More Tales From the Guilds Ch. 14

Dusk had settled over Loko and all the Agateans were sitting around small cooking fires, eating their evening rice, and preparing for sleep. The Archchancellor shifted his view. Ah, there the golems were, just below the crest of the crater's walls. Their eyes were currently glowing the dull red of a banked fire. Obviously, they were simply waiting. Ridcully took a sip of warm Quirmian brandy. He, too, slipped into motionless, unthinking watchfulness. When the golems changed position, he would set the Omniscope to wake him up just before dawn. It might make him late for Early Breakfast but this was important.

*****

"Mr. Willikins, sir?" Amos Cordwinder tapped respectfully on the door to the Butler's Pantry where Willikins stood calmly polishing glassware, " 'ere's a rumor in the street wot the Commander ought to 'ear. It's 'bout that poor feller wot got dropped in the Venus Fly Trap."

Willikins gave the stemmed wineglass a last wipe, hung it upside down, and turned to the newest member of the household staff. The boy was much better clad (and cleaner) than he was when he first knocked on the kitchen door though, the butler thought, at the rate he was growing, the lad would soon be due for new livery.

"What did you hear, Cordwinder? Was it from Shamleger Street?"

"It were, sir. Barnaby Cockfoster ha' bin washin' dishes at the Counterweight Palace and he picked up the lingo faster than I think they knew. Anyway, he heard the others in the kitchen sayin' that the victim were a cook named One Ginger Root and everyone knew he were a spy for the Tang family back in the PBRA. It turn out that he were offed by somebody named Two Pale Weasel. Th' Dragon Lady found out and now this Weasel feller is chained in the basement. Everyone thinks he'll probably get sent back to the Counterweight Continent and somethin' turrible will happen to 'im."

"Yes, I suspect something will. I have heard that the official torturers can keep a man alive for weeks, even months. At least here, hanging is quick. But well done, Cordwinder, we will so advise the Commander when he comes home this evening."

"Mr. Willikins? Why are he called Commander when 'is lady is called Your Grace?"

"Because that's what he wants, Cordwinder, and what the Commander wants, the Commander gets."

*****

Ambassador Lavish looked at the letter written in artistic Agatean calligraphy, shrugged and handed it to her aide-du-camp, the golem Mr. Pump.

"Here, Mr. Pump, please translate this for me. It has no end of official-looking ribbons and stamps on it so I imagine its important."

The golem, who had had its chem augmented with a complete Agatean/Morporkian dictionary ran fiery eyes down the page.

"It Appears, Ambassador, To Be A Request For A Diplomatic Favor. The Chairman Requests That You Assign Your Assassin The Task Of Inhuming Comrades Tang, Sung, Hong And Fang. I Notice That She Has Omitted The McSweeneys. That Would Be Because That Clan Has Relocated To The Island Of Nafooi And No Longer Pose A Threat To the Government."

Accumulata turned to her Cultural and Scientific Attaché. "Arachnae, do you have more of those centipedes you used to inhume the elder Comrade Sung?"

Arachne grinned. "Oh, yes. That species, a couple more, quite a few varieties of spider and...", she reached for quite a large jar with a paper football shape inside, "the pride of my collection. This is a colony of Homicide Hornets. One sting from this species is probably fatal and two is a guarantee. All we need is their Karmic Signatures."

Accumulata returned Arachne's smile with a conspirator's grin. "That will be easy. I'll just invite the Revolutionary Council to an official state reception and have Pump keep track of the glasses those four use. Accomplish your mission, Assassin."

"As you desire, Ambassador!"

*****

As dawn broke over the clearing in Loko, weavers returned to their looms. As had been pointed out, hand weaving is a slow business and most of the rugs were evidently going to be rather large. If they were to be troop carriers, that would be expected. However, close to the mouth of the cave where the octiron was kept, a smaller loom was nearing the completion of a smaller rug. Ridcully puffed a couple of times and thought out loud, "That must be young Tang's personal carpet, the one he thinks he will lead his army from. This is not going to turn out well."

Indeed as the Archchancellor spoke, the weaver stood and clipped the warp threads and lay the carpet out before him. It was at that time that Comrade Tang emerged from the cave, saw the carpet and glowed with satisfaction. He marched over to the carpet, accepted the kowtow from the weaver and sat down on it. Extending his arms, he raised the carpet off the ground--and seven Hells broke loose!

Just as the wizards had predicted, that act of magic in the very high magical field of Loko was all the Things needed to attempt a dimensional crossing from the Dungeon Dimensions to the Disc. They crawled, hobbled, lumbered and trudged out of the cave howling, shrieking, growling and wailing. Immediately every weaver leapt from their benches and fled to the surrounding forest. None was ever seen again.

The young Lord Tang was so frightened he stumbled back two steps and fell off the carpet which turned and dove into the mass of Things. A roar of triumph rose from the mob but was suddenly cut short by the arrival of Sergeant Dorfl and his squad. Moving faster than any golem Ridcully had ever seen, they dashed from cover, set up the Fire Engine and set a long gout of flame into the crowd of Things and then into the mouth of the cave itself. Black, oily smoke billowed out of the cavern while the Things voices went from triumph to dread and then to silence. Once again they were banished to whence they came. The flame from the engine petered out but Dorfl commanded that it be refilled and then directed it over the entire group of looms. Within a minute all were blazing and the golems cut the Engine. Dorfl nodded and gestured to his squad. They carefully inspected the grounds, the embers of the looms and the cave itself, now filled only with blackened ash.

"Our Work Is Done Here," Dorfl proclaimed, "We Will Return To Ankh-Morpork. Bring The Tang Fellow With Us. Lord Vetinari Will Doubtless Wish To Speak With Him--Assuming He Doesn't Succumb To Planets On The Trip Back."

*****

The Patrician of Ankh-Morpork read with intense concentration a veritable pile of reports. There was the correspondence from his embassy in HungHung, an after-action report from the Watch, a meandering narrative from Unseen University and an official letter of appreciation from the Chairman of the People's Beneficent Republic of Agatea accompanied by a proposal for improved trade relationships.

"All's well that ends well?" suggested Drumknott, re-straightening the boxes on His Lordship's desk.

"For the present, at least," Vetinari nodded slowly, "The Watch has justified the serious drain it makes on the city coffers, our relationship with the University continues in its historical pattern and balance of payments is likely due for improvement. All that's needed now is a bit of a breather before the next existential crisis--which will, most certainly, come."