Tales from the Guilds Ch. 13

"He isn't married and has no known mistresses. Perhaps he has other preferences?"

"That's a good question, Cupiditas, so you get to find out. This meeting is adjourned."

*****

Once each month, Inspector Pessimal spoiled himself with a meal at Le Foie Heureux. Though doubtless the most expensive restaurant in Ankh-Morpork, in his opinion⁶ A.E. actually thought All Jolson's served superior food. However, his very precise sense of right and wrong made Pessimal only accept Jolson's generosity when he was patrolling. The rest of the time, he preferred to pay for his food and though his salary as Inspector was just short of a Captain's, that did mean he could afford to be prodigal only on occasion. This Octoday was one.

⁶ and a very experienced opinion it was!

His dinner companion that evening would have surprised most observers. While Mrs. Rosemary Palm was a Guildmistress and very much respected businesswoman, the idea that the very neat, precise and upright Mr. Pessimal would consider her part of his social circle would have dumbfounded. They would have been very wrong. While Mrs. Palm outweighed and over-topped the Inspector, they shared an intense interest in the financial well-being of the city and an evening at Le Foie Heureux allowed a quiet place to discuss it. Politics were not off the table, either.

Halfway through the soup course, Mrs. Palm set down her spoon in surprise. "Honestly? Someone tried to sabotage the Undertaking? That's mad. Who would gain from that?"

"Someone who would gain from His Lordship's disgrace. This project will be Vetinari's legacy, his most outstanding achievement. It's also a huge expense and there are those who chafe at having to pay taxes to support it. If it can be shown to be a boondoggle, Vetinari will fall and the office of Patrician will be open. So, who thinks they might have a shot at it?"

"I shouldn't have thought anyone does, anymore. Two or three cabals of the aristocracy have tried and failed miserably. A dragon couldn't pull it off, nor could an ancient vampire. A 'committee' of Guildmasters had their ineptitude shown them in a very pointed manner and even that idiot Lavish is only alive because His Lordship is, for a tyrant, a kind and forbearing man. And now he not only has the complete acceptance of the entire Guild Council but is backed by the Low Queen, the Diamond King of Trolls and Lady Margolotta. Now there's an alliance! Do you really believe someone is so daft as to think they can dislodge Vetinari?"

"I do. And I rather suspect His Lordship knows who it is. However, he is a very complex man and seems to prefer that the well-oiled machinery of the city solve the case. So the Watch will endeavor to ferret the bounder out and turn him over to the Palace for trial and execution."

Mrs. Palm drummed her fingers on the table. "You know, A. E., that could depend on which social class said bounder belongs to. There are a growing number of the aristocracy who have decided that even if Vetinari is a tyrant, he's their kind of tyrant. If it were one of their own making this outrageous venture, one of Lord Downy's young people might have the last word."

Pessimal finished his soup, watched the waiter whisk the empty bowl away and then beamed at the Homard Quirmien which took its place. Ah, lobster!

*****

That the citizens of Ankh-Morpork were devoted to watching whichever disaster overtook their fellows was an acknowledged fact. That the entire city was forever on the lookout for its next dollar was, as well. That this was especially true of the wealthier portions of that population was obvious. What was not, was that said wealthy portion didn't always accept that their servants were just as inclined to scheme and scrabble as their employers. This failing was very useful to the Cable Street Particulars, the Watch's plainclothes intelligence gathering arm.

"Cumbling Michael!" Queen Molly of the Beggars' Guild barked, "We are appraised that Commander Vimes is in need of our assistance. Take your team of Specials and report to Cable Street at once."

The Watch Specials weren't just a reserve of men who could be called up in time of dire need. It wasn't just a reserve of men who loved the idea of being Watchmen but who were otherwise disqualified for reason of shape, age or (sometimes) brain. It was also a reserve of citizens who had professions of their own but whose enthusiastic patriotism for their city called them out to 'assist the Watch in their enquiries'. Cumbling Michael's group of Beggars fell into the last category.

Beggars, by definition, never pay for anything. But they were the oldest Guild in the city and the steady accumulation of pennies from the generous (or sometimes desperate) hands of the citizenry had been invested over the centuries. The Beggars were rich! And they owned (behind a long line of holding and investment companies) a sizeable part of the city's real estate. It was a fool-hardy tavern keeper who refused a Beggar's suggestion that he give a free flagon or two to an under-footman a Beggar-with-a-badge wanted to listen to. It helped keep the rent within reasonable bounds.

Up and down the backways and alleys of Morpork, the scruffier portion of the city, threads of questioning spread out and then came together to weave a pattern. Captain Carrot laid it out on his desk, looked at it and nodded to himself.

"Oh gods, it's the Lavishes—again!" Captain Angua snarled. Some people made her regret her decision to be a vegetarian.⁷ And high on that list of people were the Lavish family. It was accepted that they'd made their first fortune in piracy—and their second and even possibly the third. By now, though, the money was locked up in investment trusts, guarded by lawyers and fortressed behind bank walls. It was dribbled out in sufficient amounts to keep the family in the kind of lifestyle that had been named after them but not in large enough amounts to affect the principle. The only piracy they engaged in nowadays was the legal kind.

⁷ At least while in human form. Don't ask about chickens after dark. She does pay for them, you know.

However, it seemed that in addition to their usual hobby, (suing each other over The Money), some of the members had decided to make an attempt at politics. The first one to do so, Cosmo, was now a patient in the Lady Sybil Free Hospital's Ward for the Terminally Confused and his twin sister was serving twenty years in the Tanty. Apparently their example hadn't gotten through to the others.

However, the pattern on Carrot's desk was just that, a pattern. There was no hard evidence and one of the more eccentric aspects to Vetinari's tyranny was that he insisted on having it before hanging anyone. Fortunately, the pattern showed where that evidence lay.

*****

"You know, Accumulata, that a sizeable wing of the family is not terribly sympathetic to your desire to overthrow the Patrician."

"Yes, yes, I know. Led by that idiot Cupiditas. Auntie Carefulness, Cupie has no imagination and no ambition. All she wants is access to the Royal Bank's gold reserves so she can squirrel them away like Pucci did. This city is a money machine! Why settle for a mere bank when you can possibly have the entire thing?"

"I'm not disagreeing with you, dear, just making sure you know where things stand. Remember, I'm on your side—unless you lose, of course. Thank-you for the tea. I must be going, now."

After Aunt Carefulness was gone, Accumulata Lavish seethed in her office. Uncle Cosmo had been right, even if he was mad. The Lavish family was short-sighted and petty. Why, once she was Patrician there would be no need to stop. Today Ankh-Morpork, tomorrow the Disc!

"Miss Lavish?" her butler paused in the doorway, "there a pair of Watchmen at the door."

"What? The Watch at the front door? Have they no manners? Send them around to the tradesmen's entry, Fitzhugh, give them a pint and shoo them off."

"I don't believe that will work, Miss Lavish," Fitzhugh murmured apologetically, "these two Watchmen are Sergeant Detritus and—Inspector Pessimal. They have a search warrant and intend to audit your books."

IS THIS THE MOST DREADED MAN IN ANKH-MORPORK? The headline rang a nasty note in Accumulata's memory. Yes, she thought, he is. He'll uncover everything. He'll run down every payment I made and the Watch will talk to everyone I paid. I'll hang.

"Very well, Fitzhugh," Accumulata's voice trembled only slightly, "show them in. I shall be in my bedroom."

She climbed the stairs, entered her bedroom, opened a secret drawer and took out a small box. Inside was a black pill. She poured herself a glass of water, took the pill lay down on her bed and closed her eyes.

When she opened them sometime later she looked around at the white sheets, the white clad nurse next to the bed and the decidedly black clad Patrician sitting in a chair reading the Times. She blinked several times in confusion.

"I'm still alive. Why?"

Vetinari neatly folded his paper and set it aside. "Because a mind that could conceive of and execute such a complex plot is too valuable a resource to lose. Of course, repairing the sabotage will be quite expensive so I have confiscated enough of the Lavish Trust to pay for it. Your family is a bit—stroppy, I believe the phrase goes? They lay the entire fault on you and are debating whether to consult Lord Downy or Chrysophrase about it."

Accumulata turned pale. "I—I shall have to leave the city!"

The Patrician steepled his fingers in front of his face and raised an eyebrow. With an ominous smile, he replied, "Indeed. And that brings us to the subject—of angels."