"Your attitude does you a great deal of credit," Susan replied, pleased and hoping that his unflappability would withstand the battering it would no doubt receive daily. They left the common room, and she led the way from Ravenclaw tower towards the library.
"The goddess? Her name is Psyche*. Her husband Eros is here too, and he's not very popular at the moment." The corner of her mouth quirked slightly. "Long story, which I can bore you with later, if you're interested. As for Miss Palmer -- the young lady I mentioned earlier -- no, she looks like any ordinary living person. Really sweet girl, very intelligent. And she's not the only, um, post-dead person here. Apparently the afterlife is a dull place."
She thumped on the banister of the staircase, which for reasons of its own, didn't seem interested in letting anyone descend to the next floor. "Come on then," she said, "d'you want us to report you to the Headmistress?" The stair slowly swung into place. "Thank you," she said, and continued on.
"Gods willing," Susan agreed; she, of course, knew perfectly well (and better than most) that the Disc's gods had a lot more on their rather empty minds than ensuring a decent successor to Havelock Vetinari. Still, old habits of speech were hard to break.
"So, this staircase will take us down to the Great Hall, and thence outside. If you like, I can take you about the grounds, and also show you the road to Hogsmeade."
"I'd very much enjoy that, I think," said John with a smile. "I've been trapped in foul, fetid, fuming, foggy, filthy Philadelphia for far too long. The most greenery I've seen in a year was in the courtyard behind Jefferson's lodgings when Franklin and I danced with his lovely wife. Do you dance, madam?"
Susan smiled. "Sort of. The Quirm College for Young Ladies taught dancing, of course, but I think only because they felt like they had to as part of a proper education for titled girls. It's been a long time, though."
They passed down into the entrance hall and out through the enormous front doors. It was a pleasant summer evening, the sun still relatively high.
"Your description of Philadelphia sounds a lot like Ankh-Morpork," she said. "It's said of the River Ankh that one doesn't drown in it so much as suffocate."
"Perhaps the opportunity might arise at some point during our stay," he said with a smile, looking happily out over the vast expanse of grass and woods surrounding the school. It reminded him of Massachusetts.
Then John snorted. "One might say the same of the Delaware with thirty thousand people using its water every day. Your home sounds most intriguing. May I ask why you opted to leave for a time to come here?"
Susan looked thoughtful for a moment and tried to remember; though it had only been a matter of months, it seemed like a terribly long time ago. "Well, I'd learned that my grandfather was here, and I wanted to make sure, for one thing, that he wasn't quitting again. And then it also seemed like this place would provide an interesting holiday. I've been working for some years as a governess and a schoolteacher, and despite the occasional interruption to save the world from destruction, I'd gotten a little ... well, bored." She smiled ruefully. "The last several months have been many things, but certainly not boring."
"I'm guessing there are at least five interesting stories contained within that brief statement," said John wryly. "And yet, if you'll forgive the impertinence, you seem much more than a bored schoolteacher who watches over her grandfather, occasionally saves the world, and attends magic school on holiday. Perhaps those are things you've done, but not necessarily the way you see yourself?"
"Perceptive man," Susan replied. Though usually reluctant to discuss her family history, she felt sufficiently at ease with Adams to go ahead with the subject. "Well, I suppose I did leave out the matter of exactly who -- and what -- my grandfather is, which informs all the rest. He's the personification of Death in our home world -- something I didn't learn until I was sixteen, when he had a bit of a crisis and left me holding the scythe, as it were." A sardonic look. "My parents raised me to be practical and sensible -- as different from him as possible, I suppose. And they succeeded, but it wasn't very good preparation for picking up his duties. Or anything else that came after that."
"The personification of Death...? Scythe? Incredible." John shook his head and one corner of his mouth quirked up. "I'm to be wrong-footed every day while I'm here, aren't I? I expect I'll see the Almighty before too long, in the guise of a beautiful woman or some such
( ... )
"I did say it's anything but dull here," Susan said, amused. "You can basically expect the most unlikely things at just about every turn. Including, yes, the appearance of your local god in some unexpected shape. One never knows.
"Grandfather's not frivolous -- quite the opposite, takes his job quite seriously. If he's got a quirk, it's that he's endlessly fascinated by humanity and perhaps not a little confused by it. By us. No, what my parents wanted was to protect me from was all things supernatural, I think. And it was mostly my mother -- at least that's how it seems in retrospect. Because, you see, she was adopted when she was a baby, and she grew up in Grandfather's domain, and spent a few decades stuck at sixteen years old. Which I think would be enough to put anyone off strangeness for a lifetime."
"That is true. No one can say you didn't give me fair warning."
John smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. "I'm glad to hear he's not a fribble. One likes to think that one's demise will be handled with seriousness, delicacy, and tact by a professional."
Adopted? That explained it. Although what an odd experience that must have been, to be raised by the absence of life... "I certainly expect it would. Do you feel your education was lacking, then, in supernatural expertise? It seems it would certainly help around here." He wondered if he should start encouraging his children to read fairy tales.
"Grandfather prides himself on his professionalism," Susan said, affection in her tone. "I'm afraid I wasn't a very good stand-in. For which, yes, I think I blame the education. The Quirm College was excellent for maths, logic, history, language, and deportment, but decidedly lacking in anything uncanny."
She looked over at Adams. "Do you have a family of your own, back home? You mentioned your wife, at your Sorting."
"Oh, I expect deportment and language might help in such a situation. Though I admit that maths is not likely to assist when one needs to guide the soul of another to his final resting place. It is quite a responsibility and I'm frankly amazed that you've undertaken it."
John stared off into the trees for a moment. "Yes, my dearest friend, Abigail. We have five children: Abby, Quincy, Sue, Charles, and Tom. I've seen none of them in a year."
"A year..." Susan found herself somewhat at a loss for words; her ability to express sympathy had never been very good. "I'm sorry. That ... must be very difficult." She paused. "How old are they? Your children?"
John smiled somewhat wistfully. "It is, but we must all make sacrifices for the common good. Abigail and I write each other letters every day, though they generally take a week to arrive."
He started to count on his fingers. "Let's see. Abby is eleven, Quincy's nine, Susie would have been eight, Charles is six, and Tom four. Last I heard they all had dysentery, measles, or the flu, but New Englanders are a hardy breed and Adams' especially, so I don't worry too much."
Susan smiled. "I'm sure that they're fine children, particularly if they take after their parents. Er. That is, I can only imagine that your Abigail's a remarkable woman, from what I gather of your discernment." Oh dear. Did that come out even vaguely the way she'd meant it? She flushed slightly.
"The goddess? Her name is Psyche*. Her husband Eros is here too, and he's not very popular at the moment." The corner of her mouth quirked slightly. "Long story, which I can bore you with later, if you're interested. As for Miss Palmer -- the young lady I mentioned earlier -- no, she looks like any ordinary living person. Really sweet girl, very intelligent. And she's not the only, um, post-dead person here. Apparently the afterlife is a dull place."
She thumped on the banister of the staircase, which for reasons of its own, didn't seem interested in letting anyone descend to the next floor. "Come on then," she said, "d'you want us to report you to the Headmistress?" The stair slowly swung into place. "Thank you," she said, and continued on.
* At this point, Susan ( ... )
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"So, this staircase will take us down to the Great Hall, and thence outside. If you like, I can take you about the grounds, and also show you the road to Hogsmeade."
Reply
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They passed down into the entrance hall and out through the enormous front doors. It was a pleasant summer evening, the sun still relatively high.
"Your description of Philadelphia sounds a lot like Ankh-Morpork," she said. "It's said of the River Ankh that one doesn't drown in it so much as suffocate."
Reply
Then John snorted. "One might say the same of the Delaware with thirty thousand people using its water every day. Your home sounds most intriguing. May I ask why you opted to leave for a time to come here?"
Reply
Reply
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"Grandfather's not frivolous -- quite the opposite, takes his job quite seriously. If he's got a quirk, it's that he's endlessly fascinated by humanity and perhaps not a little confused by it. By us. No, what my parents wanted was to protect me from was all things supernatural, I think. And it was mostly my mother -- at least that's how it seems in retrospect. Because, you see, she was adopted when she was a baby, and she grew up in Grandfather's domain, and spent a few decades stuck at sixteen years old. Which I think would be enough to put anyone off strangeness for a lifetime."
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John smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. "I'm glad to hear he's not a fribble. One likes to think that one's demise will be handled with seriousness, delicacy, and tact by a professional."
Adopted? That explained it. Although what an odd experience that must have been, to be raised by the absence of life... "I certainly expect it would. Do you feel your education was lacking, then, in supernatural expertise? It seems it would certainly help around here." He wondered if he should start encouraging his children to read fairy tales.
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She looked over at Adams. "Do you have a family of your own, back home? You mentioned your wife, at your Sorting."
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John stared off into the trees for a moment. "Yes, my dearest friend, Abigail. We have five children: Abby, Quincy, Sue, Charles, and Tom. I've seen none of them in a year."
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He started to count on his fingers. "Let's see. Abby is eleven, Quincy's nine, Susie would have been eight, Charles is six, and Tom four. Last I heard they all had dysentery, measles, or the flu, but New Englanders are a hardy breed and Adams' especially, so I don't worry too much."
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