Sometimes things just have to happen.
I was at work all day and wrote AU Discworld. Enjoyyyyyyyy.
You know how sometimes you just have to write something for fun? Well this is one of those. No guarantee it’ll ever be finished or even continued, but I just wanted to play around.
Although, to be fair, it does have a plot. So continuing is a possibility, sure. ;)
Disclaimer: “Twist” is in no way associated with Terry or Lynn Pratchett or the Discworld series of books. She does not profit from these stories, and does not, by and large, own the characters, names or places in this story.
--
EHRN EHRN EHRN, is typically the acceptable sound for an alarm clock on a small, round blue planet out in its own corner of the universe. Of course, there are other sounds the alarm might make; some, for instance, played music from whatever local radio station one has tuned in to. Some might ring. But most make some kind of horrific, eardrum-shattering buzzing noise as the acceptable way of waking up people who were enjoying a nice night’s sleep.
Or a not so nice night’s sleep, either one. Alarm clocks don’t care. They just go. And this morning was no different.
“Aargh!” Moist von Lipwig jerked awake in a cold sweat and, acting out of habit and panic, slapped the alarm clock to the floor. In bed next to him, Adora rolled over and cracked one sleepy eye.
“Mnurfgh?” she asked, concern radiating from her one open, crusted eye. At least, that’s how Moist imagined it. Moist ran his hand through his hair and caught his breath.
“Nightmare,” he panted. Adora nodded and rolled back over.
“What time?” she asked, her voice raspy after a night’s sleep and muffled by the pillow. “Morning already?”
Moist nodded and flopped backwards into the pillow. “Five thirty.” Adora grunted. “We have to get moving, we’ll miss the plane.”
“I need some eggs.”
“They have continental breakfast in the lobby. Might have some scrambled eggs.”
Adora breathed deeply. “Five more minutes.”
“Fine.” Moist laid still for a minute, giving himself time to wake up fully. Then he swung his legs out of the bed and shuffled to the bathroom, scrubbing his face with his hands as he went. He shut the door behind himself, letting his wife sleep as he went through his morning routine; toilet, sink, shower, back to the sink, and out to dress. When he emerged, towel wrapped around his waist, Adora was sitting on the bed, pulling her clothes for the day out of her suitcase.
“Big day today, eh?” he asked, smiling at her as he bent down to dig through his own suitcase.
“Mm, is it?” she teased as she rummaged through her suitcase for a shirt. She rocked back onto her heels and looked contemplatively at the tight gray shirt she’d pulled out. “Ah, yes, the day we move from home sweet arctic to the untamed wilds of the eastern seaboard.”
Moist frowned and pulled his shirt over his head. “I wouldn’t call Maryland the untamed wilds of anywhere, I don’t think.”
“You wouldn’t? Not even with the raccoons?”
“Not even with the raccoons,” he answered solemnly, fastening his belt. “Come on, let’s get moving. The eggs will all be gone by the time we get down there.”
As it turned, out, the Super 8 of Fargo, North Dakota did not have scrambled eggs at the continental breakfast, and so it was with a scowl and a bagel that Adora Belle von Lipwig slid into the back of the taxi with that morning. Moist sat next to her in the back seat. “Hector International, please,” he said as the cab driver drove off.
“Are you excited?” Adora asked around a mouthful of bagel.
“What for the plane ride? Of course not, I’ve been on planes before,” Moist answered, distracted as he watched a Cessna skim overhead.
“Not the plane ride, and you’re a liar,” Adora sniffed. “I know you’re nervous about that. I’m talking about the new job.”
“Huh? Oh, oh the job.” Moist turned away from the window. “Yeah, of course I’m excited about the job.”
Adora smiled faintly and plucked a chunk of bread free from the bagel. “I can’t believe I’m going to be married to a real-life postmaster. Oh dreams, they do come true.”
“Hey, there’s no need for that kind of attitude,” Moist chuckled. “Anyway it’s just a small town. I’m not a big-shot in the Postal Service yet.”
“Oh, for that day to come at last,” she sighed wistfully, looking out the window. “Perhaps one day I could even be married to the Postmaster General of the United States.”
“Oh, come on, you knew what you were getting when you tied the knot,” Moist grumbled.
“A career postal worker? Endless art and doodads from friends of envelopes with wings on them? More stamps than I know what to do with?” She stopped when Moist gave her a long look and patted him on the arm, her slight smile still in place. “I’m just trying to put you at ease, dear.”
“Well it’s not working.” He slumped down in the seat. “God, I hate planes.”
Adora made a little noise of sympathy or perhaps agreement, and started digging through her purse. “What time are we getting in tonight?”
“Eh, should get to the house around, I dunno, nine or ten tonight?”
“Umph. Late.”
“Well we got that layover at O’Hare.” He shrugged. “At least the bed will be set up, supposedly - we’ll just have to throw some sheets on and we can deal with the rest in the morning.”
“Gum?” Adora offered. “It’ll help pressurize your ears once we take off.”
“Nah,” he sighed.
“Did you bring a book for the plane, dear?”
Moist shifted uncomfortably in the seat of the cab. “No.”
Adora nodded. “I didn’t think so.” She pulled a prescription bottle out of her purse and rattled it at him. “Here’s your Xanax, then, champ.” Moist tucked the bottle into his coat pocket and looked nervously out the window.
“I really hate planes.”
--
Moist lolled and slept and, when his wife forgot he was nearly unconscious thanks to the wonders of chemistry, drooled his way through the two plane rides and was starting to get back to speed when the second plane touched down in BWI early in the evening. Dully he watched as the luggage carousel toted bags by him while Adora was off getting the rental car straightened out. After a time, she returned and stood by his side for a minute, not saying anything.
“So have you found the bags yet, Moist?” she asked idly, flicking through the paperwork.
“Nope,” he muttered.
“What about the two bags that just went by on the carousel?”
“Not ours.”
Adora raised an eyebrow and tucked the papers into her purse. “No?”
“Nope.”
She watched idly as the two bags went by again. “Moist, dear, have you considered that these two bags that just happen to look exactly like our bags are the only two left on the carousel?” She watched as realization dawned on his expression, albeit in a sluggish, sedate manner. She patted him on the shoulder. “Let’s get to the car, chief. You can get the small suitcase.” She heaved the larger bag off the carousel and made her way to the door, Moist trailing her more slowly and with less straight lines. “And I’m driving,” she called over her shoulder.
Moist blinked, yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Well that pretty much goes without saying, doesn’t it?”
The car ride to the new house was mostly silent, with Moist occasionally reading off the sheet of directions Adora had printed. He felt better the less he slept, strangely enough, and by the time they had pulled off 272 and onto the wooded road leading to he felt almost completely himself again.
“So Treacle Lane is off of Spooner Street?” he guessed, squinting at the directions by the light of his cell phone. “And then I think it’s the second house on the left.” He paused. “You want to stop by the post office on the way in?”
Adora snorted. “So you can gaze upon the letters by the light of the untamed moon?”
Moist sulked. “Fine, when you put it that way.”
“Let’s just get home, you can go see your new second home tomorrow, alright?” She smiled to herself as she hung a right onto Spooner street, a well-kept old neighborhood populated by cookie-cutter two-story houses in a variety of colors and states of upkeep. They stopped when they noticed, outside of one, a dog and a baby clad in red overalls and a yellow shirt standing on the curb, watching a heavy man clamber across the roof of the house while a red-headed woman shouted at him from the curb.
“Should we do something?” Moist asked as their rental Mazda cruised by slowly so they could better take in the spectacle. He rolled down the window. The dog and the baby turned to look.
“Just keep driving, this happens all the time,” the dog said. Moist blinked and shook his head.
“Everything alright?” Adora asked, speeding up again once the house was behind them.
“I think that dog just talked to me,” Moist said distantly, watching the pair in the passenger side mirror. Adora laughed sharply.
“Alright, Dr. Doolittle, that’s enough Xanax for one day then.”
“No I honestly . . .” He trailed off. “You know what? Never mind. There’s the house, just pull into the driveway.”
“You don’t think the grass will catch fire from the engine, do you?” Adora remarked dryly as the car pulled across the cracked asphalt, brushing the weeds and grasses aside as it did. “You’ll have to unpack the lawnmower and mow the driveway tomorrow afternoon, I think. I can’t imagine Budget will be happy when we bring a car back with an undercarriage chock full of weeds.”
“Oh, shut up,” Moist laughed, climbing out of the car while Adora killed the engine. He took in the front of the house and breathed deeply, as is custom for any many surveying his new domain. Across the street, two large dogs barked once or twice before realizing Moist posed them no threat. “Home sweet home.”
“Oh yeah, we definitely need to get the lawnmower out tomorrow,” Adora said, taking in the knee-high grass by the light of the neighbor’s coach lights. She looked to her husband, who was standing in the driveway, hands on his hips, taking in the scenery. “It looks exactly like it did in GoogleMaps, dear, now help me get these bags inside.”
“Hope it’s better kept inside than it is outside,” he grumbled, pulling the suitcases out of the trunk.
“According to the realtor it’s very nice inside,” Adora assured him, making her way up the concrete sidewalk to the front steps. She stopped in front of the door and dug through her purse for the key while Moist locked the car and hauled the larger suitcase up behind her. “We can deal with the garage door and everything in the morning, huh?”
“Yeah, let’s just get inside. I think there are insects out here.” He swatted at a mosquito. “Hey did we remember to get the electric and the water and everything hooked up?”
“You were supposed to do that last week,” Adora said.
“Ah.”
She smiled as she slid the key into the lock. “But, since I anticipated that you would completely forget about it while training your replacement, I took the liberty of calling the power company last Thursday and getting everything taken care of.” She swung the door open into the dark house beyond. It bumped up against a cardboard box. “Looks like the movers got everything here alright,” she observed before beginning to grope around for a light switch.
“We didn’t bring a flashlight by chance, did we?” Moist asked, pulling the suitcase into the house behind her and closing the door.
“Don’t close that!”
“Why? Bugs were coming in!”
“Those people across the street’s lights were the only light we had!”
“Oh, right.” Moist swung the door back open again, revealing the dimly lit living room, piled high with liquor boxes and miscellaneous possessions. “Wow.”
“I am not looking forward to unpacking this,” Adora grumbled, pulling open a tall box and extracting a floor lamp.
“Me neither,” Moist grunted, pulling the suitcase toward the stairs. He stumbled over a box at the foot of the stairs and nudged it out of the way with his shoe. “Meet you upstairs in a minute?”
Adora sighed. “Yeah, I’m right behind you. Looks like they broke this lightbulb on the way. Which totally defeated the purpose of the lamp in the first place, I guess.”
“All right, well be careful,” Moist warned, hefting the suitcase up the stairs. “It’s going to be dark when you close the front door. The bedroom’s the second door on the right, yeah?”
“The bed should be in there,” Adora said distractedly from below. “I’ll just lock up down here and be right up - I packed a flashlight and sheets in that suitcase, so I guess we’ll have to do with that for tonight.”
“You always think ahead so well.”
“Mmhmm.” If Adora said anything else, Moist couldn’t hear it above the suitcase rolling across the hardwood at the top of the steps. He felt his way along the painted wall, past one door and to the second. When he pushed the door open he sagged with relief. The blinds had been left open by the movers, allowing just enough light in from the moon for him to see that there was the bed and the box spring and the mattress, all together, and he offered up a silent thankful prayer to the Lord that the movers, for once, had not lived up to their reputation of being barely-functioning simian-like beasts that were only employed, presumably, because they could lift heavy objects and be paid in bananas and other fruit.
He deposited the suitcase in an uncluttered spot on the carpet and bent over, poised to unzip it and begin the search for the flashlight, when he heard a thud, a howl of pain, and a stream of swearwords so impressive the devil himself would have studied its merits, had he heard it. Unthinking, Moist leapt to his feet and stumbled toward the stairs. “Adora?” he called, bracing himself in the stairwell before beginning his descent.
“Who leaves a box there?!(1)” he heard his wife snarl at the bottom of the stairs and felt a pang in his gut.
“Er, the movers must have,” he stammered, starting down the stairs. “Are you okay? What happened?”
She hissed in a breath. “No, Moist, I don’t think I’m okay. I tripped over that stupid box(2).” He heard her roll onto her side in the dark. “I think I broke something.”
Moist’s stomach flipped. “Oh, god. Here, let me help you get in the car - we have to get you to the hospital.”
“Do you know where the hospital is?”
“Er.”
Adora groaned. “Anyway, I don’t think I want you behind the wheel, Xanax.”
“Adora, I’m fine now,” he tried to reassure her, gingerly reaching the bottom of the stairs and kneeling by his wife. “We need to get you to the hospital. Maybe that family down the street could -”
“You’re going to ask their dog for directions then?” she snapped. Then, as Moist rubbed her shoulder and tried to calm her down, she sighed. “Sorry, this just hurts like a very painful thing(3). Just call an ambulance, would you?”
“Are you sure? Really, I’m fine to drive -”
“Do it now or you really will be living at the Post Office.”
“Okay.”
--
(1) Well, she didn’t exactly say that. That particular sentence was heavily edited for content. This is, after all, a family fanfiction.
(2) Once again, this sentence has been edited for content.
(3) Do I need to say it again?
--
After an exciting ambulance ride with two paramedics who could not have been more friendly (“You’re new to the neighborhood? Oh, what a great way to meet people! I’m Brian, great to meet you . . .”) and an admission to the hospital that was exactly the opposite (“You’re not bleeding? Why did you take an ambulance? I see. Wait over there, please.”) Moist and a rather testy Adora found themselves sitting in cheap plastic chairs and sipping cheap coffee out of cheap plastic cups in a room that smelled like disinfectant. They’d been there for an hour and a half, and hadn’t seen much happen. The nurse at the window had got up to make them coffee, but that had been about it. Moist checked his watch.
“This is ridiculous, it’s almost midnight - where is everyone? Are they honestly all busy?”
“I’d imagine so,” Adora answered, leaning back. Moist looked to her, to her swollen ankle, and then to the nurse.
“I’m going to go do something about this,” he resolved before striding up to the nurse. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said slowly, “my wife is in quite a bit of pain right now and we’d really appreciate seeing a doctor.”
The nurse looked up to him over the top of her magazine(1). When he didn’t say anything else she raised her eyebrows. “And?”
Moist drew himself up. “Well can’t you go get a doctor or some painkillers or something?” The nurse gave him a long look and set her magazine aside.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said before retreating into the back. When she emerged, she was carrying a clipboard with a blank sheet of paper on it. “I’ll take down your basics,” she said to Adora, sitting next to her, “and see if I can get you started on some painkillers.”
Moist sat on Adora’s other side while the nurse took down her birthdate, allergies, medical history, and all other relevant information. When she left he patted his wife’s knee. She smiled thinly at him. “Feel better?”
“What?” He sat back. “I was just trying to help you.”
She sighed and leaned her head back against the wall sleepily. “I know; you’re very sweet. But at this rate I’ll be asleep before they can get a doctor out here.” The nurse came back into the ER carrying a cup of water and a blister pack of pills.
“Sorry, it’s only Advil, but it’s all we can safely give you now,” she said, handing the items to Adora. “I’m going to have to take your coffee too, just in case you have to go to surgery.”
“Surgery?” Moist asked, alarmed.
“But it’s decaf,” Adora pointed out.
“I know, I’m sorry, but there’s still some caffeine in it,” the nurse sighed. “Better safe than sorry, eh? Just take those two pills and try to relax.” She pushed a chair across the room. “Why don’t you put your foot up there, try to keep the swelling down.”
“Can’t you get a doctor?” Moist asked desperately. “It’s been almost two hours.”
“I’m sorry, he’s with another patient right now,” the nurse said. “Try and relax, I know it’s difficult. He’ll be with you as soon as he can.” She walked back into the booth, seated herself behind the window, flipped open her magazine and flipped her attention off of the couple in the waiting room.
“Did she say ‘he’ as in a singular doctor?” Moist asked quietly.
“That’s what I heard.”
“What the hell kind of hospital only has one doctor working the ER on night shift?”
Adora gave him a long look. “Small-town hospitals do, Moist. Remember back in North Dakota? Most nights it was only Mossy.”
“But this is ridiculous, what the hell else could be going on back there?”
Adora closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. “Just read a magazine, dear, I’m sure he’ll be out soon enough.”
Over the next hour and fifteen minutes, Adora went to sleep and Moist read every magazine in the ER, including the two year-old edition of Better Homes & Gardens. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore and got up, leaving his sleeping wife. He strode up to the nurse once more and leaned on the counter. “Listen, miss, I don’t know where this doctor supposedly is, but what the hell is taking him? This is ridiculous! We’ve been here almost four hours!” The nurse watched as Moist started waving his arms. “I mean, it’s not like he’s doing midnight heart surgery, is it? Why can’t someone see my wife? We’ve had a very long day - we’ve been up since the ass-crack of dawn, I’ve taken two planes today, and trust me that was no easy feat, my wife had to manage my sedated ass around three airports, and we just want to go and sleep in our bed without sheets!”
The nurse watched as he finished, panting. Then she nodded, got up, and walked back into the hospital. “Finally,” he muttered as the doors swung shut behind her. He went back to Adora and sat next to her with a sigh. She watched out of one eye. “I think we might finally get some attention.”
“Mm. I hope it’s the good sort,” she mumbled, closing her eyes.
Moist watched the door to the main part of the hospital like a hawk. Finally, the nurse pushed the door open and gestured towards the door. “Just you, Mr. von Lipwig,” she said when Moist moved to nudge his wife.
Adora chuckled. “Sounds like you’re in trouble.” Moist patted her on the arm.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get this all sorted out,” he said, getting up and making his way over to the doors.
“You do that, chief.”
As he pushed through the double doors, he saw the nurse disappear around the corner at the far end of the hall. He picked up the pace and was about to take off after her when he heard someone clear their throat behind him, quietly. He stopped and turned.
The man he presumed was the doctor was leaning up against the wall just inside the doors, arms crossed over his chest. He was a tall, slim guy with short dark hair that was starting to go gray and a five o’clock shadow that had long since started down that road. He was also wearing a bloody surgical gown.
“Er,” said Moist, eyeing the blood.
The doctor started peeling off gloves that were likewise bloody and dumped them into a nearby biohazard bin. “Mr. von Lipwig, what do you think doctors do?”
“Um.” Moist tore his eyes away from the biohazard sign and looked to the doctor. “Uh, first do no harm?”
“Oh, someone’s well-read, I see,” the doctor said. “And broadly correct, yes. Doctors, Mr. von Lipwig, help people. And how do they help people?”
Moist looked to the blood and took a wild guess. “Do surgery?”
“You’re quick on the uptake, aren’t you? And how long do you think surgeries take, on the average?”
“Um.” Moist looked to his feet and mumbled, “a few hours?”
“Well done!” The doctor straightened and walked over to Moist, who felt like the man was towering over him, despite the fact he was not that much taller. “Sir, I’m sorry your wife broke her ankle, and I am sure it’s quite painful. But I have a man in the OR that got run over by a boat this evening, God knows why, and I have unfortunately had to spend several hours putting that mess back together.” He smiled a lightening-quick smile. “I’m sure you’ll understand.”
Moist stood in silence for a minute before asking quietly, “Will the man be okay?”
“What?” The doctor pulled off the surgical mask that had been around his neck and tossed it into the bright orange bag as well. “Oh, yeah, nothing a few hundred stitches and staples, a couple bags of blood and some creative plastic surgery won’t fix. And the plastic surgeon is, frankly, amazing, so no worries there. His nose ought to support the orbits just fine when all’s said and done.”
“Uh,” Moist said. “Great. Er. Good.” He moved to edge around the doctor and back toward the double doors. “Um, listen, I’m sorry to have bothered you but my wife -”
The doctor raised a hand. “I get it, Mr. von Lipwig. That doesn’t make it alright to yell at my staff, that’s my job, but I get it. Now, what’s going to happen, is I’m going to make sure Dr. Igor can finish up in there, I am going to get rid of the blood that you can’t seem to stop staring at, and I will see you and your wife in exam room two in twenty minutes and we are going to start over like none of this ever happened, alright?”
“Yes, sir,” Moist said meekly, slithering backwards through the double doors. “Thanks.” And with that he beat a hasty retreat to the chair next to his wife.
“Did you make some new friends?” Adora asked, smirking.
“I am not sure that’s how I would put it,” Moist muttered, still a little stunned. “The doctor wants us in exam room two in twenty minutes. Can you walk?”
“Can I lean on you?” Moist nodded. “Then we’re good. Lead the way, oh my Postmaster in Shining Armor.”
They hobbled to the exam room and waited in silence, Adora laying on the bed, for the doctor. The nurse returned first, left the chart she’d filled in earlier, and left again. A few minutes later the doctor entered the room and shut the door behind him. “Good morning,” he said, with the sort of resigned acceptance that yes, he had been working all night, and yes, he was going to watch the sunrise on the drive home, thank you very much. He offered Adora his hand and she shook it. “Havelock Vetinari, nice to meet you. I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting your husband.”
“Lucky you,” Adora said, while Moist pouted in the corner of the exam room. “Doctor, I think I’ve broken my ankle.”
Vetinari looked her chart over and glanced to her leg. He shrugged. “Looks like it. You two are new in town?”
“Yes. Just got here today,” Adora smirked. “Quite the ‘Welcome to Ankh, Maryland’ adventure we’ve had so far.”
The doctor shrugged. “So you must be the new Postmaster, Mr. von Lipwig,” he said, rummaging through a drawer and coming up with a thermometer. He gestured for Adora to sit up and glanced at Moist. “Don’t look so surprised - it’s a small town, you hear things from people.” He stuck the thermometer into Adora’s mouth and listened to her heart. “Also, your realtor told me you bought number thirty-six.”
“Oh, er, yeah. You know the house?” Moist hazarded.
“I live across the street,” Vetinari said flatly.
“Oh. Which house?”
“The one with the weeds and the dogs,” the doctor answered, making a note on Adora’s chart and pulling a blood pressure cuff out of the drawer. “I’m sure you heard them when you arrived.”
“Oh, that one,” Moist said, not remarking on the weeds. He waited while Vetinari finished Adora’s chart.
“Well, we’ll x-ray it,” Vetinari sighed, making a note on the chart. “Tomorrow. The x-ray tech left hours ago, so we’ll just immobilize the leg for tonight, send you two home, and you can call tomorrow to schedule when you can get in here and get some x-rays taken.” He signed off at the bottom of another sheet of paper and handed it to Moist. The signature, true to the stereotype, less resembled any kind of intelligible writing and more resembled a kindergartener’s rendition of a snake. “You have a way of getting home?”
“Um, no,” Moist said carefully, discreetly holding the paper on its side to see if the ink looked any more like letters from a different angle. It didn’t. “We took an ambulance here.”
“Uh huh.” Vetinari pulled a Blackberry out of his coat pocket and hit speed dial. “I’ll get you a ride, don’t worry.” He slipped out of the room.
“Well he seems nice enough,” Adora said.
“I don’t think he can write,” said Moist, holding the paper upside-down, now. “I mean, would you look at this? In what world does this look like letters?”
“Oh, shush,” Adora said. “He’s getting us a ride, he’s a nice man.” She waited for the doctor to come back into the room before starting to thank him. He waved the hand that was free of an immobilizing orthopedic boot.
“Don’t worry about it. Once you have this on you can actually walk out of here on crutches. There’s going to be a police cruiser waiting out front.”
“A police cruiser?” Moist watched as the doctor slid his wife’s foot and ankle into the boot and tightened the straps. “Is that - are, er, are we in trouble?”
“What? No, why would you be?” Vetinari got up and dug around in the room’s closet, pulling forth a set of crutches. “No, the chief of police lives directly across the street from you and he had to pull a night shift tonight, so he’s going to take you two home since he’s going there anyway.”
“Ah. Are you two friends then?”
“We hate each other with a certain degree of fondness,” Vetinari answered, helping Adora off the table. “And we work together on occasion.” Vetinari caught Moist’s expression. “I’ve been country coroner for the past ten years, don’t looks so surprised.” He snorted. “What, you thought Vimes was a doctor? When pigs fly, postmaster, when pigs fly. Which could be any day now, you never know what’s going to happen with that bunch of idiots on Spooner.”
“Er, is that the family with the talking dog?” Moist asked. Adora hushed him.
“Sorry, Dr. Vetinari, he took more Xanax than he should have for the plane ride and -”
“No, it’s fine, the dog talks,” Vetinari sighed, holding the door open for them. “Everyone knows, but we keep it on the QT, alright? His name’s Gaspode, in case you come across him. He also walks on two legs, drinks, drives, smokes pot and writes on a typewriter.” Moist and Adora goggled at the doctor. “Yeah, it’s some kind of nuclear accident or something, I don’t know. Radiation doesn’t really work like that but that’s what they tell everyone and after living in this town for a while, you just sort of learn to accept weird things as a fact of life.”
“Are they?”
“Pretty much,” the doctor answered with a shrug. “Oh, and if you see a screaming hell-banshee in my yard, that’s Grace, she’s fine, just hold still, she can only see movement.” He offered a little wave before disappearing around the corner and into the depths of the hospital. Moist and Adora watched him go.
“Do you think he was serious?” Moist asked, when the two of them finally shook themselves up enough to start walking toward the door.
“About what? The talking dog or the screaming hell-banshee that only sees motion?”
“Any of it. All of it.”
Adora led the way through the automatic doors. “Actually, I think he was dead serious about the dog. The hell-banshee though, I don’t know.” The two of them stood there in front of the hospital in the warm night and watched as the moon started to dip to the horizon. A police cruiser pulled into the hospital and pulled to a stop outside the door. “Here’s our ride.” She looked to Moist. “You ready for this?”
“What, riding in the back of a police car?” He smiled thinly. “Well, I have to say, it’s better than being on an airplane.”
“Even without door handles on the inside?” Adora asked as Moist popped the door for her.
“Just don’t remind me about it,” he said smoothly, helping her in to the backseat, “and everything will be fine.” He slid in next to her, closed the door, and fought the rising sense of panic. The police officer in the driver’s seat turned around and smiled thinly at them through the stubble and around the cigarillo.
“Evening,” he said. “I’m Captain Vimes, not sure Dr. Frankenstein in there told you that.” He took one final drag on the cigarillo and tossed it out the open window. “You’re the new couple at thirty-six, right?”
“Er, yes,” Moist said, while Adora popped a pill out of the container Vetinari had handed her on the way out. Vimes smiled a thin, lopsided smile, and Moist squirmed. He hated policemen. Especially when they smiled.
“Looking forward to getting to know you two.” He turned around and put the cruiser in gear. “Relax and take in the view - we’ll go the pretty way.” The car rolled out of the hospital driveway and Moist gulped. Adora put a hand on his thigh. “There’s probably some things about this place you ought to know, Postmaster.”
--
(1) Practical Horseman, in case you were interested.
--
Lollerskates. Hope you enjoyed. ;)
Lost a bunch of italics in the transfer, don't feel like fixing it. Yay being lazy! :D
FILL UP MY CUP, MAZAL TOV!
You know how sometimes you just have to write something for fun? Well this is one of those. No guarantee it’ll ever be finished or even continued, but I just wanted to play around.
Although, to be fair, it does have a plot. So continuing is a possibility, sure. ;)
Disclaimer: “Twist” is in no way associated with Terry or Lynn Pratchett or the Discworld series of books. She does not profit from these stories, and does not, by and large, own the characters, names or places in this story.
--
EHRN EHRN EHRN, is typically the acceptable sound for an alarm clock on a small, round blue planet out in its own corner of the universe. Of course, there are other sounds the alarm might make; some, for instance, played music from whatever local radio station one has tuned in to. Some might ring. But most make some kind of horrific, eardrum-shattering buzzing noise as the acceptable way of waking up people who were enjoying a nice night’s sleep.
Or a not so nice night’s sleep, either one. Alarm clocks don’t care. They just go. And this morning was no different.
“Aargh!” Moist von Lipwig jerked awake in a cold sweat and, acting out of habit and panic, slapped the alarm clock to the floor. In bed next to him, Adora rolled over and cracked one sleepy eye.
“Mnurfgh?” she asked, concern radiating from her one open, crusted eye. At least, that’s how Moist imagined it. Moist ran his hand through his hair and caught his breath.
“Nightmare,” he panted. Adora nodded and rolled back over.
“What time?” she asked, her voice raspy after a night’s sleep and muffled by the pillow. “Morning already?”
Moist nodded and flopped backwards into the pillow. “Five thirty.” Adora grunted. “We have to get moving, we’ll miss the plane.”
“I need some eggs.”
“They have continental breakfast in the lobby. Might have some scrambled eggs.”
Adora breathed deeply. “Five more minutes.”
“Fine.” Moist laid still for a minute, giving himself time to wake up fully. Then he swung his legs out of the bed and shuffled to the bathroom, scrubbing his face with his hands as he went. He shut the door behind himself, letting his wife sleep as he went through his morning routine; toilet, sink, shower, back to the sink, and out to dress. When he emerged, towel wrapped around his waist, Adora was sitting on the bed, pulling her clothes for the day out of her suitcase.
“Big day today, eh?” he asked, smiling at her as he bent down to dig through his own suitcase.
“Mm, is it?” she teased as she rummaged through her suitcase for a shirt. She rocked back onto her heels and looked contemplatively at the tight gray shirt she’d pulled out. “Ah, yes, the day we move from home sweet arctic to the untamed wilds of the eastern seaboard.”
Moist frowned and pulled his shirt over his head. “I wouldn’t call Maryland the untamed wilds of anywhere, I don’t think.”
“You wouldn’t? Not even with the raccoons?”
“Not even with the raccoons,” he answered solemnly, fastening his belt. “Come on, let’s get moving. The eggs will all be gone by the time we get down there.”
As it turned, out, the Super 8 of Fargo, North Dakota did not have scrambled eggs at the continental breakfast, and so it was with a scowl and a bagel that Adora Belle von Lipwig slid into the back of the taxi with that morning. Moist sat next to her in the back seat. “Hector International, please,” he said as the cab driver drove off.
“Are you excited?” Adora asked around a mouthful of bagel.
“What for the plane ride? Of course not, I’ve been on planes before,” Moist answered, distracted as he watched a Cessna skim overhead.
“Not the plane ride, and you’re a liar,” Adora sniffed. “I know you’re nervous about that. I’m talking about the new job.”
“Huh? Oh, oh the job.” Moist turned away from the window. “Yeah, of course I’m excited about the job.”
Adora smiled faintly and plucked a chunk of bread free from the bagel. “I can’t believe I’m going to be married to a real-life postmaster. Oh dreams, they do come true.”
“Hey, there’s no need for that kind of attitude,” Moist chuckled. “Anyway it’s just a small town. I’m not a big-shot in the Postal Service yet.”
“Oh, for that day to come at last,” she sighed wistfully, looking out the window. “Perhaps one day I could even be married to the Postmaster General of the United States.”
“Oh, come on, you knew what you were getting when you tied the knot,” Moist grumbled.
“A career postal worker? Endless art and doodads from friends of envelopes with wings on them? More stamps than I know what to do with?” She stopped when Moist gave her a long look and patted him on the arm, her slight smile still in place. “I’m just trying to put you at ease, dear.”
“Well it’s not working.” He slumped down in the seat. “God, I hate planes.”
Adora made a little noise of sympathy or perhaps agreement, and started digging through her purse. “What time are we getting in tonight?”
“Eh, should get to the house around, I dunno, nine or ten tonight?”
“Umph. Late.”
“Well we got that layover at O’Hare.” He shrugged. “At least the bed will be set up, supposedly - we’ll just have to throw some sheets on and we can deal with the rest in the morning.”
“Gum?” Adora offered. “It’ll help pressurize your ears once we take off.”
“Nah,” he sighed.
“Did you bring a book for the plane, dear?”
Moist shifted uncomfortably in the seat of the cab. “No.”
Adora nodded. “I didn’t think so.” She pulled a prescription bottle out of her purse and rattled it at him. “Here’s your Xanax, then, champ.” Moist tucked the bottle into his coat pocket and looked nervously out the window.
“I really hate planes.”
--
Moist lolled and slept and, when his wife forgot he was nearly unconscious thanks to the wonders of chemistry, drooled his way through the two plane rides and was starting to get back to speed when the second plane touched down in BWI early in the evening. Dully he watched as the luggage carousel toted bags by him while Adora was off getting the rental car straightened out. After a time, she returned and stood by his side for a minute, not saying anything.
“So have you found the bags yet, Moist?” she asked idly, flicking through the paperwork.
“Nope,” he muttered.
“What about the two bags that just went by on the carousel?”
“Not ours.”
Adora raised an eyebrow and tucked the papers into her purse. “No?”
“Nope.”
She watched idly as the two bags went by again. “Moist, dear, have you considered that these two bags that just happen to look exactly like our bags are the only two left on the carousel?” She watched as realization dawned on his expression, albeit in a sluggish, sedate manner. She patted him on the shoulder. “Let’s get to the car, chief. You can get the small suitcase.” She heaved the larger bag off the carousel and made her way to the door, Moist trailing her more slowly and with less straight lines. “And I’m driving,” she called over her shoulder.
Moist blinked, yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Well that pretty much goes without saying, doesn’t it?”
The car ride to the new house was mostly silent, with Moist occasionally reading off the sheet of directions Adora had printed. He felt better the less he slept, strangely enough, and by the time they had pulled off 272 and onto the wooded road leading to he felt almost completely himself again.
“So Treacle Lane is off of Spooner Street?” he guessed, squinting at the directions by the light of his cell phone. “And then I think it’s the second house on the left.” He paused. “You want to stop by the post office on the way in?”
Adora snorted. “So you can gaze upon the letters by the light of the untamed moon?”
Moist sulked. “Fine, when you put it that way.”
“Let’s just get home, you can go see your new second home tomorrow, alright?” She smiled to herself as she hung a right onto Spooner street, a well-kept old neighborhood populated by cookie-cutter two-story houses in a variety of colors and states of upkeep. They stopped when they noticed, outside of one, a dog and a baby clad in red overalls and a yellow shirt standing on the curb, watching a heavy man clamber across the roof of the house while a red-headed woman shouted at him from the curb.
“Should we do something?” Moist asked as their rental Mazda cruised by slowly so they could better take in the spectacle. He rolled down the window. The dog and the baby turned to look.
“Just keep driving, this happens all the time,” the dog said. Moist blinked and shook his head.
“Everything alright?” Adora asked, speeding up again once the house was behind them.
“I think that dog just talked to me,” Moist said distantly, watching the pair in the passenger side mirror. Adora laughed sharply.
“Alright, Dr. Doolittle, that’s enough Xanax for one day then.”
“No I honestly . . .” He trailed off. “You know what? Never mind. There’s the house, just pull into the driveway.”
“You don’t think the grass will catch fire from the engine, do you?” Adora remarked dryly as the car pulled across the cracked asphalt, brushing the weeds and grasses aside as it did. “You’ll have to unpack the lawnmower and mow the driveway tomorrow afternoon, I think. I can’t imagine Budget will be happy when we bring a car back with an undercarriage chock full of weeds.”
“Oh, shut up,” Moist laughed, climbing out of the car while Adora killed the engine. He took in the front of the house and breathed deeply, as is custom for any many surveying his new domain. Across the street, two large dogs barked once or twice before realizing Moist posed them no threat. “Home sweet home.”
“Oh yeah, we definitely need to get the lawnmower out tomorrow,” Adora said, taking in the knee-high grass by the light of the neighbor’s coach lights. She looked to her husband, who was standing in the driveway, hands on his hips, taking in the scenery. “It looks exactly like it did in GoogleMaps, dear, now help me get these bags inside.”
“Hope it’s better kept inside than it is outside,” he grumbled, pulling the suitcases out of the trunk.
“According to the realtor it’s very nice inside,” Adora assured him, making her way up the concrete sidewalk to the front steps. She stopped in front of the door and dug through her purse for the key while Moist locked the car and hauled the larger suitcase up behind her. “We can deal with the garage door and everything in the morning, huh?”
“Yeah, let’s just get inside. I think there are insects out here.” He swatted at a mosquito. “Hey did we remember to get the electric and the water and everything hooked up?”
“You were supposed to do that last week,” Adora said.
“Ah.”
She smiled as she slid the key into the lock. “But, since I anticipated that you would completely forget about it while training your replacement, I took the liberty of calling the power company last Thursday and getting everything taken care of.” She swung the door open into the dark house beyond. It bumped up against a cardboard box. “Looks like the movers got everything here alright,” she observed before beginning to grope around for a light switch.
“We didn’t bring a flashlight by chance, did we?” Moist asked, pulling the suitcase into the house behind her and closing the door.
“Don’t close that!”
“Why? Bugs were coming in!”
“Those people across the street’s lights were the only light we had!”
“Oh, right.” Moist swung the door back open again, revealing the dimly lit living room, piled high with liquor boxes and miscellaneous possessions. “Wow.”
“I am not looking forward to unpacking this,” Adora grumbled, pulling open a tall box and extracting a floor lamp.
“Me neither,” Moist grunted, pulling the suitcase toward the stairs. He stumbled over a box at the foot of the stairs and nudged it out of the way with his shoe. “Meet you upstairs in a minute?”
Adora sighed. “Yeah, I’m right behind you. Looks like they broke this lightbulb on the way. Which totally defeated the purpose of the lamp in the first place, I guess.”
“All right, well be careful,” Moist warned, hefting the suitcase up the stairs. “It’s going to be dark when you close the front door. The bedroom’s the second door on the right, yeah?”
“The bed should be in there,” Adora said distractedly from below. “I’ll just lock up down here and be right up - I packed a flashlight and sheets in that suitcase, so I guess we’ll have to do with that for tonight.”
“You always think ahead so well.”
“Mmhmm.” If Adora said anything else, Moist couldn’t hear it above the suitcase rolling across the hardwood at the top of the steps. He felt his way along the painted wall, past one door and to the second. When he pushed the door open he sagged with relief. The blinds had been left open by the movers, allowing just enough light in from the moon for him to see that there was the bed and the box spring and the mattress, all together, and he offered up a silent thankful prayer to the Lord that the movers, for once, had not lived up to their reputation of being barely-functioning simian-like beasts that were only employed, presumably, because they could lift heavy objects and be paid in bananas and other fruit.
He deposited the suitcase in an uncluttered spot on the carpet and bent over, poised to unzip it and begin the search for the flashlight, when he heard a thud, a howl of pain, and a stream of swearwords so impressive the devil himself would have studied its merits, had he heard it. Unthinking, Moist leapt to his feet and stumbled toward the stairs. “Adora?” he called, bracing himself in the stairwell before beginning his descent.
“Who leaves a box there?!(1)” he heard his wife snarl at the bottom of the stairs and felt a pang in his gut.
“Er, the movers must have,” he stammered, starting down the stairs. “Are you okay? What happened?”
She hissed in a breath. “No, Moist, I don’t think I’m okay. I tripped over that stupid box(2).” He heard her roll onto her side in the dark. “I think I broke something.”
Moist’s stomach flipped. “Oh, god. Here, let me help you get in the car - we have to get you to the hospital.”
“Do you know where the hospital is?”
“Er.”
Adora groaned. “Anyway, I don’t think I want you behind the wheel, Xanax.”
“Adora, I’m fine now,” he tried to reassure her, gingerly reaching the bottom of the stairs and kneeling by his wife. “We need to get you to the hospital. Maybe that family down the street could -”
“You’re going to ask their dog for directions then?” she snapped. Then, as Moist rubbed her shoulder and tried to calm her down, she sighed. “Sorry, this just hurts like a very painful thing(3). Just call an ambulance, would you?”
“Are you sure? Really, I’m fine to drive -”
“Do it now or you really will be living at the Post Office.”
“Okay.”
--
(1) Well, she didn’t exactly say that. That particular sentence was heavily edited for content. This is, after all, a family fanfiction.
(2) Once again, this sentence has been edited for content.
(3) Do I need to say it again?
--
After an exciting ambulance ride with two paramedics who could not have been more friendly (“You’re new to the neighborhood? Oh, what a great way to meet people! I’m Brian, great to meet you . . .”) and an admission to the hospital that was exactly the opposite (“You’re not bleeding? Why did you take an ambulance? I see. Wait over there, please.”) Moist and a rather testy Adora found themselves sitting in cheap plastic chairs and sipping cheap coffee out of cheap plastic cups in a room that smelled like disinfectant. They’d been there for an hour and a half, and hadn’t seen much happen. The nurse at the window had got up to make them coffee, but that had been about it. Moist checked his watch.
“This is ridiculous, it’s almost midnight - where is everyone? Are they honestly all busy?”
“I’d imagine so,” Adora answered, leaning back. Moist looked to her, to her swollen ankle, and then to the nurse.
“I’m going to go do something about this,” he resolved before striding up to the nurse. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said slowly, “my wife is in quite a bit of pain right now and we’d really appreciate seeing a doctor.”
The nurse looked up to him over the top of her magazine(1). When he didn’t say anything else she raised her eyebrows. “And?”
Moist drew himself up. “Well can’t you go get a doctor or some painkillers or something?” The nurse gave him a long look and set her magazine aside.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said before retreating into the back. When she emerged, she was carrying a clipboard with a blank sheet of paper on it. “I’ll take down your basics,” she said to Adora, sitting next to her, “and see if I can get you started on some painkillers.”
Moist sat on Adora’s other side while the nurse took down her birthdate, allergies, medical history, and all other relevant information. When she left he patted his wife’s knee. She smiled thinly at him. “Feel better?”
“What?” He sat back. “I was just trying to help you.”
She sighed and leaned her head back against the wall sleepily. “I know; you’re very sweet. But at this rate I’ll be asleep before they can get a doctor out here.” The nurse came back into the ER carrying a cup of water and a blister pack of pills.
“Sorry, it’s only Advil, but it’s all we can safely give you now,” she said, handing the items to Adora. “I’m going to have to take your coffee too, just in case you have to go to surgery.”
“Surgery?” Moist asked, alarmed.
“But it’s decaf,” Adora pointed out.
“I know, I’m sorry, but there’s still some caffeine in it,” the nurse sighed. “Better safe than sorry, eh? Just take those two pills and try to relax.” She pushed a chair across the room. “Why don’t you put your foot up there, try to keep the swelling down.”
“Can’t you get a doctor?” Moist asked desperately. “It’s been almost two hours.”
“I’m sorry, he’s with another patient right now,” the nurse said. “Try and relax, I know it’s difficult. He’ll be with you as soon as he can.” She walked back into the booth, seated herself behind the window, flipped open her magazine and flipped her attention off of the couple in the waiting room.
“Did she say ‘he’ as in a singular doctor?” Moist asked quietly.
“That’s what I heard.”
“What the hell kind of hospital only has one doctor working the ER on night shift?”
Adora gave him a long look. “Small-town hospitals do, Moist. Remember back in North Dakota? Most nights it was only Mossy.”
“But this is ridiculous, what the hell else could be going on back there?”
Adora closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. “Just read a magazine, dear, I’m sure he’ll be out soon enough.”
Over the next hour and fifteen minutes, Adora went to sleep and Moist read every magazine in the ER, including the two year-old edition of Better Homes & Gardens. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore and got up, leaving his sleeping wife. He strode up to the nurse once more and leaned on the counter. “Listen, miss, I don’t know where this doctor supposedly is, but what the hell is taking him? This is ridiculous! We’ve been here almost four hours!” The nurse watched as Moist started waving his arms. “I mean, it’s not like he’s doing midnight heart surgery, is it? Why can’t someone see my wife? We’ve had a very long day - we’ve been up since the ass-crack of dawn, I’ve taken two planes today, and trust me that was no easy feat, my wife had to manage my sedated ass around three airports, and we just want to go and sleep in our bed without sheets!”
The nurse watched as he finished, panting. Then she nodded, got up, and walked back into the hospital. “Finally,” he muttered as the doors swung shut behind her. He went back to Adora and sat next to her with a sigh. She watched out of one eye. “I think we might finally get some attention.”
“Mm. I hope it’s the good sort,” she mumbled, closing her eyes.
Moist watched the door to the main part of the hospital like a hawk. Finally, the nurse pushed the door open and gestured towards the door. “Just you, Mr. von Lipwig,” she said when Moist moved to nudge his wife.
Adora chuckled. “Sounds like you’re in trouble.” Moist patted her on the arm.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get this all sorted out,” he said, getting up and making his way over to the doors.
“You do that, chief.”
As he pushed through the double doors, he saw the nurse disappear around the corner at the far end of the hall. He picked up the pace and was about to take off after her when he heard someone clear their throat behind him, quietly. He stopped and turned.
The man he presumed was the doctor was leaning up against the wall just inside the doors, arms crossed over his chest. He was a tall, slim guy with short dark hair that was starting to go gray and a five o’clock shadow that had long since started down that road. He was also wearing a bloody surgical gown.
“Er,” said Moist, eyeing the blood.
The doctor started peeling off gloves that were likewise bloody and dumped them into a nearby biohazard bin. “Mr. von Lipwig, what do you think doctors do?”
“Um.” Moist tore his eyes away from the biohazard sign and looked to the doctor. “Uh, first do no harm?”
“Oh, someone’s well-read, I see,” the doctor said. “And broadly correct, yes. Doctors, Mr. von Lipwig, help people. And how do they help people?”
Moist looked to the blood and took a wild guess. “Do surgery?”
“You’re quick on the uptake, aren’t you? And how long do you think surgeries take, on the average?”
“Um.” Moist looked to his feet and mumbled, “a few hours?”
“Well done!” The doctor straightened and walked over to Moist, who felt like the man was towering over him, despite the fact he was not that much taller. “Sir, I’m sorry your wife broke her ankle, and I am sure it’s quite painful. But I have a man in the OR that got run over by a boat this evening, God knows why, and I have unfortunately had to spend several hours putting that mess back together.” He smiled a lightening-quick smile. “I’m sure you’ll understand.”
Moist stood in silence for a minute before asking quietly, “Will the man be okay?”
“What?” The doctor pulled off the surgical mask that had been around his neck and tossed it into the bright orange bag as well. “Oh, yeah, nothing a few hundred stitches and staples, a couple bags of blood and some creative plastic surgery won’t fix. And the plastic surgeon is, frankly, amazing, so no worries there. His nose ought to support the orbits just fine when all’s said and done.”
“Uh,” Moist said. “Great. Er. Good.” He moved to edge around the doctor and back toward the double doors. “Um, listen, I’m sorry to have bothered you but my wife -”
The doctor raised a hand. “I get it, Mr. von Lipwig. That doesn’t make it alright to yell at my staff, that’s my job, but I get it. Now, what’s going to happen, is I’m going to make sure Dr. Igor can finish up in there, I am going to get rid of the blood that you can’t seem to stop staring at, and I will see you and your wife in exam room two in twenty minutes and we are going to start over like none of this ever happened, alright?”
“Yes, sir,” Moist said meekly, slithering backwards through the double doors. “Thanks.” And with that he beat a hasty retreat to the chair next to his wife.
“Did you make some new friends?” Adora asked, smirking.
“I am not sure that’s how I would put it,” Moist muttered, still a little stunned. “The doctor wants us in exam room two in twenty minutes. Can you walk?”
“Can I lean on you?” Moist nodded. “Then we’re good. Lead the way, oh my Postmaster in Shining Armor.”
They hobbled to the exam room and waited in silence, Adora laying on the bed, for the doctor. The nurse returned first, left the chart she’d filled in earlier, and left again. A few minutes later the doctor entered the room and shut the door behind him. “Good morning,” he said, with the sort of resigned acceptance that yes, he had been working all night, and yes, he was going to watch the sunrise on the drive home, thank you very much. He offered Adora his hand and she shook it. “Havelock Vetinari, nice to meet you. I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting your husband.”
“Lucky you,” Adora said, while Moist pouted in the corner of the exam room. “Doctor, I think I’ve broken my ankle.”
Vetinari looked her chart over and glanced to her leg. He shrugged. “Looks like it. You two are new in town?”
“Yes. Just got here today,” Adora smirked. “Quite the ‘Welcome to Ankh, Maryland’ adventure we’ve had so far.”
The doctor shrugged. “So you must be the new Postmaster, Mr. von Lipwig,” he said, rummaging through a drawer and coming up with a thermometer. He gestured for Adora to sit up and glanced at Moist. “Don’t look so surprised - it’s a small town, you hear things from people.” He stuck the thermometer into Adora’s mouth and listened to her heart. “Also, your realtor told me you bought number thirty-six.”
“Oh, er, yeah. You know the house?” Moist hazarded.
“I live across the street,” Vetinari said flatly.
“Oh. Which house?”
“The one with the weeds and the dogs,” the doctor answered, making a note on Adora’s chart and pulling a blood pressure cuff out of the drawer. “I’m sure you heard them when you arrived.”
“Oh, that one,” Moist said, not remarking on the weeds. He waited while Vetinari finished Adora’s chart.
“Well, we’ll x-ray it,” Vetinari sighed, making a note on the chart. “Tomorrow. The x-ray tech left hours ago, so we’ll just immobilize the leg for tonight, send you two home, and you can call tomorrow to schedule when you can get in here and get some x-rays taken.” He signed off at the bottom of another sheet of paper and handed it to Moist. The signature, true to the stereotype, less resembled any kind of intelligible writing and more resembled a kindergartener’s rendition of a snake. “You have a way of getting home?”
“Um, no,” Moist said carefully, discreetly holding the paper on its side to see if the ink looked any more like letters from a different angle. It didn’t. “We took an ambulance here.”
“Uh huh.” Vetinari pulled a Blackberry out of his coat pocket and hit speed dial. “I’ll get you a ride, don’t worry.” He slipped out of the room.
“Well he seems nice enough,” Adora said.
“I don’t think he can write,” said Moist, holding the paper upside-down, now. “I mean, would you look at this? In what world does this look like letters?”
“Oh, shush,” Adora said. “He’s getting us a ride, he’s a nice man.” She waited for the doctor to come back into the room before starting to thank him. He waved the hand that was free of an immobilizing orthopedic boot.
“Don’t worry about it. Once you have this on you can actually walk out of here on crutches. There’s going to be a police cruiser waiting out front.”
“A police cruiser?” Moist watched as the doctor slid his wife’s foot and ankle into the boot and tightened the straps. “Is that - are, er, are we in trouble?”
“What? No, why would you be?” Vetinari got up and dug around in the room’s closet, pulling forth a set of crutches. “No, the chief of police lives directly across the street from you and he had to pull a night shift tonight, so he’s going to take you two home since he’s going there anyway.”
“Ah. Are you two friends then?”
“We hate each other with a certain degree of fondness,” Vetinari answered, helping Adora off the table. “And we work together on occasion.” Vetinari caught Moist’s expression. “I’ve been country coroner for the past ten years, don’t looks so surprised.” He snorted. “What, you thought Vimes was a doctor? When pigs fly, postmaster, when pigs fly. Which could be any day now, you never know what’s going to happen with that bunch of idiots on Spooner.”
“Er, is that the family with the talking dog?” Moist asked. Adora hushed him.
“Sorry, Dr. Vetinari, he took more Xanax than he should have for the plane ride and -”
“No, it’s fine, the dog talks,” Vetinari sighed, holding the door open for them. “Everyone knows, but we keep it on the QT, alright? His name’s Gaspode, in case you come across him. He also walks on two legs, drinks, drives, smokes pot and writes on a typewriter.” Moist and Adora goggled at the doctor. “Yeah, it’s some kind of nuclear accident or something, I don’t know. Radiation doesn’t really work like that but that’s what they tell everyone and after living in this town for a while, you just sort of learn to accept weird things as a fact of life.”
“Are they?”
“Pretty much,” the doctor answered with a shrug. “Oh, and if you see a screaming hell-banshee in my yard, that’s Grace, she’s fine, just hold still, she can only see movement.” He offered a little wave before disappearing around the corner and into the depths of the hospital. Moist and Adora watched him go.
“Do you think he was serious?” Moist asked, when the two of them finally shook themselves up enough to start walking toward the door.
“About what? The talking dog or the screaming hell-banshee that only sees motion?”
“Any of it. All of it.”
Adora led the way through the automatic doors. “Actually, I think he was dead serious about the dog. The hell-banshee though, I don’t know.” The two of them stood there in front of the hospital in the warm night and watched as the moon started to dip to the horizon. A police cruiser pulled into the hospital and pulled to a stop outside the door. “Here’s our ride.” She looked to Moist. “You ready for this?”
“What, riding in the back of a police car?” He smiled thinly. “Well, I have to say, it’s better than being on an airplane.”
“Even without door handles on the inside?” Adora asked as Moist popped the door for her.
“Just don’t remind me about it,” he said smoothly, helping her in to the backseat, “and everything will be fine.” He slid in next to her, closed the door, and fought the rising sense of panic. The police officer in the driver’s seat turned around and smiled thinly at them through the stubble and around the cigarillo.
“Evening,” he said. “I’m Captain Vimes, not sure Dr. Frankenstein in there told you that.” He took one final drag on the cigarillo and tossed it out the open window. “You’re the new couple at thirty-six, right?”
“Er, yes,” Moist said, while Adora popped a pill out of the container Vetinari had handed her on the way out. Vimes smiled a thin, lopsided smile, and Moist squirmed. He hated policemen. Especially when they smiled.
“Looking forward to getting to know you two.” He turned around and put the cruiser in gear. “Relax and take in the view - we’ll go the pretty way.” The car rolled out of the hospital driveway and Moist gulped. Adora put a hand on his thigh. “There’s probably some things about this place you ought to know, Postmaster.”
--
(1) Practical Horseman, in case you were interested.
--
Lollerskates. Hope you enjoyed. ;)
Lost a bunch of italics in the transfer, don't feel like fixing it. Yay being lazy! :D
FILL UP MY CUP, MAZAL TOV!