A Winter's Tale

The Discworld setting and its original characters are the property of Terry Pratchett. No copyright infringement is intended by this non-commercial fan fiction. Jane Austen, luckily, is out of copyright. Thanks to Andrew Salt for beta reading and moral support.

Chapter 1

Not all that is gold does glitter, whatever the Ankh-Morpork Guild of Alchemists may say. There are many treasures on the Disc waiting to be discovered, and not all of them are hidden. Like beauty, treasure might be in the eye of the beholder. A little boy might clutch in his hands all night the shell that smells and sounds of the ocean. A man might discover in some antique shop a little music box that chimes the tune he had been desperately trying to remember. A woman might find in a corner of the attic her parents' wedding iconograph, years after they have died. These treasures are surrounded by a haze of gold, invisible to most, but giving delight to those who have eyes to see it. As for people...

Drumknott glided into the Oblong Office, beaming efficiency.

"The mail, my lord."

Lord Vetinari made a slight gesture with his hand towards a clear space on his desk. The clerk positioned a small pile of envelopes where the Patrician had indicated. These were letters addressed directly to his lordship and he took the mail seriously enough to only ever open and read such items himself, though he sometimes wondered why he bothered. This was a major drawback of the resurrection of the post office. It encouraged people to write letters. There are only so many petty complaints a despotic ruler wants to read before breakfast, and on some days the perusal of the mail made him feel almost melancholy.

A rather larger wad of papers remained in Drumknott's hands; these were letters that had been directed by more considerate citizens to the Patrician's secretary. Drumknott flicked through them, quickly summarizing the main point of each document while Vetinari listened intently, staring ahead onto his desk while he commented and instructed, fingers steepled in his usual pose.

"…and finally, we have at last an application for position C23, which looks rather promising."

Vetinari looked up.

"Which one would that … oh, yes, I remember. Drumknott, do you really have to assign codes to these job advertisements? "

"It makes the filing much easier, my lord."

"Of course."

"And in this case it also does save some time."

"Hm, yes, I believe we should endeavour to find a more efficient title for this position. What did we eventually call it?"

Drumknott read from the paper: "A person to collect and evaluate information about the effects of industrial emissions on the health of the population."

"Indeed. A rather longwinded, but as it seems necessary undertaking. I can no longer ignore these reports from the Slaughterhouse District. People have been writing letters to The Times, you know."

"I read some of them, my lord. Not exactly alarming, but rather worrying."

"A perfect assessment, Drumknott! And we certainly do not want them to become alarming. Let me see the application then."

Vetinari extended his arm and took the letter out of Drumknott's hands. He perused it thoroughly and then dropped it on the desk.

"A degree in alchemy and botany from Pseudopolis Academy? Well, beggars can't be choosers, Drumknott, and the position has been advertised for three months now. Send a clacks to Mr…" He glanced down. "…Mr A B Winter and advise him that the position is his, starting at the earliest date he can manage. The mail coach arrives daily now, so I expect him to report to me no later than the 14th. Meanwhile, get the usual checks on him under way."

"Yes, my lord. I have already made arrangements for a suitable office to be prepared for Mr Winter."

"Well done, Drumknott."

Vetinari turned to his own pile of letters and Drumknott silently left the room.

Autumn storms had brought some fresher air into Ankh-Morpork, and as the temperature was sinking, the stench from the river subsided to a mellow background odour. The city was giving a sigh of relief. But in the Slaughterhouse District people continued to sniffle, cough and wheeze. Worried looking women with sickly children queued up at the entrance of the Lady Sybil Free Hospital and the letters section of The Times was full of the stout views of concerned citizens demanding that something ought to be done. And all the while, the chimneys of the rubber factories billowed long, black columns of smoke over the rimward part of the City.

Outside the Post Office building, eight passengers had just alighted from a mail coach. Some were met by kindly relatives or led away by efficient looking business connections. The others looked around with the slightly awkward air of people not quite knowing what to do next. One of them was a woman standing beside a large trunk with a slim envelope in her hand. The bystanders, trying to assess the newcomers, were puzzled by her appearance. She seemed fairly young, with a fresh face and youthful expression, but her dark hair, swept up into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, showed touches of grey. Her clothes were of good quality, but cut to be practical rather than elegant. Her figure was small and comfortable, yet she stood very upright as if to defy her natural allocation of stature. She drew breath, then frowned. After a while she beckoned to one of the hire coach drivers, who approached her with the gentle swagger he deemed suitable for his trade. Two minutes later she and her trunk had left and the bystanders thought of her no more.

Late in the afternoon of the 14th of Sektober, Drumknott came into the Oblong Office looking marginally embarrassed. Lord Vetinari noted his expression, but refrained from commenting.

"Ah, Drumknott. Has Mr Winter arrived at last?"

"Not quite, my lord."

"Not quite?"

Drumknott coughed.

"There is, in fact, not a Mr Winter, my lord. It is, ahem, a Miss Winter."

Vetinari's face showed no sign of surprise.

"Well, Drumknott, give her fifteen minutes and then show her in."

The clerk left the room. After the agreed interval he returned, ushering in a small and very erect dark-haired woman.

"Ah, Miss Winter. Do sit down. I hope you have not been waiting too long?"

As befitted a new employee, he treated her to his customary stare to see how she would take it - smirk, squirm or play poker face were the usual reactions. The woman however gave him a pleasant but businesslike smile and placed a folder on the desk in front of him. Then she spoke, with a deep and mellow voice that seemed surprising in such a small person.

"Good afternoon, my lord. I wouldn't have minded waiting longer. I have been amusing myself with the clock in the waiting room."

"Have you?"

"Yes, it has a very creative approach to timekeeping. Is it supposed to be some kind of game? What a novel idea!"

"Indeed," replied Vetinari flatly. He scrutinized her face, which still wore the calm and open smile, then he shrugged and picked up the folder.

"I see you have brought me paperwork."

"Yes, my credentials. You were generous enough to employ me without seeing them, but I thought you might like to see them now."

"Hmm."

The Patrician leafed through the pages.

"It would appear, Miss Winter, that you were rather well established in Pseudopolis. May I ask why you left?"

"People in Pseudopolis have fairly conservative views when it comes to women in academic professions. I heard that this is different in Ankh-Morpork."

"Indeed?"

"Yes, and therefore I considered myself very lucky when I found out that you were looking for an environmental health officer."

Vetinari's eyes met Drumknott's. The clerk picked up the hint and scribbled down something on his notepad.

"Aha. We, on the other hand, think ourselves lucky to have found an … environmental health officer, who is willing to tackle the tasks presenting themselves in this our esteemed city. Male or female seems to be of little consequence. Your job, Miss Winter, will be to find out why people in the rimwards areas of the city have recently suffered a significant increase in ill health."

Now Miss Winter's expression of quiet confidence was disturbed. She frowned, displaying an exquisite array of little wrinkles on the bridge of her nose.

"Is that all? I did not expect to be on a short-term contract. You should have mentioned that in your advertisement."

"We will find other uses for you once this assignment is completed," said Vetinari coldly. "You may find, though, that it is not a straightforward problem to solve. While there are rumours that it is the fault of the rubber industry, they have the merit and credibility only of rumours, and the rubber factories have been with us for many years without any such problems. The rubber industry is a lucrative business and its contributions to the city's affluence are substantial. On the other hand, I have a duty of care for my citizens. There might well be a conflict of interest. There is also a notion among certain people that trolls, who form a major part of the population in that area, are to blame. The troll community can be rather...touchy about such allegations. I am sure I do not have to draw you a picture."

"No my lord. I assume the head of the department will give me all the necessary details."

There was a pause, indicating that here was an assumption that would need to be modified. Vetinari rearranged the papers in the credentials folder and closed it gingerly.

"I'm afraid this will not be the case, Miss Winter. You are, in fact, your very own department all by yourself. Congratulations on becoming Ankh-Morpork's first … environmental health officer."

Miss Winter wrinkled her nose again.

"In that case, my lord, it would be good if you could give me more details."

Vetinari pushed the folder back towards his new employee.

"You will have to fill in the blanks yourself, Miss Winter. Mr Drumknott will show you your office and go through the contract with you. I believe he has already arranged your membership with the Guild of Alchemists. Do not let me detain you."

She gave him a puzzled look, then picked up her paperwork and rose from her seat.

"Well, you must be a busy man. I am sorry if I took up too much of your time. Good bye, my lord."

She opened the door before Drumknott could do it for her and marched out, head held high. The clerk followed her noiselessly.

Vetinari sighed and began to read a report from the Campaign for Equal Heights regarding the question whether dwarf bread was to be included in the new Offensive Weapons Act. There really was no end to the complaints he had to deal with.

My dear Cassandra,

it is time for first impressions! I arrived here yesterday, went straight to my lodgings, and from there to the palace where I spoke to my employer Lord Vetinari. It turned out that the work situation is somewhat different from what I had envisaged, in that I am going to be entirely on my own in this post and that no environmental monitoring has ever taken place in the city before. So I will have to start from scratch. It makes me rather nervous to be solely responsible for this task, but I'll just have to do the best I can. His lordship's secretary, Mr Drumknott, has been very helpful to me in getting my bearings.

I didn't see Henry until this evening, because he was away on business. The landlady was very suspicious, she obviously thought Henry was my "young man", which was rather funny. Fortunately I had brought a whole album of family iconographs, which eventually convinced her that all was above board. She is a most droll woman and clearly enjoys expanding her horizon, albeit by the method of extracting personal information from her boarders.

There are two other women staying here, one is a dressmaker from Istanzia, her name is Tvoolia Hingh, she seems very friendly. The second, Beraguld Parslower, is leaving next week, because she is getting married.

Henry has promised to give me a tour of all the major attractions of Ankh-Morpork soon, though at present I find it hard to imagine that there is much here that I would call attractive. The city stinks! Henry says you stop noticing it after a while; I am not sure if that is a good thing.

There's not much else to tell, but I thought I would just scribble a quick note to let you know that I am well. Henry sends his regards and says he will write to you eventually, but cannot yet tell when. So typical of him, but don't we love him anyway...

Lots of hugs

Yours

Lina