(no subject)

The door - once it ceased to be the smooth, dark wood of the Milliways entrance, and became the shabby grey boards that made up its equivalent in the narrow, dark Ankh-Morpork alley - creaked in complaint even as Havelock shut it carefully behind him. So much for habitual stealth. Privately, he was sure that someone or something arranged that purely to annoy him. But it was the middle of the day, as far as could be told from the colour of the light filtering down through houses built too high and exuding too much smoke, and so the noise should call no undue attention.

Dressed all in black, wearing - for once - the Guild insignia, Havelock looked exactly what he was; an Assassin, and so called little to no attention to himself as he strolled out into the wider and busier streets.* Indeed, a few people even acknowledged him, as a young man of undoubtedly good family, good education, and very likely good money, ignoring him would have been to pass up a possible opportunity for business, and therefore unheard of. But if being born into the upper crust had taught Havelock nothing else, it had taught him how to be aloof, and so it was in good time that he walked through the permanently-open** gates of the Guild of Assassins.

In the far corner of the courtyard, six young boys were playing the Wall Game with the enthusiasm of those to whom the exertion is still a challenge, while their elders lounged, secure in the knowledge that they could thrash any one of these young bloods if they wanted to. Havelock smiled inwardly, wondered briefly if he could take part in a game at any point without rousing talk, and headed into the main part of the Guild.

"Good morning, Master Vetinari," said the porter, with something akin to genuine pleasure. "Not seen you in a little while."

"I hope not, Mr Maroon," Havelock said politely. "Otherwise my little efforts will have gone to waste. Any interesting assignments started out today?"

"Now, now, you know I can't tell you that!" Mr Maroon said, which meant yes. "Always a one for questions, you are. Still, won't be long before you get some answers, eh?"

Havelock smiles blankly. "Perhaps not. I still have to pass final year, of course." The man chuckles, unwisely closing his eyes as he does so, allowing Havelock to flick neatly back in the book and take note of a name before flicking back and picking up the pen.

"No doubt of that," the man continues, oblivious, as Havelock signs in innocently. "Mrs Maroon sends her regards, by the by. She's sure you'll be doing well too."

"My thanks, Mr Maroon."

"Not at all, young Vetinari! I mean, Sir, that is," the man smiled, secure in the knowledge that Vetinari did not, in fact, mind, being a nice quiet boy, and waved him away as he headed upstairs.

So, Havelock continued silently to himself as he mounted the stairs to his Advanced Poisons class, handily just down the hall from Harp Studies VI, which was directly after. R. J. Cartwrightson, graduated just last year, and one of the most promising new full Assassins, signed out just before sunrise this morning. With the commission for an inhumation to take place at a location notably fortress-like in positioning, locked up tight all night, lookouts no doubt in place on all the approaches by day. But were one to approach in darkness, then find a place to wait until the business of the day began...

Not stupid, Cartwrightson. But not as clever as he might have been, either. Because unless he was very much mistaken, (and he disliked that there even was that possibility,) the mark was not at home that day, and not until early the next morning. Ample time to get in and wait perhaps, but also ample time for someone else to do so, too. Havelock nodded to himself, absently flicking away the customary thrown apple core and ducking the less-than-customary slingstone as he enters the classroom and sits down at the back.

Ample time.




* Everyone knows that there's nothing to fear if you see an Assassin walking casually along. You only need to worry if you don't see once casually strolling along, you are alone, and if you have a rich person willing to pay for your inhumation, in which case you rarely have the time. So really, is it worth the stress?

** Death's door is never closed.***

*** Particularly when centuries of rust has welded it open.