More Tales From the Guilds Ch. 16

"And you tell me that you are already drawing up the plans for laying track and hooking passenger cars into the Axel? That's very foresighted of you, Helmcleaverson."

"It was Gustavscousin's idea, ah Grag nun, as was my insisting that you come and inspect this personally. He was sure that you would be sufficiently impressed with the potential profit that there was no need to wait for approval before starting work."

The Low Queen stroked her beard thoughtfully for a few minutes before nodding in agreement.

"Yes, yes indeed. Look you, bring in more diggers. Let us accomplish the entire project with the utmost speed. In the meantime I will sent a clacks to Ankh-Morpork to get Gunilla Goodmountain printing posters and leaflets advertising it. Of course, that will mean that Otto Chriek will have to hop the train here with his iconograph and a supply of salamanders. This is going to be a long project, see, but in the end it will pay off handsomely!"

*****

The Chair of Experimental Serendipity stood in front of the door to Mrs. Palm's House of Negotiable Affection--dithering. The knowledge that the Vice-Chancellor occasionally visited the establishment had, by now, become common knowledge. Hardly anyone spoke of it, even in whispers, but everyone on the faculty had gotten the word. Most merely shrugged and helped themselves to thirds at each meal but the Chair was curious.

Having finally worked up enough courage one afternoon to walk down the right streets and stop at the right building, he stood shaking slightly with his hand outstretched for the door knob. He was about to pull it back, turn around and head back to UU when the door opened from the inside.

A vision of exotic, sensual beauty looked out at him and cooed, "Well, good afternoon, Professor. Do come in."

Taking his lapels in hand, she gently tugged his unresisting body inside the cool lobby and cast a wink at Mrs. Palm.

"Why, if it isn't the Chair of Experimental Serendipity!" Rosie exclaimed in delight, "So good to see you, Professor Bythesee. Do come in and have a seat on the sofa here. Minxie will pour you a drink."

She turned away from the anxiety ridden Chair and gave a slow, deep wink to Minxie. Minxie responded with a conspiratorial flutter of her eyebrows and poured a small spoonful Tiger OilTM 1 into the glass before adding the remainder of the cocktail's ingredients and a couple of ice cubes-- along with the requisite tiny umbrella.

1 An herbal preparation made up by Hilta Goatfounder, the rather bohemian witch of Ohulan Cutash. It is designed to work on those who for reasons of time, age or familiarity find it hard to be much more than a domestic tabby, to expand the metaphor.

Rosie handed the concoction to Dr. Bythesee with a smile and a murmured, "Here, Professor. It's just a little something to get you relaxed and in the proper mood."

The Chair took the glass, somewhat puzzled, and took a sip. While his mouth was occupied, Rosie removed his tall, pointy hat and hung it carefully on the wall. Bythesee was about to protest when the Tiger Oil hit his stomach, rendering him speechless. Minxie dropped her chin and looked at him through lowered eyelids and let her gown drop from one shoulder. She shimmied.

"Oh, do have some more Professor," she purred, "it will make the evening so much more exciting."

Bythesee was too stunned from both her seductiveness and from the Tiger Oil to refuse. He started another sip but changed his mind and just tossed the rest back. Unfamiliar sensations coursed through his body, centered in his loins and welled up into a ferocious roar. Minxie leered and beckoned him down the hall.

*****

The next morning, Archchancellor watched the Chair of Experimental Serendipity work his way through Late Breakfast. The man was not his usual gourmand self. Instead he was obviously too dazed to taste what he was eating, just blankly putting one forkful after another into his mouth and chewing on autopilot. Ridcully nudged his Vice-Chancellor.

"Stibbons, do y'notice anythin' odd about Bythesee this mornin'--odder than usual, I mean?"

"Well, Mrs. Palm told me this morning that the Chair had stopped by her place. He started off very hesitant and had to be bodily pulled through the front door. She fed him a Tiger Oil spiked cocktail and turned one of the girls loose on him. I suspect he's still recovering from the after effects."

"Tiger Oil, hmm? That is just the sort o'concoction I would expect the Guild of Seamstresses t'have on hand. I understand it's potent stuff. Ever had any experience with it?"

"No, Archchancellor. Mrs. Palm says that they reserve it for their more senior clients."

"Indeed. Well, I expect that you'll have to set up an Seamstress' account in yer ledgers. If word of the stuff spreads, it could become a significant drain on the University coffers!"

"I already did, Archchancellor."

*****

Queen Molly of the Beggars' Guild finished off her Porterhouse steak with Bearnaise sauce, a serving of Potatoes Anna, another of Carottes Farcies, half of cantaloupe and waited for dessert to arrive. Business meetings with Chrysoprase were always to be looked forward to.

"Was dat up to royal standards, Queen Molly?" the head of the Guild of Bodyguards, Bouncers and Last Resort Lenders (and co-president of the Beggars and Bouncers Surreptitious Bank) asked, lighting a post prandial cigar.

"Oh, it was wonderful, Mr. Chrysoprase, but now we fear we must get down to business. Dessert can wait upon our pleasure. We are coming up on a problem that we anticipated when the bank was formed. To wit, it is a point of honor that we Beggars never buy anything but bank profits are raising to such a degree that it is becoming a problem. Where are we to keep this much gold?"

"Dat are a problem ob der bes' kind, Molly. An' it are one dat I, too, hab been gibbing much t'ought to. I finally took der option ob makin' an appointerment wif Morecombe, Slant an' Honeyplace an' askin' der advices ob Mr. Thunderbolt. He are ob der opinion dat we should acquire what he callin' a brick an' mortar buildin' an' jus' open a reg'lar type bank. Dat would, he admittin', simply increase our income but it would gib us a place to keepin' it an' if we loanin' out mos' ob it, dat will increasin' der cash flow in der city. Der result, he tellin' me, is dat dere will be more new businesses openin' and more money in der hands of der citizenry. Der city will flourishin' an' der Patrician be happy wif more tax rebenues."

Queen Molly leaned back in her chair, interlaced her fingers across her ample lap and raised one eyebrow.

"Hmmm," she began, "Real estate is one area the Beggars have always excepted from our 'never buy anything' rule. That's why we own so much of it. Yes, we are of the opinion that an investment of the sort Mr. Thunderbolt recommends is likely the solution to our dilemma. And of course as we usually do, it will be purchased and run by one of our shell corporations. It wouldn't do to let the rest of the city know how much of it belongs to us. We recommend that the front say simply 'BBSB Inc.' Few will take the time and effort to puzzle what that means and since it will be a source of ready loans, along the lines of the Royal Bank of Ankh-Morpork, fewer still will bother their heads about it. A splendid suggestion, Mr. Chrysoprase. We will have our agents search out a suitable location. And here comes dessert! Tarte aux prunes! We are impressed!"

*****

The Patrician had been, indeed, pleased.

"Drumknott, the Beggars and Bodyguards Surreptitious Bank has decided to open an official building. I have it on good authority that they are looking for a suitable edifice. Contact one of the Beggars' shell corporations and steer them toward Kicklebury Street. That neighborhood could use some urban renewal, especially the kind backed up by the Breccia. And then you and Miss Healstether scoot off to Quirm."

"Of course, Milord."

*****

In the guest wing of Crundell's, the Ramkin and (now) Vimes' country estate, Lethality Wiggs wriggled into her new swimming suit on before having her mother tie it up neatly in the back. It was, in a word, snug. The girl's budding curves were more than just hinted at and she looked in the mirror and grinned.

"Oooo, Sammy is going to be so mesmerized? I'm supposed to be teaching him to swim Assassin style but we'll probably have to stay in the shallow part of the pond so he doesn't get distracted and drown. Then I'd have to rescue him. What a shame."

"Li," Helena Wiggs sighed, "Sammy is twelve, just as you are. At the age of twelve boys are normally more concerned with pets and toys than they are with girls. In a couple more years, the attractions of belonging to a species with two sexes will finally dawn on him but right now, don't be upset if all he does in the pond is try as hard as he can to imitate your example. That is what is normal. You, on the other hand, are precocious. I understand because I was, too. I got your father in my sights at about the age of fourteen and kept him there all through the Guild School. By the time we both took the Black, our families fully approved and the rest is history. However, Young Sam will be going to Unseen. There the rule of celibacy has been strongly encouraged for centuries. It has become more relaxed under Archchancellor Ridcully because today's technomancy allows couples to limit their children's numbers. Since the risk of producing a Sourcerer is so great wizards are strongly discouraged from engaging in affairs of the heart. Fortunately, Sammy is not an eighth son of an eighth son so the danger is much reduced for you two. However, if it does turn out that being a hedge wizard does great things for Crundell's and you two decide to send your eldest to UU, make sure he understands the consequences. Now, get into your robe and onto your Cloudsplitter. Sammy should be ready by now."

Sammy looked at himself in his mirror. Broad stripes in the Ramkin family colors encircled him in a repeating pattern from the neck to his knees on a one-piece union suit that buttoned up the back. He was grateful for Amos' assistance as, though he could close the buttons behind his neck, the one between his shoulder blades was out of reach.

He grimaced. "Maybe we should have just tried skinny-dipping and hope that the adults never found out. I feel just weird in this."

"Oh, you'll get used to it, Master Sam. Swimming is an essential skill in life and no matter how foolish you feel right now, you will be grateful for it later. Now off with you to the pond. I'm sure Miss Lethality will either meet you on the way there or be waiting for you on the jetty."

Sammy shuddered in response but climbed up onto his carpet and sailed out the window, across the verdant lawns with their wooly 'mowers' and off to the ornamental pond. Amos had been right. Li was waiting on the dock with her carpet rolled up on the bench.

"Hi Sammy," Li called with a grin, "How well do you swim?"

"I can do a crawl, sort of, and a backstroke."

Li wrinkled her nose. "Those are too noisy. You need to learn to swim like an Assassin. We do it with a knife in our teeth and make no sound. It looks like this."

She lowered herself soundlessly into the pond and then, with her head above water, began to breaststroke easily out to the center and back. Getting out was splashier but Sam thought to himself that if she was out to inhume a client, all she had to do was get within throwing range and then it was simply a matter of pinning the receipt to their shirt.

"Cool. How do you do that?"

"Come here. I'll show you."

The afternoon proceeded apace and by dinnertime, Sam had the fundamentals down pat. They pulled up onto the dock with Sammy puffing and panting.

"Okay, that works. All I need now is practice. Swimming like that is exhausting. I'm going to need to spend the rest of the holiday working on my endurance."

"You need to refine your technique, too. One reason you're tired is you're not used to using those muscles that way. Get your arms and legs better coordinated and pretty soon you'll glide like a fish. Let's towel off and get back. I've heard we're having bouef en croute for supper tonight so it's a good thing we worked up an appetite."

Sammy's eyes brightened. Beef tenderloin in a puff pastry? Yes, by Io, it was indeed a good thing they'd worked up an appetite. And especially with his rapidly growing youthful frame, he hoped there would be plenty.

*****

At the print shop, Gunilla Goodmountain showed the clacks to Otto Chriek, carefully keeping a poker face.

"Zis is a very large order! Posters in every station across the entire Ankh-Morpork Hygienic Railway? And in every pub across the Disc? Ve vill turn a nice profit on this."

"Indeed, Otto. And the Low Queen wants this to be both good and fast so that means it won't be cheap. And because it's in a cavern, you are going to need a really big bunch of salamanders."

"Yes, I will. You know, Gunilla, I've never tried taking pictures underground in total blackness. This will be a very interesting challenge. If it turns out well, Flach and Chriek will be moving up a notch."