more I am inclined to agree. And I am beginning to doubt the wisdom of letting a young swamp dragon take a shot at it, either. If anything unfortunate were to happen to Twyla, young Samuel would never forgive me and gods forbid that I find myself on the wrong side of Commander Vimes—or worse yet, Lady Sybil. Perhaps we'd better look for some other way to measure heat," Professor Oswaldo stroked his beard nervously.

"Ook" came a response from nearer the ground.

"Well put, that ape," Ridcully muttered through his beard, "some time well spent in the library is in order."

*****

Cruising up Scoone Avenue past the high walls and spike-topped iron fences of the city's elite, Sammy and his squad (Rolf and Twyla) decided that the Cloudsplitter carpet was without question the best thing that had happened to them in just ages. It was when they came along the top of a high wall with a girl in a black sailor suit sitting on top of it that they stopped.

"Hello," the Marquess of Quire said politely, "why are you sitting clear up here?"

"I've been practicing edificeering," the girl replied calmly, "it's what we do in our family."

"Oh—are your family Assassins?"

"We are. I'm Lethality Wiggs, Li for short."

"I am pleased to meet you Li. I'm Samuel Vimes-Ramkin and these are Rolf and Twyla. My father has told me about your family. He had an—encounter with one named Jocasta."

"Oh, my aunt! Auntie Jo is still muttering about falling into your cesspool. She says your father doesn't play fair though she does acknowledge that he could probably teach Deadfalls and Traps at the Guild School. What is that you're riding?"

"It's a Klatchian flying carpet. This model is called a Cloudsplitter. Want to take a ride?"

Lethality's face lit up like a clear spring morning. "May I? Oh, yes, please! And may I pet your doggie and dragon? They're so cute!"

Before Sammy could answer, the pair settled down on the wall next to Li and nuzzled her arms. Getting petted was always to be encouraged, they thought.

"How do I get on?" Li asked after giving the pets a thorough ear scratch, pat and tummy rub.

"Just step on board," Sammy replied, "It feels perfectly solid though it might be better if you sat down. I fell several times before I learned to balance properly. Mother insisted that I always practice over the lake so that if I fell off, I wouldn't get hurt."

Li stepped confidently across (she was an edificeer, after all) and sat demurely in the center with her back to Sammy's shins.

"But you have two hippopotamus in the lake," she protested, "wouldn't falling in with them be dangerous? Hippos are very big, very territorial and can bit a man in half."

"Roderick and Keith are part of the family," Sammy explained, "and besides they're quite elderly. Since they know me, I'm in no danger. Someone they haven't been properly introduced to, though—I think you'd be right. Now hold on!"

Very few things in Ankh-Morpork go fast enough for the rider to experience g-forces. Broomsticks certainly do but those few who own flying carpets tend to prefer more sedate speeds. Thus Lethality was astounded to find herself pushed back against Sammy as the Cloudsplitter rocketed forward. Down the street they raced until crossing Kings Way to Chrononhotonthologos Street they rose above the Dragon and Bars and into a loop-the-loop that made Li squeal in frightened delight.

"Ooo! That was fun! How did you learn to do that?"

Sammy blushed. "Well, I was practicing in the back yard, trying out some of the maneuvers that Twyla does. I fell off on to the grass a couple of times before I figured out that in order to do a loop, you have to be going pretty fast. I started above the roof and zoomed down, stepped back on to the rear of the carpet which threw the front up and into a loop. I was really pleased with myself until I hear my mother call me down. It was one of those yells where you know that whatever you do next will be wrong? And that you are going to hear about it in spades? It turned out that my nanny, Purity, had seen me do the loop and had fainted in fright. Mother was very upset. That was when she decreed that all practicing of aerial acrobatics was to be done over the lake and that I was to give poor Purity fair warning so she could go hide instead of watching me."

Lethality giggled—then glowered. "That is so unfair! Boys get to do things like that and only get scolded. If I were to try anything like that, I would be grounded for a month."

"Well, if you get a Cloudsplitter of your own, you could come down to our house and practice over the lake. I can introduce you to Roderick and Keith so they won't get all territorial . . . "

*****

That evening, over dinner, Lethality announced to her parents that when she grew up, she was going to marry Sammy.

Her father, the renowned Assassin Basil Andrew (B.A.) Wiggs raised his eyebrows. "And what does the young Marquess think of this?"

"Oh, he doesn't know, yet. But he took me for a ride on his flying carpet and his dog and dragon both like me so I'm sure it will work out swimmingly. And, Daddy, I want a carpet too, the Cloudsplitter model, just like Sammy has. It was exciting! We did loops and barrel rolls. I want one so much. Please, Daddy?"

The senior Wiggs looked helplessly at his wife, who sat at the other end of the table smirking. "Well, dear," she responded, "Li's only slightly precocious. I believe I was about fourteen before I decided I was going to marry you, but you must admit it would be a proud match. So get the girl a carpet. Shared hobbies are great ways a couple can bond."

Catacomb put down his knife and fork in surprise. "Fourteen?"

Helena sighed. "Yes, dear, fourteen. I know you had no clue, men never do. And it took a certain amount of conniving before I convinced you that you should be pursuing me. But you must admit everything has turned out well. So now that that's settled, you can take her shopping tomorrow and once the carpet arrives from Klatch, they can start flying together. In the meantime, Sammy can spend time when he isn't studying trying to impress our youngest. That he already has, obviously, we can just keep under wraps. I think I shall start cultivating Lady Sybil since the Commander's distaste for the Guild is well known, even though he owns its property. Li will need someone in their family on her side."

*****

"It is time," Lord Downey began, "to straighten certain things out."

The tutors at the Assassins' Guild School were all assembled around the conference table in the Master's Office. Normally, this was a weekly meeting to deal with any minor problems or issues that arose within the school but today, the Headmaster of Assassins' jaw was tight and his lips were pursed in a scowl. Usually Lord Downey, though among the most renowned poisoners in the Guild's long history, appeared to be the genial, white-haired aristocrat that he was—most of the time. Today was not one of those times.

"Ours is," he began, "a time-honored and traditional profession. Our customs are hallowed from antiquity as befits the manner of aristocrats. However, the society in which we live and practice our craft is not static and so we must deliberately choose how we shall 'move with the times', as the saying goes. How an Assassin carries him or herself reflects on the Guild as a whole and so we must ever be alert for any possible slip in manners which may reduce the respect in which we are held."

"Hear, hear," came from around the table.

The Master nodded in acknowledgement. "Thank-you. Now, as I was about to say, the specific tools and techniques of our trade we vigilantly oversee to ensure that the client who keeps their guard up has an even chance of avoiding inhumation. However, we are now faced with the question of whether or not this is enough. Now we must contend with advances in transport. Originally an Assassin would stalk the client on foot, using the traditional skills of edificeering and His Lordship's discoveries in the realm of concealment. Horses were never used in the city because of the sound of their hoofbeats though out in the countryside, approaching a manor on horseback was the norm. Velocipedes pose no difficulty as they are actually no quieter than a horse. We can have no objection to the railway, as it will only carry the Assassin to a general location. But now things are more complicated."

Miss Alice Band, Tutor in Climbing, Traps and Locks, nodded. "I see where your argument is leading, Headmaster. Broomsticks have never developed much of a following among the citizenry because they are tricky to ride and quite uncomfortable. However, the increasing popularity of flying carpets is another matter entirely."

"Aye," the Extremely Reverend Dr. A-Pox-On-All-Their-Houses Jenkins growled, "those heathen conveyances make approaching a client so easy that it puts to scorn all our centuries of stealthy approach. With one of those you could ease up silently to a window, stand firmly on your feet while puzzling out the latch, open the window and take an easy shot from close range. They must be an anathema and banned!"

"Absolutely!" Mr. Mericet hissed, "Without traditions (and high fees) what are we? Expensive thugs, that's what. Headmaster I move that the use of flying carpets in the pursuit of a client be determined completely outside the pale and forbidden to all Guild members."

"Second!" exclaimed Mr. Graumunchen.

The motions was unanimously approved and published throughout the Guild. It had little effect on Lethality as she wasn't planning on 'taking Black' anyway and at ten-going-on-eleven just wanted to ride.

*****

Upstairs in the Cavern Club, Outcrop knocked on his boss's door.

"Comin' in!"

"Mr. Chrysoprase, uh, I tinkin' what I hab is bad news."

The head of the Guild of Bodyguards, Bouncers and Last Resort Lenders turned in his chair and folded massive arms across his chest.

"How bad?"

"It about young trolls not habbin' respec', Mr. Chrysoprase. But der good news is dat dey got what were comin' to 'em."

Chrysoprase sighed. "Tell me what happenin'."

"Well, dere be dese two young trolls, Bitumen and Coalseam? And dey hear wha' you sayin' 'bout leabin' young Sam alone or you takin' it out in teef? And dey say, 'Ho, ho' dat Chrysoprase, he old an' out ob touch. Wha' he gonna do?' and decide to try and take Sammy's new carpet from him while he gibbin' der liddle girl down der street a ride."

Chrysoprase sagged and put his face in his palm. "Don' tell me, der two mos' flammable trolls in der city try to mug a human wit' a flyin' dragon? If I taught it would work, I be gibbin a whole lotta money to Dr. Lawn an' aks him to find a cure for stupid but he probably refuse. I guessin' what happen next but tell me der whole ting."

"Well, Mr. Chrysoprase, der two ob dem hab recently join der Pigsty Hill Dead Marmoset Gang, who are a well-knowed buncha losers. And dey talk der gang into trying to ambush Sammy when he fly under der Brass Bridge. Der two trolls block der way on eider side of der bridge and one Gwillum Flyspeck announce dat if Sammy don' wan' his friend hurt, he will be gibbing der carpet over."

"How many dead?"

"Only four, dat I know ob. When der golem firefighters come runnin' up because ob der smoke, dey fin' a patch ob burnin' tar what were Bitumen, der liddle dragon munchin' on der crunchy bits ob Coalseam who got a hole burnt tru his head, two gang members onna groun' wif knifes in der chests and dat Flyspeck sort lyin' face down wif der seat of his pants tore out and der Kh'olli standing on his back, growlin'."

"Two wif knifes in der chests?"

"Uh, it turn out dat de liddle girl is name Lethality Wiggs and she even better wif knifes dan Sammy. Howeber, when Constable Drofl arrive, she bawlin' her eyes out because she kill dis fool an' not get paid for it. She afraid she gonna be in so much trouble if her momma find out. So Constable Dorfl gib her a dollar and tell her not to worry."

"Ah, dat explain eberyting. Tank-you, Outcrop. Go findin' someone from der Times an' tell dem what you jus' tol' me. I tink der more people who know not to bodder young Sam Vimes, der bedder!"