Tales From The Guilds Ch 03

Avariso Lavish waited impatiently for his footman to open the coach door and pull down the steps. Without acknowledging the service, he stepped down onto the cobblestones and then up the stairs to his palatial townhouse where the butler pulled open the huge doors and fawned desperately. Avariso paid no heed. After all, if you hadn't managed to earn, accumulate, inherit or steal at least a hundred thousand AM dollars you obviously weren't really trying and didn't merit attention. He paid people to do for him and firmly believed that they should be grateful for that small favor.

Weaving slightly from his night on the town, Mr. Lavish climbed the stairs to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. To his dismay, the drapes were pulled blocking his prized view of that part of Ankh-Morpork that was largely owned by his family. How dare the maid! He would have harsh words with her in the morning and probably sack the wench for her impertinence. Striding angrily to the window he threw the curtains aside to reveal the view—and the grey-clad figure of Baldor Woodbead who smiled, said "Good-bye" and thrust a poniard up under Avariso's ribs and through his heart.

"Ow, that hurt!" said some part of Mr. Lavish. The other part dropped heavily to the floor.

Avariso's shade looked down at his mortal shell. "An Assassin! I'll bet it was that rotten granddaughter of mine, Accumulata. I'll disinherit the hussy and sue for everything she has! How dare she!"

NO, YOU WON'T

a sepulchral voice sounded behind him.

Avariso turned and glared at the black-robed skeleton behind him. "I will so. I have the best lawyers in the city. Why, when I tell them, I'll . . ."

YOU WON'T BECAUSE YOU CAN'T. YOU'RE DEAD, MR. LAVISH, AND NOW IT'S TIME FOR WHAT I LIKE TO CALL THE FINAL ACCOUNTING. I SUSPECT YOU MAY NOT LIKE IT.

Death watched with bemusement as Avariso, still ranting and stamping his spectral feet, faded and disappeared. Some people just didn't catch on. He turned and mounted his white horse.

Sitting on the pommel was a small black robe with a skeletal, whiskered muzzle protruding.

SQUEEK?

said the Death of Rats.

GOOD POINT. FROM NOW ON THE LAVISH FAMILY IS YOUR RESPONSIBITY

, said Death and they rode off into Eternity.

While this little drama was playing out, Baldor straightened up his client's corpse, folded the hands neatly across the stomach, closed the eyelids and pinned the required Guild receipt to the man's bloody shirt. Once the proper formalities had been accomplished, he opened the window, stepped out, to balance on the sill and leave the window closed and locked, and then scampered down the side of the mansion and headed back to the Guild. The commission had been a handsome one, but a bit strange. Usually the Lavishes preferred to sue each other. It was just as nasty and had the advantage of being repeatable, unlike assassination. He wondered who the commissioner was, not that mattered. The Guild didn't care who paid for an inhumation so long as they paid in advance—and in full!

The money in his account at the Royal Bank was adding up. It was adding up so fast that whenever he stopped in, Mr. Bent, the Head Cashier and core of the operation, would leave his office, straighten his coat, don a warm smile and come out to greet him personally. It was a strange experience for a formerly impoverished eighteen-year-old with a Guild certificate so new the paper still crackled. And on the occasions when he and Sinestra came in together, Mr. von Lipwig himself would invite them up to the President's office for coffee. He worried about how long this kind of wonderful life could go on.

It had begun in earnest the night of the Guild Final Exam. The old saw went that the Assassins' Guild School was easy to get into and easy to leave but the trick was to leave upright and breathing. There was no grading system to the Final Exam. Either you passed or it was Final! The rivalry and competition between he and Sinestra for the previous years had put so fine an edge on their skills that among the Faculty the pair's passage was nearly presumed. However, there was always the chance for a miss so even after Sinestra came to his room to demand that he pass and then kissed him good night, Baldor shut out all thoughts of meeting her afterwards and fine honed his concentration on the task at hand.

In the end it had not been difficult. He answered all the preliminary questions without error or hesitation, spotted every potential missing board, every weak balustrade and using his own personal portable zip line had cleared every gap and finished the run in near record time. His approach to the target was so stealthy that his examiner, Mr. Graumunchen (geography) was surprised when the crossbow dart slammed into the dummy. Baldor had received full marks, the first student to do so on a final in over eleven years.

And then came the afterward. He'd come through the gates of the Guild to find Sinestra waiting in the moonlight. When he expressed surprise that she'd gotten in first she'd laughed and said he was silly. Her run had started an hour before his so naturally she'd gotten in first. Then she gave him a gentle push toward Cobra House and told him to shower and change and to make it quick because they had dinner waiting at Le Foie Heureux, a restaurant so expensive that the menu didn't show prices. If you had to ask, you couldn't afford it.

Even in his best set of blacks, Baldor thought himself terribly underdressed among the rest of the diners but Sinestra had reserved a quiet booth for two over in one corner where he felt concealed enough to avoid embarrassment and set him against the wall. It was when she removed her overcoat to reveal the same spectacular ensemble that had so fatally captivated the Comte Bontemps that Baldor's world began to spin completely out of control.

"You—you're so beautiful!" he mumbled dumbly.

She'd smiled sweetly and thanked him and then reached out and 'beeped' him playfully on the nose. The meal was no doubt superb but afterwards Baldor would have been hard pressed to remember what he'd eaten. Somehow it didn't seem to matter.

After dinner he helped her back into her coat and once they were outside he tried to turn toward the Guild.

"Uh-uh," she said with mischief on her face, "I have a plan."

She wrapped herself around his arm and led him gently towards Dagon Street. He wondered what she had in mind and finally after a while asked, "Where are we going?"

Sinestra stopped and turned to him with a smile. "We aren't allowed to be in the same bedroom in the Guild so I decided that since we needed a room to ourselves we should come here."

Baldor looked up. To his embarrassed amazement they were standing in front of the temple of Petulia, Goddess of Negotiable Affection.

"Madame T'Malia thought that the Seamstresses would be very supportive and helpful for a girl Assassin and she was right. Mrs. Palm has been wonderful. I don't think I'd have inhumed d'Bontemps without her advice. Come on, don't be shy. I'll lead."

And she pulled him, unresisting, up the steps and into the temple.

It seemed they were expected. The High Priestess, clad to Baldor's popping eyes in a clinging skirt that barely stayed up on her hips and plunging croptop, welcomed them with a warm, but sly smile that wasn't quite a leer but came close.

"Darlings," she purred, "we've been expecting you. Come this way. You can use my boudoir tonight. I've lit the candles and the incense."

As she closed the door behind them, Baldor looked around at the salacious opulence of the room. "Sinestra?" he said with a quaver.

"Shh, darling. Everything will be fine. Both Mother and the Seamstresses have been very instructive. Here," she said, turning her back, "undress me."

With fumbling fingers, Baldor undid one little black button after another and watched in awe as her pale, smooth flesh emerged from under the velvet. Sinestra stood stock still forcing him to personally pull every square inch of clothing off and put it aside until she was totally naked. She put her arms around his neck and whispered, "Now it's my turn."

The Seamstresses suggestions for undressing a man were far less straightforward than the one Baldor used. While her hands were busy unfastening his clothing, her mouth kept distracting him around the ears, the throat, and as the disrobing progressed, down the length of his torso. By the time she was on her knees removing his shoes, he was naked and intensely aroused. Sinestra grinned, lapped the helmet of his manhood with her tongue tip, then rose and lay back on the decadent bed that took up about a third of the room.

"Come on, honey. I'm ready and I can see that you are!"

Ready? 'Eager' was more the word! All shyness and insecurity vanished in a testosterone haze as Baldor clambered onto the bed and then onto Sinestra. She giggled as she spread her thighs and reached down to stick him inside. The giggle became a soft moan that was echoed by Baldor's own as he sank hilt deep into her body. She wrapped her legs around his waist and held tight with them and the arms she clutched him with. For a long moment they lay motionless together, mouths locked in a frantic, plunging, slavering kiss. At last it broke,

"Now, my hero," she whispered, "Let me have it. Own me, Baldor, you've earned it!"

As Mrs. Palm had said, heretofore Baldor's every waking moment had been spent trying to ensure another waking moment. Now suddenly there was something else in his life, and it was wonderful—she was wonderful.

They moaned and sighed and nibbled each other's ears as he thrust and she bucked back. But soon the whimpers changed to cries and grunts of effort until Sinestra collapsed into a wave of unstoppable throes of orgasm and Baldor shot a load inside her and then dropped, exhausted full-length on top of her.

The afterglow was full of happy hums and wordless murmurs until finally Baldor looked down at her and sighed, "I love you Sinestra. I wish I could marry you."

The answer was a snicker. "You can. Do you want to?"

"More than anything else in the world."

"Good. That's what I had in mind all along. Now, do me again. We don't have to be back at the Guild until morning.

*****

During the traditional year-long betrothal that followed, Sinestra vacated two more very expensive slots in Quirm's social register while Baldor carved out a peculiarly middle-class niche for himself. Since most Members of the Guild were aristocrats, they were very strongly inclined toward fixing their sights on members of their own class. It looked good on one's résumé and was immensely profitable—except when it was fatal. Because of this narrow focus, there were left unattended a large number of smaller (but not small!) commissions taken out on members of the rising business class who wouldn't play nice with their competitors or, like the late Avariso, who remained alive and miserly rather longer than their descendants would like. The Guild approved.

Now the wedding date was approaching. The Lacrodecta's, like most of Ankh's elite, were minimally observant Blind Ionians. It was, Baldor mused, rather like the Thieves' Guild. An appropriate annual offering kept you free of lightning strikes and plagues of bedbugs while ensuring that the high ceremonies of life, like weddings and funerals, were conducted in surroundings of extravagance and style. In his own case, young Woodbead was amazed to note that his own nuptials would be performed by none other than Hughnon Ridcully, the Chief Priest, and that the guest list extended into a third page.

"I'd have thought that the tof—er, nobility would frown on Sinestra's marrying me and that we'd have a small, quiet ceremony with just the family," he'd posed to his prospective mother-in-law.

Arachna had laughed mirthlessly. "They wouldn't dare. Risk offending an entire family of renowned Assassins? Knowing that somewhere someone is contemplating taking out a commission on them? Not a chance. Nobody in Ankh-Morpork is going to give any additional incentive to their own inhuming, especially to a clan with our reputation. Neither Lord Lacrodecta nor myself has ever even had to back out of a commission and though we are formally retired, we stay fit and practiced. After all, one never knows when Lord Vetinari will decide to 'cry havoc and set slip the dogs of war' as it were. And give offense to Sinestra? Hah! Word does travel, you know.

Now, Baldor dear, we really need to begin thinking about the wedding party. Sinestra has had her part planned since your first night together but we need to think about a Best Man and the ushers. Have you anyone in mind?"

That was a question Baldor would have to ponder. All his mates back in the Shades were either dead in gang fights, run out of the city or hanged. Besides, even if any of them had survived their teens they weren't suitable wedding guests. There remained only the boys from Cobra House.

"Well, Arthur, that's Viscount Bakewell, is my best friend from the House. He'll be happy to be Best Man, though having to risk taking my place and marry Sinestra might make him a bit nervous. How many ushers do we need? Only about five of the rest of my class graduated."

"That's almost enough though six would be better. There's something so satisfying about a half dozen strong young men in formal attire at a wedding."

"Oh," Baldor suddenly grinned at the thought, "then the sixth should be Cakewalk. If he hadn't made me angry enough to beat the stuffing out of him, I wouldn't have been promoted to King's Scholar and would never had a chance at Sinestra. He really deserves something nice in return."

*****

The wedding had been lavish(1). The entire senior faculty of Unseen University sat just behind the family with the Guild faculty (including the Provost!) while the Librarian utilized both hands and his prehensile feet to squeeze every possible note of magnificence out of the majestic organ in the temple(2). When the time came for Baldor to say, 'I do', his brain remarked in astonishment, 'Gosh, this is permanent!' before soundly, and for quite some time, kissing the bride. The entire occasion was iconographed by Otto Chriek of the Times and made Page One—probably because there weren't any spectacular fires, suicides or thefts to compete with it. Lord Cakewalk, while initially resenting his lowly station as sixth usher, positively preened the next morning to see his image in full color just below the resplendent bride and groom—in black, naturally. Some people will do anything to get into the papers (or on stage!).

*****

The following morning, as they were walking to the Ankh-Morpork and Sto Plains Hygienic Railway, a shadow fell across them.

Baldor looked up in surprise and then smiled. "Good morning, Sergeant Detritus."

The highest ranking troll in the Watch saluted with a glittering smile (trolls have diamonds for teeth), "Good mornin' to you's, Mr. Woodbead and der Lady Lacrodecta. Der Patrician extends his greetin's and looks forward to your appointment wit' him in ten minutes. I would suggest dat you hurry."

Baldor and Sinestra looked at each other in amazement. They had no idea that they had an appointment with Lord Vetinari before leaving on their honeymoon but if he said they did, then hurrying was a favored option.

Unlike most appointments with the Patrician (who had to endure the eccentric clock in the waiting room that ticked either late, early or not at all until the unfortunate visitor was driven quite mad), Baldor and Sinestra were immediately ushered into the Oblong Office by Drumknot and seated in front of Lord Vetinari's desk. Almost uniquely, the Patrician was neither reading the Times nor doing paperwork. Instead he smiled warmly(3) and leaned back comfortably in his chair.

"I believe," he began, "that if you two hadn't naturally been attracted to each other, I might have had to ensure that you were. Of course, it did take a while, but in the end the appropriate goal was achieved."

"Uh, thank-you, milord," Baldor stuttered.

Sinestra was less cowed. "Thank-you, indeed, cousin Havelock(4), but we are about to leave for our honeymoon. Is this not something that could wait until we return?"

The Patrician steepled his long, pianist's fingers in front of his face. "No, I don't think so. I need to know, now, what your plans are. Given that in the last twelve months you have acquired, even with Guild Tax, a fortune that many in this city can only dream of, I have to wonder how long you expect to remain active in The Profession."

Sinestra's eyes widened and she turned to her new husband. He, in turn, swallowed and responded, "Well, milord, the reason we are going to Quirm for our honeymoon is that Sinestra's family owns a villa overlooking the sea there? We thought we would spend a week or two looking around? We'd kind of like to buy a vineyard? Retiring to a bucolic existence of wine and Quirmian cuisine while raising a family seems really appealing? Of course, we do intend to keep our skills sharp should you find it necessary to 'cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war', so to speak."

"Most satisfactory," the Patrician nodded, "That is exactly the response I hoped for. Sinestra, your mother and father have been the 'watchmen on the heights' for me for decades. Though I have never had to call them into action because my clerks have always been able to respond appropriately when needed, it was ever a comfort to the city that I could count on them should extreme conditions arise. It is with relief that I know that their successors are in place. Enjoy your 'retirement'. Make wonderful wine. Raise more Assassins. But keep in mind that at some time, during either my tenure or that of my successor, the City may call for aid."

Baldor's back straightened and his head shot up. "And Woodbead will answer!"

Vetinari nodded in appreciation. "I expected as much. Your train leaves in twenty minutes. Enjoy Quirm. Don't let me detain you."

1. But fortunately without any Lavishes!

2. Though later he 'ooked' his disappointment that unlike the Mighty Organ at UU, it lacked a stop for humorous chicken noises.

3. Which may have been a first.

4. Second cousin once removed on her mother's side