Happy New Year, everyone! And: The great yuletide reveal!
I wrote my first Discworld fic, Mostly Human, aided by my wonderful betas rosina_alcona (who's probably still recovering from Hogmanay, eh?) and soawen. I'm reposting it here because I didn't figure out how to format the footnotes in the Yuletide archive.
Title: Mostly Human
Summary: Cosmic rules cannot be overridden.
Rating: G
Characters: Susan, Lord Vetinari, Wuffles
Warnings: extremely silly puns, footnotes, a game of cards
Disclaimer: I'm sure no-one can accuse me of owning Lord Vetinari. Or Susan, for that matter.
Stories can have many beginnings and many endings. That is to say, not only can one and the same story have many different beginnings and many different endings, depending on the storyteller’s perspective, but also that there are many different varieties of beginnings and endings traditionally associated with storytelling. A longstanding favourite of humankind is to begin a story with hate and end it with love. Or to begin it with loneliness and despair and end it with companionship and happiness.* As varied as their methods might otherwise be, most storytellers seem to be in agreement that it’s a good idea to place birth at the beginning and death at the end.
This story begins with death.
*There is also the method of beginning with companionship and happiness and ending with loneliness and despair, but such stories are usually dismissed by the general public and only inflicted on secondary school pupils and literature students.
~*~
Or rather: with the absence thereof.
Susan Sto Helit was walking slowly down the long corridor in the Patrician’s palace. It was quite empty, but even if it hadn’t been, she would not have thought it necessary to make herself invisible. Young, black-clad women with prim hair were no unusual sight in the Patrician’s household, whose housekeeper had very defined ideas on the proper appearance of domestic staff. Young, black-clad women with wildly meandering hair, carrying a scythe and accompanied by a pale horse and the skeleton of a rat, were a rather rarer sight; so rare, in fact, that people’s eyes simply slid off it, refusing to deal with a picture the brain wasn’t able to process.
Her heels clicking on the highly polished marble floor, Susan reached the door to the Patrician’s office. There was a sharp tug on the reins in her hand as she walked on while Binky stopped. Susan turned around to look at the pale horse, which was standing there with a peculiar expression on its face. If horses could frown, it would have done so. But as it were, it merely looked slightly ill.
"What?" asked Susan. And then, looking down on herself, she added, "oh, poo*!"
It was a clear indication of her present distressed state of mind that she had entirely forgotten to check herself before not-opening the door. Not-walking through closed doors was an important aspect of the human part of her nature and she usually clung to it like a drowning person clings to the more solid bits floating in the Ankh. Finding herself standing in the middle of solid wood was unnerving - not only because some wayward splinters had begun to tickle.
*Most of Susan’s conversation partners were under 10 years old. It was beginning to show.
~*~
"Ah. The Duchess of Sto Helit, if I’m not mistaken," came the dry voice from the other side of the door. "Do come in, your Ladyship."
"Miss Susan will do," said Susan crisply, walking through the door and measuring the Patrician with a gaze as even as she could manage under the circumstances. For a mostly human, being caught standing in the middle of the door was just as embarrassing as being caught in the privy was for a human.*
*No-one knew how the mostly humans held it with the privy business. It was a matter Not To Be Interested In.
Lord Vetinari was standing with his back to the high window and, for the first time, Susan noticed that the Patrician was, well, old. His formerly black hair was showing streaks of grey, and his figure, though still quite upright, was beginning to show traces of fragility. In spite of herself, Susan felt a pang of guilt regarding what she had come to do. The Patrician was one of the few people she felt any respect for.
"It is time, I assume?" he said, in a voice that seemed to carry traces of weariness. "I didn’t expect you so soon."
"Time has come indeed, and I haven't got the power to stop... him" she said.
Vetinari raised an eyebrow. "That’s not what I’ve heard."
Susan’s eyes narrowed. "How do you know-"
"Let’s just say, I try to keep track of what’s going on in this city."
"Very well. Just for the record, I don’t have any power whatsoever over time." She watched him make a note, and then said, "You know why I am here?"
"It is quite obvious. The scythe and the pale horse are a bit of a giveaway. And the, ah, rodent."
"This is the Death of Rats," said Susan. "He insisted on coming along. I’ve no idea why."
SQUEAK.
"Pardon?" said the Patrician.
"He says he wanted to say goodbye." Susan frowned. "I didn’t know they knew each other."
SQUEAK.
"Oh, yes. That explains a lot."
"Does it?"
"He says Wuffles is responsible for the death of rats."
Vetinari turned abruptly to the fireplace, in front of which stood a large basket, cushioned with grimy looking pillows, old rugs and one fluffy blanket adorned with a bunny rabbit pattern. "Wuffles is responsible for the Death of Rats?"
"Not for the Death of Rats. For the death of rats. Uncapitalised," said Susan. "It makes sense. Terriers are famous for it."
"Ah, yes, of course." Vetinari’s gaze was fixed firmly on the basket and its very still contents. Susan, with uncharacteristic patience, waited. Eventually the Patrician turned back to her.
"I assume there is nothing I can do to prevent it?"
She shook her head. "I’m afraid that’s not possible. Death cannot be avoided. Cosmic rules."
"But if I’m not mistaken," said Vetinari, sitting down at his desk, "it can be postponed."
"Sir?"
"It is well within the rules to play for the dying one’s life."
"You want to play?" Susan asked. "That’s-"
"Impossible?"
"Stupid!" She took a step closer. "If you lose, I will have to take you both!"
"I am well aware of this." Vetinari opened a drawer and pulled out a deck of cards. He unsealed the wrapping paper, unwrapped it and placed it carefully in front of him on the table. "Well?"
"You really are serious," she said, frowning. "You’re going to sacrifice yourself for a dog?!"
"Some things are worth a sacrifice."
"But-" Susan didn’t know why the idea of Vetinari’s death seemed so appalling to her. In a metaphysical sense, he wasn’t more than a collection of atoms, held together by sheer coincidence and life’s determination to survive. "The city needs you."
"I have made arrangements for the event of my death," he said calmly, shuffling the cards with a practised gesture. "A game of Push the Wizard in the Ankh (But Very Respectfully So), if you please?"
Susan glanced at the hand he had dealt her. It was a good one.
"I must give you a fair warning," she said, seating herself opposite him and leaning the scythe against the desk. Death of Rats scurried over to Wuffles' basket. "I happen to be really good at Push the Wizard in the Ankh."
"We better get on with it, then," said Vetinari, handing out the cards. "I realise you're not here to simply kill time."
"Not yet," muttered Susan under her breath. "Not quite yet."
~*~
"I must admit I was a bit surprised," said Vetinari a few minutes later, laying down the Knave of Hearts and picking up the Troll of Clubs. "I thought I would be playing with your grandfather today."
"I'm afraid he was prevented from coming," said Susan, rearranging the cards so that the Fool was hidden behind the Thief of Dimes. The Fool's manic grin always grated on her nerves.
"Oh dear. Nothing serious, I hope?"
"He was called to an apocalypse," said Susan, rather testily. She relished in the short expression of genuine shock that fluttered across Vetinari's features. It was nice to see that there were ways to make his self-control crumble.
Vetinari cast an involuntary glance over his shoulder at the window. "The apocalypse is upon us?!"
"Not the. An. And it's not going on here, either. It's happening on another world, whose death has mysteriously disappeared. He was last seen climbing up a tree."*
"Ah. Well. I see. I do hope to see your grandfather back again in due time. I imagine life wouldn’t be quite the same without him."
Susan shot him a sharp glance. She couldn't tell, by the look on his face, whether he had tried to be deliberately witty. The concept of the Patrician's trying to make a joke somewhat burst the realms of imagination.
*Throughout the history of sentient life, Life has always made attempts to trick Death. Just like in all other aspects of human (and otherwise anthropomorphic) interaction, it is most often the simple tricks that do the trick. It so happened therefore that in a vastly unimportant country on some distant blue-green planet the resident Death had been forced into retirement by an old toothless man. That man, who had spent all his life chasing the local boys away from the pear tree in his garden, was granted a wish by a passing stranger, whom he helped out with a bowl of soup. Like such stories go, the stranger turned out to be the son of that world's God, who was strolling around the world with the aim of tricking people into not helping him so that his father could punish them.² God's son was so perplexed about the help that he fulfilled the first wish the old man uttered, which was the protection of his pear tree. However, being a deity and therefore sadly out of touch with the basic rules of every-day practicability, he did not, as one could expect, made the tree generally inaccessible for everyone but the old man, but rather made it impossible for those who climbed up to climb back down without the old man's permission. This lead to a cluster of boys being trapped in the tree over night, before the old man, whose hearing wasn't as good as it used to be and who had slept over all the racket in his garden, released them the next morning. Sadly, having spent all night in the branches with nothing to do but pick pears, the boys had successfully liberated the tree from all its fruit, which, when discovered, caused the old man to utter his first ever curse against Heaven. He turned angry and bitter, and when a few months later Death came to collect him, he voiced the wish for a last supper and sent Death up the tree to gather a few pears. Death, being subject to divine rules like the next anthropomorphic personification, got stuck in the tree, while the old man returned to his cottage, cackling evilly.
It didn't take long before humans discovered the conspicuous lack of death. They did what any sensible species would do: They went to war.
Reasoning that the opportunity was too good to miss, they decided that countries long longed-for could now be safely conquered and those pesky infidels could be, if not ultimately erased, so at least made feel very, very sorry indeed. Not only, said the valiant leaders form the confines of their state-of-the-art bunkers, could soldiers be sent out into action after being technically dead, which increased the efficiency of an army by a considerable degree, but also could at last an end be put to the arguments voiced by humanitarian organisations and long-haired flower lovers, who insisted that, in war, too many innocent bystanders would lose their lives.
It was all good while it lasted, but cosmic rules are not to be tricked permanently. Even though the planet's Death was indisposed, the multiverse was full with deaths, large and small, who could fulfil the task to full satisfaction. Parameters were established to determine the most suitable death to do the job, and Discworld's Death was sent out to put an end to that nonsense.
²Some say that celestial attempts of tricking people into doing bad deeds so that they could be punished was the result of a century-old agreement between Heaven and Hell, according to which God had to made sure that there was a constant and reliable supply of sinners to keep the balance and Satan happy, but those people are considered dangerously mad and get locked up in special institutions where they lose touch with reality and are not in danger to interact with the outside world and spread their belief.³
³Universities
~*~
"May I ask you something, your Lordship?"
"Certainly."
"What are the precautions you undertook in case of your death?"
A thin smile tugged at the corners of Vetinari's mouth. "I was thinking..." he said, turning the card in front of him over, "Young Sam Vimes is a very promising young lad."
A thick silence followed, interspersed only through the sound of the Patrician shuffling his cards.
"Excuse me?" said Susan. And because his pointed unconcern irritated the hell out of her, she added, "What does old Sam Vimes think of it?"
"He will have plenty of opportunity to think it all through in due time. There's no need to worry him in advance."
"What's going to happen if he opposes against his son's being the next Patrician? As he is bound to do."
"Fortunately, it is not in his hands to decide. The new Patrician is elected by the Guilds."
"But would the Guilds-" Susan paused. She thought of the Guild of Seamstresses, whose workspace had become so much safer after some necessary changes had been implemented by the Watch (not that they had been particularly unsafe before, what with the Agony Aunts around). The Guild of Assassins, who valued a target worthy their attention (and it was said that Young Sam was turning out very much like his father). The Guild of Beggars, who liked feeling useful (especially if they were used to spy on other Guilds). And of course the Guild of Watchmen, which had never been officially shut down after the debacle of Sgt. Colon's Acting Captaincy. The Guilds had faith in everything Vimes, even though they might not be aware of it. But it was enough that Vetinari was.
"The boy isn't of age," said Susan.
"This is immaterial. He will be guided by a carefully selected Advisory Board until his coming of age. There is precedence. Grab."
"Pardon?"
"I said, grab." He held out the Witch of Lancre and the Wizard of XXXX.
Susan rearranged her hand. "Choke."
"Ah, the infamous 'Boostin' the Bitch' flash," Vetinari nodded appreciatively. "I think I need more cards."
"Aren't you worried? You might be dead within the next few minutes." Susan had never really grasped the concept of delicacy. You didn't pick up social graces in the company of the dead and undead. Or children, for that matter.
"To the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure," said Vetinari.
"No," said Susan, "Death isn't much of an adventure. It's rather dull, really."
"Ah well. At least Wuffles will be with me. You wouldn't believe how much cheer a small dog like him can bring into one's life." He frowned down at the cards and made a few small changes in the arrangement. "Do you have any pets, Miss Susan?"
Susan hesitated. Generations of Henry the Hamsters had come and gone, but she never cared much for any of them. Did the stick insect count?
"Not really, no."
"What about him?" Vetinari pointed to the small skeleton perched on the edge of Wuffles' basket.
"He is his own, I suppose."
"I see. A skeleton doesn't exactly make a cuddly pet, I imagine."
It was odd, Susan thought, to hear the Patrician use a word like 'cuddly'. She wouldn't have expected it to be part of his vocabulary.
"I'm doing quite well by myself," she said.
"Of course."
"I don't need anyone."
"Of course not."
"Not that there is anyone."
"Of course there isn't."
"You're being condescending."
"Quite so."
"Play your hand. I haven't got much... time."
Without another word, Vetinari spread a line of cards in front of him. The Fool was grinning up at Susan. She gritted her teeth and covered the offensive card with an Ace.
"He will be back," said Vetinari quietly, as she picked up two more cards from the pile.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"He might just be busy at that, ah, time of year."
"A busy time is no excuse."
"But it most certainly seems to be the issue."
"This is not funny!"
"My apologies." The Patrician sighed. "I'm only trying to help."
"Don't bother."
"What with it being Hogswatch and all. Time of goodwill among men."
"If you say that name again, I'll take Wuffles at once and leave you here!"
"That would be against the rules."
"I just don't want to talk about it, all right?" Susan picked up another card, stared at it unseeingly, and said, "He knows how I hate it when Grandfather leaves me in charge, it wrecks havoc with my schedule, and yet he refused to give me a hand, and he said that too much time had been fooled around with recently, what with the Hogfather and Jack Frost being around and Grandfather being so busy because of the cold snap and the epidemic over at Quirm, and he said he has to remain on his post, but I know it's just excuses and he simply didn't want to spend time with me."
"He might be saving it," said Vetinari. "Splash, by the way."
"What?" said Susan.
"Splash," said Vetinari. "I Pushed the Wizard in the Ankh (But Very Respectfully So). Here."
"No, what did you say about saving?"
"Ah. Yes. He might be saving time instead of spending it. So there's more to bestow on you."
Susan opened her mouth to argue, but in that moment, an eerie blue light shimmered around her, enveloping the whole room and freezing every motion.
Apart from her own. And Binky's. And the Death of Rat's.
Vetinari remained frozen in his chair, and behind him, Susan looked through the tall window, past Jack Frost's elaborate fern pattern, into the velvety night, starry sky and the familiar face of Lobsang Ludd, who had manifested himself in midair.
She didn't mean to do it, but somehow her hand had ended in his, and while he pulled her onto the white steed*, sensible, level-headed Miss Susan decided that killing Time wouldn't be an option tonight.
Well, unless it was only a little death.
*She chose to ignore that it was her steed. Well, her grandfather's, anyway.
~*~
GOOD AFTERNOON, SUSAN.
"Grandfather. How did the apocalypse go?"
OH, JUST YOUR STANDARD APOCALYPSE. LOTS OF SHOUTING, LOTS OF BLOOD, MANY REPENTANT SINNERS. SOME TROUBLE WITH THE GODS.
"What happened?"
APPARENTLY, THERE ARE TWO MAJOR GODS WHO DENY THAT ANY OF THE OTHERS EXIST.
Susan nodded. There were always some trouble-makers bound to show up.
HOW'S BEEN BUSINESS BACK HERE? DID EVERYTHING GO WELL?
"I was at the Patrician's palace."
IS HIS LORDSHIP WELL?
"Very well. We played Push the Wizard in the Ankh."
DELIGHTFUL GAME.
"The Patrician certainly plays it very well."
DOES HE.
"He also seems to be quite attached to his dog."
AH YES. MAN'S BEST FRIEND. I UNDERSTAND HE HAS BEEN LORD VETINARI'S FAITHFUL COMPANION FOR MANY YEARS.
"Very many years, I think. It's an old dog."
AS YOU KNOW I'VE NEVER BEEN MUCH OF A DOG PERSON. I PREFER CATS.
Susan sighed. In spite of a perfect poker face, Death has never been any good at Push the Wizard in the Ankh.
The End
Many thanks to bethbethbeth for the rec :-)
Title: Mostly Human
Summary: Cosmic rules cannot be overridden.
Rating: G
Characters: Susan, Lord Vetinari, Wuffles
Warnings: extremely silly puns, footnotes, a game of cards
Disclaimer: I'm sure no-one can accuse me of owning Lord Vetinari. Or Susan, for that matter.
Stories can have many beginnings and many endings. That is to say, not only can one and the same story have many different beginnings and many different endings, depending on the storyteller’s perspective, but also that there are many different varieties of beginnings and endings traditionally associated with storytelling. A longstanding favourite of humankind is to begin a story with hate and end it with love. Or to begin it with loneliness and despair and end it with companionship and happiness.* As varied as their methods might otherwise be, most storytellers seem to be in agreement that it’s a good idea to place birth at the beginning and death at the end.
This story begins with death.
*There is also the method of beginning with companionship and happiness and ending with loneliness and despair, but such stories are usually dismissed by the general public and only inflicted on secondary school pupils and literature students.
~*~
Or rather: with the absence thereof.
Susan Sto Helit was walking slowly down the long corridor in the Patrician’s palace. It was quite empty, but even if it hadn’t been, she would not have thought it necessary to make herself invisible. Young, black-clad women with prim hair were no unusual sight in the Patrician’s household, whose housekeeper had very defined ideas on the proper appearance of domestic staff. Young, black-clad women with wildly meandering hair, carrying a scythe and accompanied by a pale horse and the skeleton of a rat, were a rather rarer sight; so rare, in fact, that people’s eyes simply slid off it, refusing to deal with a picture the brain wasn’t able to process.
Her heels clicking on the highly polished marble floor, Susan reached the door to the Patrician’s office. There was a sharp tug on the reins in her hand as she walked on while Binky stopped. Susan turned around to look at the pale horse, which was standing there with a peculiar expression on its face. If horses could frown, it would have done so. But as it were, it merely looked slightly ill.
"What?" asked Susan. And then, looking down on herself, she added, "oh, poo*!"
It was a clear indication of her present distressed state of mind that she had entirely forgotten to check herself before not-opening the door. Not-walking through closed doors was an important aspect of the human part of her nature and she usually clung to it like a drowning person clings to the more solid bits floating in the Ankh. Finding herself standing in the middle of solid wood was unnerving - not only because some wayward splinters had begun to tickle.
*Most of Susan’s conversation partners were under 10 years old. It was beginning to show.
~*~
"Ah. The Duchess of Sto Helit, if I’m not mistaken," came the dry voice from the other side of the door. "Do come in, your Ladyship."
"Miss Susan will do," said Susan crisply, walking through the door and measuring the Patrician with a gaze as even as she could manage under the circumstances. For a mostly human, being caught standing in the middle of the door was just as embarrassing as being caught in the privy was for a human.*
*No-one knew how the mostly humans held it with the privy business. It was a matter Not To Be Interested In.
Lord Vetinari was standing with his back to the high window and, for the first time, Susan noticed that the Patrician was, well, old. His formerly black hair was showing streaks of grey, and his figure, though still quite upright, was beginning to show traces of fragility. In spite of herself, Susan felt a pang of guilt regarding what she had come to do. The Patrician was one of the few people she felt any respect for.
"It is time, I assume?" he said, in a voice that seemed to carry traces of weariness. "I didn’t expect you so soon."
"Time has come indeed, and I haven't got the power to stop... him" she said.
Vetinari raised an eyebrow. "That’s not what I’ve heard."
Susan’s eyes narrowed. "How do you know-"
"Let’s just say, I try to keep track of what’s going on in this city."
"Very well. Just for the record, I don’t have any power whatsoever over time." She watched him make a note, and then said, "You know why I am here?"
"It is quite obvious. The scythe and the pale horse are a bit of a giveaway. And the, ah, rodent."
"This is the Death of Rats," said Susan. "He insisted on coming along. I’ve no idea why."
SQUEAK.
"Pardon?" said the Patrician.
"He says he wanted to say goodbye." Susan frowned. "I didn’t know they knew each other."
SQUEAK.
"Oh, yes. That explains a lot."
"Does it?"
"He says Wuffles is responsible for the death of rats."
Vetinari turned abruptly to the fireplace, in front of which stood a large basket, cushioned with grimy looking pillows, old rugs and one fluffy blanket adorned with a bunny rabbit pattern. "Wuffles is responsible for the Death of Rats?"
"Not for the Death of Rats. For the death of rats. Uncapitalised," said Susan. "It makes sense. Terriers are famous for it."
"Ah, yes, of course." Vetinari’s gaze was fixed firmly on the basket and its very still contents. Susan, with uncharacteristic patience, waited. Eventually the Patrician turned back to her.
"I assume there is nothing I can do to prevent it?"
She shook her head. "I’m afraid that’s not possible. Death cannot be avoided. Cosmic rules."
"But if I’m not mistaken," said Vetinari, sitting down at his desk, "it can be postponed."
"Sir?"
"It is well within the rules to play for the dying one’s life."
"You want to play?" Susan asked. "That’s-"
"Impossible?"
"Stupid!" She took a step closer. "If you lose, I will have to take you both!"
"I am well aware of this." Vetinari opened a drawer and pulled out a deck of cards. He unsealed the wrapping paper, unwrapped it and placed it carefully in front of him on the table. "Well?"
"You really are serious," she said, frowning. "You’re going to sacrifice yourself for a dog?!"
"Some things are worth a sacrifice."
"But-" Susan didn’t know why the idea of Vetinari’s death seemed so appalling to her. In a metaphysical sense, he wasn’t more than a collection of atoms, held together by sheer coincidence and life’s determination to survive. "The city needs you."
"I have made arrangements for the event of my death," he said calmly, shuffling the cards with a practised gesture. "A game of Push the Wizard in the Ankh (But Very Respectfully So), if you please?"
Susan glanced at the hand he had dealt her. It was a good one.
"I must give you a fair warning," she said, seating herself opposite him and leaning the scythe against the desk. Death of Rats scurried over to Wuffles' basket. "I happen to be really good at Push the Wizard in the Ankh."
"We better get on with it, then," said Vetinari, handing out the cards. "I realise you're not here to simply kill time."
"Not yet," muttered Susan under her breath. "Not quite yet."
~*~
"I must admit I was a bit surprised," said Vetinari a few minutes later, laying down the Knave of Hearts and picking up the Troll of Clubs. "I thought I would be playing with your grandfather today."
"I'm afraid he was prevented from coming," said Susan, rearranging the cards so that the Fool was hidden behind the Thief of Dimes. The Fool's manic grin always grated on her nerves.
"Oh dear. Nothing serious, I hope?"
"He was called to an apocalypse," said Susan, rather testily. She relished in the short expression of genuine shock that fluttered across Vetinari's features. It was nice to see that there were ways to make his self-control crumble.
Vetinari cast an involuntary glance over his shoulder at the window. "The apocalypse is upon us?!"
"Not the. An. And it's not going on here, either. It's happening on another world, whose death has mysteriously disappeared. He was last seen climbing up a tree."*
"Ah. Well. I see. I do hope to see your grandfather back again in due time. I imagine life wouldn’t be quite the same without him."
Susan shot him a sharp glance. She couldn't tell, by the look on his face, whether he had tried to be deliberately witty. The concept of the Patrician's trying to make a joke somewhat burst the realms of imagination.
*Throughout the history of sentient life, Life has always made attempts to trick Death. Just like in all other aspects of human (and otherwise anthropomorphic) interaction, it is most often the simple tricks that do the trick. It so happened therefore that in a vastly unimportant country on some distant blue-green planet the resident Death had been forced into retirement by an old toothless man. That man, who had spent all his life chasing the local boys away from the pear tree in his garden, was granted a wish by a passing stranger, whom he helped out with a bowl of soup. Like such stories go, the stranger turned out to be the son of that world's God, who was strolling around the world with the aim of tricking people into not helping him so that his father could punish them.² God's son was so perplexed about the help that he fulfilled the first wish the old man uttered, which was the protection of his pear tree. However, being a deity and therefore sadly out of touch with the basic rules of every-day practicability, he did not, as one could expect, made the tree generally inaccessible for everyone but the old man, but rather made it impossible for those who climbed up to climb back down without the old man's permission. This lead to a cluster of boys being trapped in the tree over night, before the old man, whose hearing wasn't as good as it used to be and who had slept over all the racket in his garden, released them the next morning. Sadly, having spent all night in the branches with nothing to do but pick pears, the boys had successfully liberated the tree from all its fruit, which, when discovered, caused the old man to utter his first ever curse against Heaven. He turned angry and bitter, and when a few months later Death came to collect him, he voiced the wish for a last supper and sent Death up the tree to gather a few pears. Death, being subject to divine rules like the next anthropomorphic personification, got stuck in the tree, while the old man returned to his cottage, cackling evilly.
It didn't take long before humans discovered the conspicuous lack of death. They did what any sensible species would do: They went to war.
Reasoning that the opportunity was too good to miss, they decided that countries long longed-for could now be safely conquered and those pesky infidels could be, if not ultimately erased, so at least made feel very, very sorry indeed. Not only, said the valiant leaders form the confines of their state-of-the-art bunkers, could soldiers be sent out into action after being technically dead, which increased the efficiency of an army by a considerable degree, but also could at last an end be put to the arguments voiced by humanitarian organisations and long-haired flower lovers, who insisted that, in war, too many innocent bystanders would lose their lives.
It was all good while it lasted, but cosmic rules are not to be tricked permanently. Even though the planet's Death was indisposed, the multiverse was full with deaths, large and small, who could fulfil the task to full satisfaction. Parameters were established to determine the most suitable death to do the job, and Discworld's Death was sent out to put an end to that nonsense.
²Some say that celestial attempts of tricking people into doing bad deeds so that they could be punished was the result of a century-old agreement between Heaven and Hell, according to which God had to made sure that there was a constant and reliable supply of sinners to keep the balance and Satan happy, but those people are considered dangerously mad and get locked up in special institutions where they lose touch with reality and are not in danger to interact with the outside world and spread their belief.³
³Universities
~*~
"May I ask you something, your Lordship?"
"Certainly."
"What are the precautions you undertook in case of your death?"
A thin smile tugged at the corners of Vetinari's mouth. "I was thinking..." he said, turning the card in front of him over, "Young Sam Vimes is a very promising young lad."
A thick silence followed, interspersed only through the sound of the Patrician shuffling his cards.
"Excuse me?" said Susan. And because his pointed unconcern irritated the hell out of her, she added, "What does old Sam Vimes think of it?"
"He will have plenty of opportunity to think it all through in due time. There's no need to worry him in advance."
"What's going to happen if he opposes against his son's being the next Patrician? As he is bound to do."
"Fortunately, it is not in his hands to decide. The new Patrician is elected by the Guilds."
"But would the Guilds-" Susan paused. She thought of the Guild of Seamstresses, whose workspace had become so much safer after some necessary changes had been implemented by the Watch (not that they had been particularly unsafe before, what with the Agony Aunts around). The Guild of Assassins, who valued a target worthy their attention (and it was said that Young Sam was turning out very much like his father). The Guild of Beggars, who liked feeling useful (especially if they were used to spy on other Guilds). And of course the Guild of Watchmen, which had never been officially shut down after the debacle of Sgt. Colon's Acting Captaincy. The Guilds had faith in everything Vimes, even though they might not be aware of it. But it was enough that Vetinari was.
"The boy isn't of age," said Susan.
"This is immaterial. He will be guided by a carefully selected Advisory Board until his coming of age. There is precedence. Grab."
"Pardon?"
"I said, grab." He held out the Witch of Lancre and the Wizard of XXXX.
Susan rearranged her hand. "Choke."
"Ah, the infamous 'Boostin' the Bitch' flash," Vetinari nodded appreciatively. "I think I need more cards."
"Aren't you worried? You might be dead within the next few minutes." Susan had never really grasped the concept of delicacy. You didn't pick up social graces in the company of the dead and undead. Or children, for that matter.
"To the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure," said Vetinari.
"No," said Susan, "Death isn't much of an adventure. It's rather dull, really."
"Ah well. At least Wuffles will be with me. You wouldn't believe how much cheer a small dog like him can bring into one's life." He frowned down at the cards and made a few small changes in the arrangement. "Do you have any pets, Miss Susan?"
Susan hesitated. Generations of Henry the Hamsters had come and gone, but she never cared much for any of them. Did the stick insect count?
"Not really, no."
"What about him?" Vetinari pointed to the small skeleton perched on the edge of Wuffles' basket.
"He is his own, I suppose."
"I see. A skeleton doesn't exactly make a cuddly pet, I imagine."
It was odd, Susan thought, to hear the Patrician use a word like 'cuddly'. She wouldn't have expected it to be part of his vocabulary.
"I'm doing quite well by myself," she said.
"Of course."
"I don't need anyone."
"Of course not."
"Not that there is anyone."
"Of course there isn't."
"You're being condescending."
"Quite so."
"Play your hand. I haven't got much... time."
Without another word, Vetinari spread a line of cards in front of him. The Fool was grinning up at Susan. She gritted her teeth and covered the offensive card with an Ace.
"He will be back," said Vetinari quietly, as she picked up two more cards from the pile.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"He might just be busy at that, ah, time of year."
"A busy time is no excuse."
"But it most certainly seems to be the issue."
"This is not funny!"
"My apologies." The Patrician sighed. "I'm only trying to help."
"Don't bother."
"What with it being Hogswatch and all. Time of goodwill among men."
"If you say that name again, I'll take Wuffles at once and leave you here!"
"That would be against the rules."
"I just don't want to talk about it, all right?" Susan picked up another card, stared at it unseeingly, and said, "He knows how I hate it when Grandfather leaves me in charge, it wrecks havoc with my schedule, and yet he refused to give me a hand, and he said that too much time had been fooled around with recently, what with the Hogfather and Jack Frost being around and Grandfather being so busy because of the cold snap and the epidemic over at Quirm, and he said he has to remain on his post, but I know it's just excuses and he simply didn't want to spend time with me."
"He might be saving it," said Vetinari. "Splash, by the way."
"What?" said Susan.
"Splash," said Vetinari. "I Pushed the Wizard in the Ankh (But Very Respectfully So). Here."
"No, what did you say about saving?"
"Ah. Yes. He might be saving time instead of spending it. So there's more to bestow on you."
Susan opened her mouth to argue, but in that moment, an eerie blue light shimmered around her, enveloping the whole room and freezing every motion.
Apart from her own. And Binky's. And the Death of Rat's.
Vetinari remained frozen in his chair, and behind him, Susan looked through the tall window, past Jack Frost's elaborate fern pattern, into the velvety night, starry sky and the familiar face of Lobsang Ludd, who had manifested himself in midair.
She didn't mean to do it, but somehow her hand had ended in his, and while he pulled her onto the white steed*, sensible, level-headed Miss Susan decided that killing Time wouldn't be an option tonight.
Well, unless it was only a little death.
*She chose to ignore that it was her steed. Well, her grandfather's, anyway.
~*~
GOOD AFTERNOON, SUSAN.
"Grandfather. How did the apocalypse go?"
OH, JUST YOUR STANDARD APOCALYPSE. LOTS OF SHOUTING, LOTS OF BLOOD, MANY REPENTANT SINNERS. SOME TROUBLE WITH THE GODS.
"What happened?"
APPARENTLY, THERE ARE TWO MAJOR GODS WHO DENY THAT ANY OF THE OTHERS EXIST.
Susan nodded. There were always some trouble-makers bound to show up.
HOW'S BEEN BUSINESS BACK HERE? DID EVERYTHING GO WELL?
"I was at the Patrician's palace."
IS HIS LORDSHIP WELL?
"Very well. We played Push the Wizard in the Ankh."
DELIGHTFUL GAME.
"The Patrician certainly plays it very well."
DOES HE.
"He also seems to be quite attached to his dog."
AH YES. MAN'S BEST FRIEND. I UNDERSTAND HE HAS BEEN LORD VETINARI'S FAITHFUL COMPANION FOR MANY YEARS.
"Very many years, I think. It's an old dog."
AS YOU KNOW I'VE NEVER BEEN MUCH OF A DOG PERSON. I PREFER CATS.
Susan sighed. In spite of a perfect poker face, Death has never been any good at Push the Wizard in the Ankh.
The End
Many thanks to bethbethbeth for the rec :-)