* * *

Toil

* * *

"It doesn't help," said Otto, "zat you encourage him."

Clark looked down and smiled -- not the big shiny white-teethed smile that charmed even the jaded matrons and suspicious Watchmen of Ankh-Morpork, but a little fleeting sweetness that lingered on his face even when his mouth had relaxed from its curve. It made him look oddly mysterious, intangible in the light that seemed to follow Clark wherever he went.

Even into Biers, thought Otto with some bemusement. It was making some of the patrons quite nervous. Otto was counting on the surreality of it all to keep Igor from throwing the both of them out.

Well, the surreality and Clark himself. Even the undead weren't eager to pick a fight with somebody who looked like Clark did. Despite the ill-fitting suit and general self-effacing air of amiable ineffectuality, he gave the impression of having more muscles than he knew what to do with, and nobody seemed interested in testing the limits of that knowledge.

Besides, news about the Luthors spread fast. Nobody was going to touch Lex Luthor's pet human. Otto downed another glass of his drink to cushion the thought.

"I am done with you," said Otto, more than half-serious. "You may drive to hell in your handbasket alone. I vet -- vipe -- cleanse my hands of zis."

"We're having dinner with Lionel next Thursday," Clark said serenely.

"Encouraging him," said Otto gloomily. "I vill have another of zese B-vord Marys without zer b-vord. You know in five hundred years, zer villagers of zer Luthor estate only stormed zer castle vunce?"

"That's . . . good?"

"No. Because zey vere too scared to do it most of zer time. Imagine! Villagers too scared to storm their own castle and stake their own vampire! It is a disgrace!"

"What about that one time?"

"Lex Luthor led zat uprising," said Otto. "He thought it vas funny."

From Clark's smile, he thought it was funny too. Otto glared.

"You don't understand," he said. "The Luthors are not a normal family. Zey are like an atheist who breaks into a temple to write rude things about zer gods on zer altar. Zey attract trouble."

"I'm not going out with the Luthors," said Clark, with that earnestness Lex probably found charming. "I'm in love with Lex."

"Hah!" barked Otto. A werewolf at the next table looked around, startled. "Vell, it is your funeral."

Clark looked grieved. He looked around, his eyes skipping over a pair of zombies at the bar, then lowered his voice.

"You shouldn't say that," he said gravely. "It's not fair to the, um, differently alive. Somebody might be hurt."

Otto looked at him. Then he looked up at the ceiling.

"Otto?"

"No thunderbolts," said Otto. "Zer gods have chosen zer long vay, then."

Clark pursed his lips.

"Otto . . . "

"Somebody vill get hurt," said Otto. "Many people vill get hurt. Zere is more at stake here than your peace of mind, Clark. Lionel Luthor is involved. Do you know vat that means?"

Clark played with the straw in his drink. He hadn't touched it, even though Otto had assured him that it didn't contain any b-vord. Clark had pointed out that this didn't mean that it didn't contain anything else.

That was what made it all the more heartbreaking, Otto thought. Those flashes of common sense. It was as if a cruel Fate presented you with a brief glimpse of a Clark who was sane and could actually make decisions that wouldn't end in burning houses and riots in the street, only to snatch it away and put the ordinary Clark in his place, just to teach you a lesson.

"Lex is better now," Clark said finally. "He's trying."

The lesson being: Fate's a bitch.

"And so you encourage him," said Otto.

"Yeah," said Clark quietly.

"You vill keep on encouraging him."

"Yeah."

"You vill pay for zer B-vord Mary," Otto decided.

"Okay," said Clark.

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