More Tales From the Guilds Ch. 12

"Are y'now?" Ridcully replied jovially, "Well it's good to see an Old Boy of Unseen who has risen so well in society."

He'd probably gone on like this for a while longer (while desperately trying to place who in the dickens Cutwell was) when the Patrician entered the room with Lady Margolotta on his elbow and Lady Saxifrage von Eisenberg (AKA Razorclaw) and Mr. Nutt following. All eyes turned to face them as they seated themselves at the head of the table.

Vetinari looked around and nodded in satisfaction. "I see we are all here. Grag Bashfullson for the Low Queen, Mr. Thunderbolt for the Diamond King of Trolls—most satisfactory. This meeting is called at the behest of the Lady Margolotta, ruler of all Übervald above ground, and of Mr. Nutt, Esquire of Loko. He recently sent an expedition to that peculiar land and has uncovered something—disturbing. I will leave it to him to explain. Mr. Nutt?"

The Orc, head up and shoulders back, rose to his feet. Those who only remembered him as the Candle Dribbler at Unseen University would have been amazed. No longer hunched and timid, Mr. Nutt stood confidently to the height of a normal, strong man and his voice was resonantly deep and confident.

"As we all know," he began, "centuries ago the larger parts of Überwald, Borogravia, Mouldavia and Zlobenia fell under the control of a Sourceror now known as the Evil Emperor. He was, in a word, evil. He did many terrible things and performed many terrible magics and he crafted armies of built warriors like myself to invade the surrounding countries. The war went on for decades and laid waste to many unfortunate communities. It turned scenic landscapes into burnt wasteland and to this day there are places where the grass will never grow again. The Sourceror was defeated only by herculean efforts of the allied peoples of the Sto Plains and, to be perfectly honest, by a great deal of luck.

The outlines of this are, of course, common knowledge, but I have spent much time in Lady Margolotta's library exploring further. I wished to know the origins of my own species and as much as I could determine of the land of our birth. My research has led me to the conclusion that the greatest piece of luck for the Allies was the Emperor's misjudgment or mistake that led to the creation of the deep, strange, magic-haunted valley that today we call Loko. It is a fearsome place. Professor Stanmer Crustly found out how fearsome when he led an expedition there many years ago. He found the Scrolls of Loko but he and all his expedition succumbed to a number of messy magical diseases, as has anyone else foolish enough to go there since. However, there were rumors that a surviving population of Orcs lived there and since I am an Orc I presumed that if they could survive its magical atmosphere, so could I. The presumption was correct.

We Orcs carry within our bodies a 'second self', an 'internal doctor' that heals us when we are injured or ill. Presumably this was to make us even more difficult to defeat on the battlefield but it seems also to give us a certain immunity to the more malicious forms of magic, such as those found in Loko. Thus my relatives and fellow Orcs were able to survive there and even, to a small degree, flourish, wretched as they were. We owe a great deal to the Lady Margolotta and to the Reverend Mightily Oats who freed me from the anvil I was chained to and who escorted me and my lady Sugarbean to Loko where he kept her safe while I liberated my brethren.

Under her ladyship's auspices, we have increased in numbers and in prosperity and we were proud to assist in the defeat of the despicable Überwolfen. And thus, when we received a request to investigate some disturbing rumors that had reached the ears of the Reverend Oats our council met and dispatched a military team to seek out whatever truth there might be to the hearsay."

Nutt paused for a drink of water, set down the goblet, took a deep breath and continued in a voice now edgier and more dire.

"The rumors understated the situation! As the team moved stealthily through the landscape, the captain remarked that there was something different from when he had been there previously. The birdsong wasn't as loud or frequent as before. The other strange magical creatures, the centaurs and woods fairies were flightier and unapproachable. Something was very wrong."

* * * * *

A month before, Captain Oak stood at the edge of the clearing, motionless. The entire patrol was in the Stillness that Assassins spent years perfecting. But for the Orcs, it was natural. Nostrils flared, testing the breeze. Looking over his shoulder, he motioned Trooper Willowleaf up next to him and nodded toward the row of cave openings on the far wall of the glade. The captain raised his hand and extended wicked claws and raised an eyebrow at the trooper. Willowleaf nodded and did the same on both hands. Moving like wraiths on the wind they crept toward a cave opening with a faint light glowing from within.

The cave looked comfortably furnished and yards in from the entrance, a wizard was doing something around a glowing ball of green light on a pedestal. Oak motioned Willowleaf to the other side of the opening and then calmly stepped inside followed by his troopers. The wizard paid no heed until the captain deliberately stepped on a stick. At the sound, the wizard turned.

"Orcs!" he cried gleefully, "I knew you would return, haha! You understand, now, that you cannot exist without a Master. Soon, I will achieve my goal and become a Sourceror. Then, my loyal slaves, you will ravage the disc and the Dark Empire will rise again. HA—HAHA—AHAHAHAHA . . ."

At the word 'slaves', Trooper Willowleaf's eyes narrowed and he leapt forward with reptilian speed. Plunging the claws of his left hand down through the wizard's skull, he ripped out the man's throat with the right, letting him fall, bloodily, to the ground.

Captain Oak nodded in approval and turned to his patrol. "Take this carrion out and burn it. Rowan and Holly, make all haste back to the village. Get something we can carry this—this—whatever it is. Obviously it is too dangerous for anyone but the Archchancellor to deal with. The rest of us will bivouac here and stand guard. And Rowan, tell Mr. Nutt. He will doubtless advise her ladyship. We may have arrived in the nick of time."

The two appointed couriers set off at a tireless, ground-eating lope while the rest cleaned up what remained of the wizard and set about turning the comfortable cave into a comfortable encampment. They were just settling down for the night when a faun timidly approached and tapped on the cave entrance with a stone.

Pointing to the rustic pyre out in the glade he asked hopefully, "He—he's dead then? You actually killed him? Oh, thank-you, thank-you so much. He was a terrible person and used to do terrible things to us. Will you be staying?"

Captain Oak motioned the faun in and pointed at a large cushion (fauns not being shaped to sit in chairs). "Yes, he is dead and we will stay for a little while but must then return to our village. But tell, young faun, what crimes did he commit?"

Tears began to trickle down the faun's face as he related the horrific goings on since the wizard arrived. "And he enslaved my people, caged the woods fairies and—and killed and ate a couple of the centaurs! We lived in terror. Whatever you require, just ask and we will provide as best we can. But now I must go and spread the good news through the forest. But know, we fear he may not have been alone. Rumor says that there are others with his plots and schemes in mind. If you know of anyone else who can help us, please tell them. There must never be Sourcerors in Loko again."

* * * * *

Aeron, Consort to the Low Queen, raised a hand. "Mr. Nutt, you are proposing that there may be other wizards in Loko with dreams of becoming Sourcerors?"

Nutt turned to the Lady Margolotta. "If you would take it from here, My Lady?"

"Yes, milord Aeron," she began, "zat is exactly vhat we fear. As yet, zhere is no proof but ze pozzibility is terrifyink. For zer centuries since zer end of ze Evil Empire ve haff all stayed away from Loko. Zer magical diseases und zer reputation of zer place made it zeem to be a zensible idea. But now it appears zat ve may haff to reconsider. Zomehow ve must develop a spy network zhere, at least, und if anozzer madman emerges, ve must strike him down at once. Ve cannot allow ze rebirth of zer Evil Empire or zer entire Disc vill be in peril."

The Patrician stood. "Thank-you for bringing this alarming situation to our attention, My Lady and thank-you Mr. Nutt for you concise report. I have had Mr. Nutt's complete report printed out so that all the attendees can return to their lodgings with it for study. I implore all of you to think deeply on this and return after breakfast tomorrow with whatever suggestions you can make. Potentially, we may be in grave danger and it will take our collective strengths to make our way through. Thank-you so much for your attention, gentlefolk."

* * * * *

After supper that evening, Archchancellor Ridcully retired to his quarters rather than join the rest of the senior faculty in the Uncommon Room. He uncorked a bottle of VSOP Marquis des Aix-En-Pains 40 year old brandy and poured a large snifter. Setting the snifter over a tea light, he ignited the candle and waited five minutes for the liquor to warm properly. Then he took it to a comfortable, well-used club chair, shot a #2 fireball at the pile of wood on the hearth, sat down, sniffed the brandy with a smile and a sip and began to think.

The fire made shadows dance around the room but the Archchancellor paid no heed. He was a wizard, a very skilled wizard and magically enhanced shadow play on the walls impressed him not at all. What had impressed him, though, was the intensity of the afternoon's report about Loko. Some wacko had come upon a way of turning himself into a Sourceror! Since the establishment of Unseen University, Sourcerors had become, thankfully, rare. Their ability to generate magic out of the firmament gave them almost unlimited power and power tended to corrupt. Worse yet, unlimited power tended toward unlimited corruption. Loko would need watching, and probably for the foreseeable future. Worse yet, if similar activity was detected, action would be required. How could this be done? Sending people out to do it was demanding willing suicide, unless a cure for planets and those other magical diseases was found. His eyes wondered around the room.

Up at Ramkin House, (city digs for the Duke and Duchess of Ankh), His Grace Sir Samuel Vimes, Commander of the City Watch was also ensconced in front of a fire, although in his case the aid to cogitation was a fine Klatchian cigar, rather than anything alcoholic. He thought about the varied species and their talents that made up the Watch. Patient watchers? No one could sit in one place and stare endlessly like his Watch-gargoyles, Pediment and Downspout. And if physical action into Loko were to be required, he'd like to see a magical disease cause Lance Sergeant Dorfl and his golem comrades any trouble. Immensely strong and ferociously logical (and fireproof!) as a strike force, their ilk should be unstoppable. And then there were the Umnian golems that had buried themselves outside the city. Their primary task was to guard. Thousands of years ago, that meant guard Umnia. Now, according to Moist Von Lipwig and the Patrician, they guarded Ankh-Morpork—just from underground. So he had the personnel to do the watching and the invading but what could the gargoyles use to watch all of Loko? It was a conundrum.

Ridcully stared at his Omniscope. All the senior faculty had them. Omniscopes let you see everything, everywhere. Unfortunately, the vast majority of Everything is Nothing and most wizards used them as shaving mirrors, trimming their beards while staring into the inky black of the Multiverse. With Hex's thaumarhythms, they had become a lot easier to control than in years previous but they were still cranky and obstreperous. The Archchancellor, on the other hand, had mastered their use during the forty years he spent managing the family estates away from Unseen. He'd found his very useful while stalking game; it kept him out of the sticks and briars.

"Th' question," he muttered to himself, "is who'd be reliable 'nough t' trust with the watchin'.

* * * * *

At table in the Temple of Bind Io, the Archchancellor and the Commander joined the High Priest for a full Stow Plains breakfast. Sausage with Cabbage, Spicy Chow Chow Cabbage Pickles, Cabbage with Eggs, Counterweight Chicken with Cabbage Noodles, Cabbage Cakes and Scented Cabbage Tea. And, since this was a Ridcully breakfast, Bearhugger's Old Peculiar Ale.

Once the food was gone and the table setting removed by an under-deacon, the three men sat back with their smoking paraphernalia of choice and lit them in their most accustomed manner. The High Priest held up his pipe for a very small lightning bolt (followed by a tiny thunder roll), the Archchancellor used a No. 1 fireball and the Duke of Ankh struck an old-fashi0ned wooden kitchen match. Once a cloud of smoke began to gather over the breakfast table, Hughnon took a breath and stated (somewhat dogmatically) "As I understand, the problem can be broken down int' three parts.. How shall we maintain surveillance over Loko, who c'n be depended upon to maintain that surveillance and who can we send in if somethin' amiss occurs? Have either of you two any other opinions?"

"No, no, y've hit the nail on the head, Hughnon," Mustrum replied, "and I even have a solution to the first part. Y'remember that after I finished my Seventh Level, I quit Unseen and went back to the Ramtops t'run the family estates."

"I do. And since y'bring it t'mind, I recall that y'developed consid'rable skill with the Omniscope. In fact, until young Stibbons unlocked the potential of th'University Thinkin' Engine, y'were the only wizard who had. Are y'suggestin' that y'set one up t'keep an eye on Loko? And if so, who d'y'think you'll have watchin' it?"

Ridcully turned to Commander Vimes, "Sam, I believe you have the answer to that question."

* * * * *

Brenda, Lady Rodley

The Dower House, Quirm Castle

Quirm

Dear Brenda,

I am writing to tell you just how delighted we are with Twyla. She is quite the most delightful little swamp dragon, so even tempered, friendly and affectionate. She absolutely dotes on young Sam and is the best of friends with his Kh'olli dog, Rolf. As well, she is marvelously protective! We had taken to calling the three of them The Squad, except that now they are five. Sammy has acquired a playmate named Lethality Wiggs, the youngest of that famous Assassin family. I am enclosing a copy of the Ankh-Morpork Times that relates their latest adventure.

Lethality has recently received a Cloudsplitter carpet of her own and a Kh'olli puppy to go with it that she has named Fluffles. All puppies are adorable but Fluffles is among the most endearing I have ever known. Now Lethality ('Li' for short) insists that nothing will do but that she must have a dragon of her own, as well. Unfortunately, my stud hasn't produced any with a temperament to compare with Twyla's so I am begging, hat in hand dear, if you might have any of Twyla's littermates that have yet to be homed. Her mother tells me that Li has set her cap for Sammy and while they are, of course, far too young for romantic notions, I am inclined to be indulgent. After all, young Sam is an only child and his father and I (mostly I) must give some thought to future generations and the inheritance of the estates.

Most affectionately,

Sybil, Lady Vimes-Ramkin

Ramkin House

Ankh-Morpork

* * * * *

Maintaining surveillance of Loko required some adjustment. While the Omniscope was unsurpassed at seeing the out of doors, it was not particularly happy being there. And, sadly, gargoyles are most assuredly not an indoor species. So Mr. Pony, president of the Guild of Artificers, was called in to solve the problem. He accomplished this by building a three-sided coupola on the roof of the Palace. The coupola protected the Omniscope and the open side let Constable Pediment sit comfortably outside in the weather where he most liked to be. Then there was the issue of making the Omniscope view the strange landscape from above and of roving its eye to cover the entire valley. The Archchancellor and Vice-Chancellor Stibbons puzzled over that for some time, ably assisted by Hex, the University's Thinking Engine.

But once the changing image came into clear view, both wizards grasped their lapels and nodded as one craftsman does to another. "By Io, I b'lieve we've done it, Stibbons. It's a good thing you adjusted Hex to handle these things, don'tcherknow. Oth'rwise we'd have been up here until Sektober!"

Stibbons imagined trying to work on the roof during the cold winds of s

an incoming winter and shuddered. "Well, that's half the problem solved, Archchancellor. Have we hear any word about the golem strike force?"

"Yes, and a strange word it is . . ."

* * * * *

The sun was rising over the edge of the Disc and Adora Belle Dearheart-Von Lipswig was standing in front of the largest kiln in Igneous the troll's All-Night Pottery. With her was Daniellarina Pouter, the city's most famous (or possibly notorious) artist. They were waiting for the kiln to cool enough to open.

"What I don't understand is 'why?'" Adora said.

"Well," responded Daniellarina, "it's actually very logical—and you know how ferociously logical golems are. The Watch regulations state that upon promotion to Sergeant, a Watchman is to be issued a new breastplate, said breastplate to depict the impressive musculature appropriate to the rank. Of course, Senor Sergeant Detritus has more muscles than any armorer can pound into metal and Sergeant Colon's breastplate is more of a jelly mold than a depiction of his true physique, but the regs say a Sergeant must have an appropriate breastplate. However, since Dorfl is a golem and has no need of a breastplate, the logical solution is to give him a new form that looks like he is wearing a one. And once I figured that out, I just took it to a logical conclusion and made the rest of him look like he belonged in that shape. It took a bit of discussion because he (and I use the generative deliberately) was strongly opposed to looking like an Umnian golem but in the end he agreed to appear as a Latatian god of justice or war or something martial. I think you'll like it."

The latch handle on the kiln turned from inside and a majestic figure emerged, heat radiating from 'his' surface. Adora pursed her lips and inhaled a whistle. Yes, she thought, I very definitely like it. Any wizards in Loko who think they can restart the Evil Empire are going to deeply regret that decision. She was about to make a favorable comment when, to her surprise, another figure came out. This one was female, very obviously female, a goddess rather short of a shift or even any chiffon.

Adora blinked twice and hazarded a guess. "Gladys?"

"Yes," the radiant statue replied, "And Since You Are Doubtless Wondering, Several Other Girls In The Post Office Have Been Saving Their Money For A Trip To The Igorina Clinic Over On Slippery Back. They Believe It Will Improve Their Chances For Marriage. I Am Not Contemplating Marriage But In How to Dynamically Manage People for Dynamic Results in a Caring Empowering Way in Quite a Short Time Dynamically The Author Says, 'Do Not Dress For The Job You Have; Dress For The Job You Want,' Since I Want To Be Postmaster, I Need A Body That Fits Into Postal Uniforms."