More Tales From the Guilds

"Oh, Sam, look! It's a puppy!"

Young Sam's tenth birthday party had been going exuberantly with other young aristocrats stuffing their faces with cake and ice cream (All Jolson's best) and Purity and Willikins genially maintaining a semblance of order among the guests. But now it was time for presents. The first two came as rather a surprise, being marked, "To the Marquess of Quire, Samuel Vimes-Ramkin with compliments from His Supreme Celestial Highness, Seriph Khufurah of Klatch." The first had contained a black and white, wiggling, wagging puppy.

As any small boy would be, Young Sam was delighted and as any mother would be, Lady Sybil was charmed. Commander Vimes was bemused.

"A puppy? Why would the Seriph send Sammy a puppy?"

Willikins bent down and scratched the furry little bundle behind the ears, earning his hand a joyfully furious licking.

"It's a Kh'olli, Sir Samuel," the butler explained, "the famous breed that Syrrit shepherds use to herd the flocks that grow the wool from which flying carpets are woven. Perhaps the young gentleman should open the other package, the cylindrical one?"

Young Sam looked confused. He wanted to open the next parcel but he didn't want to put down the new puppy.

"Willikins, please open it for me." The young Master had been very firmly brought up to treat the staff with the same respect and politeness that he did all of his mother's upper crust friends. His father had been quite pointed about that. It went against his grain to have servants, at all, but the years with Willikins had forced him to accept at least a handful: After all, they'd saved his family's life now and again.

Reaching into his immaculate butlering coat, Willikins withdrew a well-honed straight razor. Flicking it open with worrying finesse, he neatly slit the wrapping and laid bare the contents, a small carpet.

Young Sam put down the puppy which immediately ran over to the roll, sniffed, and yapped at it. The carpet fell over, unrolled and lifted six inches off the ground. There it stayed, floating with a note pinned to the upper surface.

To His Grace, the Duke of Ankh

From His Supreme Celestial Highness Seriph Khufuru

Ruler of Klatch and Overlord of Its Surrounds

Commander,

On the auspicious occasion of your son's tenth birthday, and at the suggestion of my esteemed wali Achmed, I bid you accept this token of my appreciation for your efforts in my elevation to the Seriphate.

The carpet is of the sort princes of the blood get in childhood. It will support only the person it belongs to and will not rise more than a yard above the ground. It's top speed is about that of the newly popular velocipede and will teach Master Sam its use.

Cordially,

Khufurah, Seriph

p.s. The puppy will help.

"Does the puppy have a name, son?" Lady Sybil asked.

Young Sam looked down at the grinning, wagging fluffy ball. "I think I shall call him—Rolf, Mother. It seems a good name for dog."

Rolf rolled over on his back, exposing his tummy for a rub. Apparently he agreed that it was, indeed, a very good name for a dog. After his pat, Rolf scampered back over to the carpet and slinked warily around it. To everyone's amazement, the floating rug turned one end to the dog and, as Rolf circled, kept 'facing' him. Rolf barked and the rug backed up. A few more steps forward and another bark, and the carpet backed up some more.

"He—he's herding the carpet!" Lady Sybil exclaimed in amazement.

"Indeed, he is, Milady," Willikins replied, "that's a characteristic of the relationship between the breeds. The dogs herd and the sheep go where they're driven.

Even after the sheep is removed from the wool the wool continues to respond. I believe that is why the Seriph advised that the puppy would help the young Master learn to ride."

"I can ride it? Truly?" Without waiting for an answer, Young Sam stepped up onto the floating rug. To his surprise it felt like it was still on the floor, so he sat down in the center. It turned out to be remarkably easy to use. All he needed to do was lean and/or face in a direction and the carpet drifted in that way. Then, after a minute's thought, he raised his arms and the carpet drifted upwards to about three feet off the floor. By now all the other children were gathered around chattering excitedly. But most excited of all was Rolf who had jumped up and grabbed a corner tassel in his teeth and was now hanging on, growling furiously.

Sammy turned to retrieve his new pet but before he could, Rolf began to float the same way the carpet did. This, the puppy thought, was delightful. Now he could chase it in three dimensions so he did.

*****

The next day, Commander Vimes met with Archchancellor Ridcully in the Uncommon Room. The sudden appearance of Magic in his own home was at the very least unsettling and possibly grounds for—something.

"I shouldn't be too concerned, Sam," Mustrum spoke soothingly, "because y'have t'realize that there are different levels or conditions of Magic. Here at Unseen we do our best to

not

use Imposed Magic. That's the stuff most folk think of. And it is dangerous and sneaky, but it's not the only kind. There is also what I think should be better called Inherent Magic. According to the t'Stibbons and his young chaps at the High Energy Magic Buildin' the intense magical field of the Disc causes certain org'nisms t' evolve ways of livin' in the field and adaptin' to it. The Syrrit sheep turn sure-footedness up to eleven so they can go from one bit o'green grass to another without havin' t'go over the top of the mountain. In order t'keep track of their flocks, the shepherds of the region have bred the Kh'olli dogs t'keep up with 'em. No spells are involved any more than any spells are involved in yer renowned ability to tell where y'are in the city by usin' whatcher feel through yer boot soles."

"So, there's no danger to Young Sam or the rest of my house?"

"Even less than there was when we souped up yer coaches t'get yer t'Koom Valley a few years ago."

Vimes shuddered. The memories of the coaches flying over the countryside at over a hundred miles an hour sometimes woke him up in a cold sweat to this day. He took a pull or two on his cigar.

"Could you just examine the puppy and the carpet for me, just for added security? We're on grand terms with the Seriph but I want to make sure there aren't any nasty surprises hiding in my son's newest favorite things."

The Archchancellor nodded. "Of course, Sam. I'll send my pair of married Wizards over check them out. Barcbeadle and Emergent-Weatherwax are rather young for faculty but they're both top notch. If they give the 'presents' a clean bill o'health, yer can rest easy."

*****

Rolf thought the new visitors were wonderful. They scratched him behind the ears, rubbed his belly and barked back at him as he danced in circles around them. Phoebe picked him up and did all those baby-talk things people do with happy puppies while Jerome licked his finger and held it up over the pup. Noting that the magic field glow was only barely perceptible he winked at his wife and turned to Commander Vimes.

"It's just as I suspected, Your Grace, nothing but residual background magic. Rolf's ability to fly is just part of his selective breeding along with the magical aura of the Syrrit mountains. And the carpet is the same. Magic is simply part of what they are and has little to do with what they do."

Looking down at Young Sam standing politely but very obviously impatiently nearby he said to Phoebe, "Now give the lad back his dog, dear. They obviously have some very important games to play with each other."

Phoebe laughed merrily and handed Rolf to Sammy who ran off, hopped up onto his carpet and zoomed through the public parts of the house, out the back door and into the garden—pursued by a flying puppy.

"Your Grace," she said, "I've heard that the Watch has a werewolf among the ranks. You might bring it over to have a small talk with the puppy. It would speed up the training."

Commander Vimes nodded thoughtfully. "And now that I know that neither Rolf nor the rug is any threat, getting the furball integrated into the family will be high on the agenda. Thank-you, Professors, you've set my mind at ease."

*****

Carefulness Lavish looked down into her teacup and discretely rolled her eyes. Her niece Cupidita was in full rant, gesticulating wildly with a baroquely decorated lorgnette and whining at the top of her voice.

A family council had been called, allegedly to deal with the problem of His Lordship's seizure of about one-half of the Lavish family fortune. (Actually, it was just another chance to argue over the family's accumulated riches (The Money.) This was in recompense for the corrections that were required as a result of Accumulata Lavish's attempt to sabotage The Undertaking, the great subway system that was supposed to clear commercial traffic off the streets. She'd done this in hopes of displacing Lord Vetinari as Patrician. The attempt had been a dismal failure. Vetinari, it appeared, had simply waited until the projected repair cost was high enough to 'beggar' (as the Lavish's had described it) the family and then confiscated enough of their portfolio, lands, rentals, etc. to cover it all. He had, of course, added interest and enough penalties to the announced sum to pay for the rest of the project with no more cost to the city. Carefulness had to admit that Havelock had played well.

"It's disgraceful, and lots of people say so—bigly. I went to the fake Assassins' Guild and you know? They put him at AM$1,000,000 but won't accept a commission. They're cowardly, that's all. Lots of people say so, hundreds of them. They won't take a commission on that dreadful von Lipwig person, either. He hates me, you know, because I'm such a genius . . ."

Carefulness began to wonder how much the commission on Cupie might be. Instead, she politely excused herself about the time Diablo Lavish lifted his nose, bared his oversized incisors and began to whine in duet. Running down the list of relatives (and there were a lot!) she began, for the first time in her life, to contemplate the cost of pruning the family tree. Of course, if the more-objectionable-than-usual members made the strategic error of really annoying the Patrician, it could save a lot of money. How angry did you have to make the man before he decided he needed to have someone killed, even a goodly number of someone's? However, it went, Carefulness decided she wasn't going to be around just in case there was collateral damage. Summoning a cab, she went directly to Central Station, bought a first class ticket and departed. She wondered, later, how close she'd come to not leaving in time.

For generations the Lavishes incessant lawsuits against each other had kept the Guild of Lawyers in fine style. Mr. Slant, in particular, saw generations of Lavish come, sue and go in dreary succession, and profited mightily in the process. For years it looked as though the family was a bottomless currency well for the Guild but lately there had been a shift, a change in attitude.

It started a couple of years ago when her niece Accumulata had taken out a contract on the obnoxious (even for a Lavish!) Avariso and had paid a substantial sum to the Guild of Assassins. The result lived up to the Guild's reputation. The Assassin had entered the man's townhouse without arousing any suspicions, had waited for him to enter his bedroom and then swiftly dispatched him with a stiletto up beneath the ribcage and into his heart. Avariso had then been neatly laid out, the receipt pinned to his shirt and his share of the family portfolio distributed as per his last will and testament. It cost a bit more than a lawsuit but had been much quicker with no chance for the 'plaintiff' to lose the case. After noisily expressing their dismay, the rest of the family quieted down and begun to consider the possibilities.

The question remained purely hypothetical until that very same Accumulata decided that just 'getting back our bank' was short sighted. What she was really interested in was becoming Patrician in her own right. Unfortunately, however smart and cunning she might be, Lord Vetinari found her no more than amusing. When her plotting was finally brought to his official attention by the Watch, he decided that the game had gone on long enough and had her arrested. Then a committee of dwarf engineers assisted by Inspector A. E. Pessimal totted up the cost of repairing the damage she had instigated and His Lordship sent the bill to the Lavish family. The account was cleared promptly!

Normally having three Lavishes in the same room was a recipe for a triangular battle royal but if a situation rose that threatened The Money, the family melded into an implacable, malevolent mass. As soon as it was known that the City's raid on their finances was Accumulata's fault, that mass formed and pointed itself directly at her. Disproportionate response was delayed, however, by an internal debate. Should they engage the services of the Guild of Assassins or might they prefer the less urbane and far messier ministrations of the recently recognized Guild of Bodyguards, Bouncers and Last Resort Lenders, i.e. the Breccia. While the debate raged, Lord Vetinari smoothly and quite cleverly co-opted Accumulata and (oh, the horror, the outrage!) assigned her to be the Ambassador to the People's Beneficent Republic of Agatea. Before the family could agree on an appropriate revenge, the woman weighed anchor and sailed away, out of reach.

Lavishes seethed—and called a family meeting.

Cupidita and Diablo were in fine tone, a duet of aggrieved privilege, when a maid approached tentatively with an envelope. "M—miss Lavish? This is addressed to you, ma'am."

"Well, open it!" Cupie commanded haughtily and took the contents. Holding the lorgnette imperiously in front of her eyes, she glanced scornfully at the paper, let out a scream of outrage, got an odd look on her face, sighed—and collapsed dead to the floor.

The maid screamed in terror. "It's a receipt! A receipt from the Assassins' Guild!"

She turned and fled.

All the Lavish family glared at each other suspiciously and spread apart, practicing anti-social distancing. It was, after all, the only kind they knew. One of the lawyers picked up the receipt with a napkin and laid it on Cupidita's shirt front, then rearranged her arms in the accepted fashi0n and closed her eyes.

"Well," Diablo squeaked, his voice trembling in terror, "what are you going to do about it?"

The lawyer blinked in surprise. "Do? It's a Guild receipt. Someone has paid to have Miss Lavish inhumed according to law and custom. The only thing to do is make the funeral arrangements and begin the distribution of her estate."

*****

Commander Vimes looked over his desk at his 'guest', Cockwomble Lavish. Concealing his distaste for the man behind the ritual of choosing and lighting a cigar, he puffed it into a fine red glow and then answered the same question in pretty much the same way.

"Per law and custom, Mr. Lavish, some unknown person took out a contract on your cousin Cupiditas with the Assassins' Guild. The Guild had established the price, someone paid it and a member inhumed Miss Lavish and took the money—less Guild tax, of course. Much as I dislike it, this is all within the law, Mr. Lavish, so the Watch isn't going to do anything at all. Why should we? Technically, no crime has been committed."

"No crime?" Cockwomble was outraged, "My cousin was struck down in public! How can that not be a crime?"

Commander exerted all the self-control he could manage and replied, "Mr. Lavish, a goodly number of your family were educated at the Assassins' Guild School. I suggest that you consult them as to the proper propriety of inhumation. A price was set. The price was paid. An Assassin accepted the contract and fulfilled it. Case closed. Good day to you, sir."

Cockwomble was about to start indignantly shouting about how the Commander was a public servant and about how he, a Lavish, was his master due to all the taxes he'd paid. Unfortunately for him, at that moment Inspector Pessimal stuck his head into the office. Protesting that he's paid his taxes would likely have resulted in the Inspector consulting his records to establish that Cockwomble hadn't paid so much as a farthing in years and owed a great deal in arrears. Instead he clamped his jaws together and flounced out in a huff. The Commander shook his head his disgust and turned to a more pleasant subject, how much Corporal Nobbs had filched from the Tea Fund lately.

*****

Dealing with Lavishes always sent Commander Vimes' day south and by the time he finally made his way home to the loving arms of his house and family his teeth were on edge. So much so that Willikins raised a speculative eyebrow and proceeded to mix up a double Sam Vimes cocktail and hand it to his master. Though the mixture contained no alcohol, the effect was very similar and after finishing off the first and beginning to savor the second, the Commander was in a much more serene mood. After removing his armor and donning appropriate evening wear Sam strolled through the house looking for his wife and son. He found both of them on the back veranda where Sammy was endeavoring to convince his flying carpet to do tricks. Barrel rolls had not worked out well, mostly due to Rolf's insistence that the carpet should behave. Immelmann turns were simply impossible because the carpet would not raise above a yard in altitude. The score for the day seemed to be Young Sam ø, Rolf and Carpet 5. Lady Sybil had her hand and handkerchief over her mouth and was trying bravely not to laugh.

Turning to her husband with a kind of relief she smiled sweetly and said, "Dear, I believe that the Seriph's suggestion that Captain Angua should talk to the puppy is probably a good one. Rolf and the carpet seemed to have ganged up on Sammy and your son is feeling very frustrated."

Commander Vimes put his unoccupied arm around his lady's waist and kissed her softly on the cheek. "Well, I could say that it's good training for life's inevitabilities but I'll talk to Angua in the morning. Full moon is in another week so she's at a good stage for interspecies communication. How much good it will do, though, I'm not sure. The Seriph did say that the carpet would only get about three feet above the ground because it was a training carpet. There are only so many things a low altitude carpet should be capable of, after all. I mean, suppose he was trying to learn to fly a broomstick?"

Lady Sybil shuddered. Broomsticks were extremely fast and could fly at altitudes so high that double flannel undergarments were essential if the rider didn't want to arrive with frostbite in critical places. It would be a number of years before she would accept the possibility of the Ramkin family heir kiting off on so dangerous a craft. The carpet with its governor restricting speed and altitude seemed a much better idea.

The next day, while Sammy was attending to his lessons, Captain Angua stopped by for a 'social call'. After stopping in with Sammy and his tutor, she and the frolicking Rolf went out the back way into the yard where she sat down and to the pup's amazement, muttered softly in 'dog'.

The herding breeds are the most intelligent of dogs and the canine brain is capable of understanding and, in the right circumstances, using sentences. However, Rolf was a baby so his sentences were rudimentary, at best.

"You sniff strange. Human? Dog?"

Angua stroked his little head. "Both, Rolf. Werewolf. Rolf good puppy."

"Rolf have nice human!"