Part Six - A Formal Affair

‘I’m sorry,’ said Lord Vetinari.  ‘But what was that again?’  The Patrician looked out at a sea of angry faces.  Well, not a sea exactly.  More like a small pond.  But they were angry, nonetheless.  A small angry pond, all clutching pieces of paper.  Vetinari’s cool questioning tone put the asker ill at ease.  They shuffled uncomfortably in their seat before continuing.

‘I merely said, my Lord, that something really must be done.’

‘Quite so,’ said the Patrician, inclining his head in a barely imperceptible nod.  The faces around the table looked somewhat hopeful.  They needed Vetinari on side.  Without him, they were sunk.

‘This is nothing short of extortion!’ said another occupant of the table, waving their piece of paper angrily in the air.  ‘The very idea!  And the amounts being demanded?  I’d admire the man’s sand if I weren’t so livid at the infernal cheek of it all!’

‘What makes you think that it’s a man?’ asked a woman sat next to him.  The man looked somewhat derailed for a moment.

‘What?  Oh, you know, figure of speech.’

‘No, I don’t know,’ said the woman, one of the Selachii family.  ‘Pray, elaborate.’  The man, a relatively recent addition to Ankh-Morpork’s upper echelons (part of the upwardly mobile merchant classes) knew all too well of the Selachii’s connections with the Assassin’s Guild, and decided that, in this moment, a debate on gender politics was not a wise career move.

He fell silent.

‘What say you, Lord Rust?’ said Vetinari, cutting over the petty bickering that threatened to envelope proceedings.  ‘I would have expected you to be far more… vocal on a matter such as this.’  Rust, sat directly opposite the Patrician, looked startled for the briefest moment.  He had been looking at his hands, gently massaging one of his fingers in an absentminded sort of way.  He recovered in an instant and laid a hand on his piece of paper that was lying, face down, in front of him.

‘Absolutely unacceptable, I’m sure,’ said Rust, looking at the gathered faces who were now all turned to him.  ‘This blackguard must be stopped.’

‘And he will be,’ said Vetinari.  ‘Stopped.’  The two men looked at each other for a moment, their gazes challenging one another for supremacy.

Rust spoke first.

‘I have every faith that this is so,’ he said.

‘Of course you do,’ said Vetinari, seemingly satisfied.  ‘Now, I appreciate that you are all concerned about the intentions of our elusive friend, but I assure that matters are most in hand.’

Someone raised their hand to speak, but Lord Vetinari waved them away.

‘But for now, I advise business as usual.  Monetary gains aside, this… misguided individual is clearly attempting to rule through fear.  Trust me when I say that this is no easy task.  So, I implore you to go about your normal routines.  I, for one, hope to see you all at Lady Margolotta’s ball this coming Saturday.  Nothing shows a united front better than a city’s best and brightest refusing to kowtow to criminal demands.’

A few people around the table mumbled words of agreement.

‘Excellent.  Then, please do not let me detain you.’  Lord Vetinari rose from his seat and stood, fingers resting on the polished tabletop, sending a message that was as clear as day that the meeting was unquestionably over.  Those around the table took their pieces of paper and stood to leave.  As they filed out, Lord Rust’s and the Patrician’s gazes locked again, for the briefest moment.

Definitely over.

 

*           *           *

           

‘No.’

Vimes blinked.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘No, sir,’ said Angua, her arms folded across her chest.  The squad was back in the briefing room, and Captain Angua sat resolutely in front of her commanding officer, telling him no.

‘Captain, I…’ Vimes began.

‘’I’m sorry, sir, but I left Überwald to get away from all of that.  You’ve been there.  You’ve met my family.  You know what they’re like.  I know we have a case, but I can’t do it.  I… just can’t.’  An uncomfortable silence followed in which no one wanted to meet each other’s gaze.  Angua stared fixedly at her feet, a slight frown on her face.  Vimes looked a little confused, which was mixed in with the anger that was still bubbling from being jibed by the thief, again.  And Carrot looked concerned at the woman he loved and the contemporary he respected.

Eventually, Vimes shook himself free of the silence and spoke.

‘Angua,’ he said �" everyone in the room looked at him; Vimes hardly ever called anyone by their first names �" ‘I’m not saying this is going to be a walk in the park, no offence meant, and I don’t like it any more than you do.  But this’ �" Vimes picked up the small white card that the thief had left in his cell �" ‘means that we know where our man will be striking next.’  Vimes turned the card over to reveal that the message left for him was written on the back of an elegant-looking invitation.  ‘And this means that I need a plus one!’

Vimes slammed the invitation on to the briefing room desk and looked hard at his captain.

‘What about Lady Ramkin, sir?’ asked Angua, desperate to get out of this any way she knew how.

‘Sybil is busy that night,’ grumbled Vimes.  ‘Dragon fundraiser, or something.’

‘But…’ began Angua.

‘Would you like to try and tell her she has to miss it to help us with a case, hmmm?’

‘No, sir,’ said Angua, looking again at her feet.

‘Neither would I,’ said Vimes, feeling as if he were on somewhat firmer ground now.

‘But, why me, sir?’ said Angua.  She was embarrassed at how much of a whine there was in her voice.

‘Because like it or not, Captain, this is a world that you know, and right now that’s more valuable to me than anything.  I don’t fit in with nobby society, never have, never will, but this…thing’ �" he spat the word with no small amount of disdain �" ‘is being thrown by Lady Margolotta.  Of Überwald!  And I can’t think of another officer I’d rather have with me in such a viper’s nest of snobbery and falseness than you, Captain.’

Angua said nothing.  She knew she’d lost.  One of the things that she respected about Commander Vimes was the way he never gave up.  It was admirable, even when it was pointed at her.  She hung her head for a moment.

‘Okay, sir.  I’ll do it.’

Vimes nodded.  It was not lost on him what he was asking of Angua, and he showed his appreciation the only way he knew how in that situation: he patted her on the shoulder before returning to address the rest of the room.

‘Right, listen up.  This could be our best chance of catching our man in the act, but it’s got to be done proper.’  Vimes picked up the invitation again and waved the side with the taunting message on it in front of him.  ‘He’s expecting us to be there.  Whoever this lad is he’s not stupid, so commit your orders to memory.  Is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir!’ chorused the squad.

‘Okay, here’s what I want you to do.’

 

*           *           *

 

Vimes’ orders were given, and a plan was laid out.  Time rolled on in the immutable way that it does and before too long the evening of the grand ball had arrived.  Vimes sat in his dressing room at Ramkin House while Willikins laid out his most hated formal dress.  It was the traditional garb of the Duke of Ankh, a title he both possessed and reviled.  He was sat with his best breastplate on his knees, polishing it to a Carrot-level shine.  The badge design laid into the breastplate said Commander Ankh-Morpork City Watch.  He stared fixedly at it as he buffed the metal again and again.

Willikins finished laying out his master’s clothes and stood facing him.  He didn’t say a word, which caused Vimes to buff faster and faster until he finally slapped the chamois down on to the breastplate and looked up.

‘Damn it, man, you have the loudest silences of anyone I’ve ever known!’

‘Sir?’  Willikins raised his eyebrows slightly.

‘Come on, out with it.  What’s on your mind?’

‘Begging your pardon, sir, but the attire of the Duke of Ankh does not require the addition of armour.’

‘Well, it bloody well does now! snapped Vimes.  ‘I may have to be the sodding Duke of Ankh to get invited to a highfaluting affair such as this, but as soon as I’m in there I’m damn well the Commander of the City Watch!’

‘Very good, sir.  In that case I will fetch the good polish.’

 

*           *           *

 

At the same time as Vimes was dressing for the evening, Captain Angua occupied one of the many other bedrooms of Ramkin House.  She walked critically along a line of ball gowns and evening dresses that had been hastily collated by Sybil, borrowed from various friends, friends’ daughters, friends’ nieces, etc.  One of Lady Sybil’s few handmaidens stood trembling in the corner, having hung all the dresses and gowns up for Angua’s inspection.  Some people in the city knew that Angua was a werewolf, others had only heard stories.  Whichever it was for this poor girl she seemed to be trying to meld with the wall that she was pressing herself again.  Angua looked irritably over her shoulder at the terrified creature.

‘It’s okay, you can go.  I can dress myself.’  The girl gave a rapid-fire curtsey and practically bolted from the room.  Angua turned her attention back to the assembled finery and selected an elegant, if somewhat slinky number with a slit partway up the leg.  She reasoned if the evening was going to go the way Commander Vimes suspected then there would probably be running involved.  This way, she had a ready-made tear to work on to make movement easier, should she need it.

Angua put on the dress, cursing the world she was about to begrudgingly re-enter.

 

*           *           *

 

While Sam Vimes polished his breastplate and Captain Angua slipped into her dress, Lord Havelock Vetinari selected his most appropriate black outfit for the evening’s festivities.  Then, because it was a special occasion, he opened a small drawer in his expansive wardrobe and pulled out an ornate little silver cloak pin.  The head was a deep red.  He held it up to his throat and smiled.

Ostentatious.

Emerging from his dressing room, Vetinari was greeted by Drumknott.  He was carrying a ledger.

‘I presume the accounts are all in order?’ asked the Patrician.  He really didn’t need to ask; he knew the answer already.  But it was good to keep the staff busy.

‘Yes, my Lord,’ said Drumknott, as he nodded.  ‘Payments have been made as you requested, in the amounts specified.’

‘Very good,’ said Vetinari.  He smiled to himself and turned to face his secretary.  ‘Because I am closing that account.’

‘Sir?’

‘Tonight.’

 

*           *           *

 

Gods, I hate it already, thought Vimes, as he stepped into the main ballroom, Captain Angua on his arm, looking as impeccable as she was annoyed.  Vimes’ breastplate gleamed while his anger broiled and churned in his guts.

‘The Duke of Ankh,’ shouted the footman, whose job it was to noisily announce the arrival of the city’s supposed best and brightest.  ‘Sir Samuel Vimes!  And…’  The footman paused as he looked at Angua.  She scowled at him, causing him to turn away very quickly.

‘And his companion,’ he finished, lamely.

Gods, I really hate it.

Vimes and Angua made their way reluctantly into the ballroom, avoiding gazes wherever possible.  Vimes could feel his fists itching, and Angua’s grip on his arm was getting painful.

‘Watch yourself, Captain,’ he said, quietly.  Angua looked at what she was doing and relaxed her grip.  Vimes felt a sudden savage pleasure in the knowledge that he was probably the only person in the room with a plus one who could rip someone’s throat out without breaking a sweat.

‘Ah, Commander Vimes.’

Well, maybe except her.

Vimes turned around to see Lady Margolotta smiling brightly at him.

He swallowed hard.  Angua’s grip resumed its prior tightness, and then doubled.

‘Your Ladyship,’ said Vimes, wincing slightly as Angua’s fingers dug in.  Lady Margolotta looked a gothic vision: sleek raven hair; pearlescent skin; deep plum lips.  For the briefest of seconds, Vimes had the most fleeting of thoughts of jacking it all in, of pledging undying devotion to this beauteous creature before him and following her to the ends of the Disc.  The moment passed as quick as a neuron fires in the brain, and Vimes pressed on with the job at hand.

‘So good of you to come,’ said Lady Margolotta, her voice like the most exquisite morning frost.  ‘Captain Angua, a pleasure.’  Again, Vimes felt painful pressure on his arm.  He shook himself free before his forearm was snapped in two.  He was all too aware of the centuries-long antagonism between vampires and werewolves, and while much progress had been made in recent years, he positioned himself carefully to not be too close to striking distance just in case either of the two beautifully deadly creatures decided to resurrect their age-old differences.

‘Your Ladyship,’ said Angua, evenly.

‘So,’ said Lady Margolotta with an appraising look in her eye.  ‘Are your men all in place, Commander?’

Vimes looked at her, surprised.  She smiled.

Angua scowled again.

‘Oh, come now, Ankh-Morpork is far too small a place for news not to travel even to my ears.  I have heard about this daring young thief that has you currently so occupied.’

Vimes said nothing.  On the one hand he was really annoyed that what he had felt was a rather good plan had seemingly been so easily figured out, but on the other he wasn’t surprised in the least.  Thinking he could keep anything secret in this city was foolish.

The fact that Lady Margolotta looked amused didn’t help matters either.

He sighed.

‘We have reason to believe that the thief is going to strike again.  Here, tonight.’

‘Oh?’  Lady Margolotta raised her perfectly sculpted eyebrows with mild interest.

‘So, we are taking every precaution to ensure that, if he does try anything, we will catch him red-handed.’

‘That’s excellent, Commander,’ said Lady Margolotta, smiling some more.  ‘But you needn’t worry.  I hear this thief is bold, but do you really think he would be misguided enough to encroach here?’

‘I wouldn’t put it past him,’ said Vimes.  ‘He has already stolen from the Patrician, the Assassin’s Guild, and my own office at Pseudopolis Yard.’

‘Indeed?’  Lady Margolotta almost looked impressed.  ‘My my.  And is that why you have the charming Captain Angua on your arm instead of your equally charming wife, Commander?’

Vimes swallowed.  She really was captivatingly beautiful.

‘Lady Sybil sends her apologies,’ said Vimes.  ‘But she’s hosting a benefit for swamp dragons this evening.’

‘Ah yes, of course.’  Lady Margolotta nodded ever so slightly, never breaking eye contact with Vimes.  ‘Her devotion to her cause is truly admirable.  Do send her my regards.’

‘I will,’ said Vimes, returning the nod.

‘Lord Havelock Vetinari!’ shouted the footman at the main door.  ‘Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, benevolent ruler of our fair city, figurehead of…’

‘Yes yes, that will do,’ said Vetinari, leaving the footman hanging in mid-accolade.  He strode across the room, directly to where Vimes, Angua and Lady Margolotta were standing.

Oh great, thought Vimes.  This is just getting better and better.

‘Your Ladyship,’ said Vetinari, as he bowed to Lady Margolotta.  Vimes noticed a smile play across her lips that was a good deal warmer than the one she had greeted him and Angua with.  It was gone in an instant, and Vetinari turned his cool gaze on to Vimes.

‘And Commander Vimes, splendid.’  Vetinari took in the shining breastplate and smiled.  ‘All ready for action, I see?’

‘Sir.’  Vimes had adopted his stock pose that he occupied when treating with Vetinari in his office.  Even though he was on duty and on a case, he knew that he was doing it on their turf and not his.

‘And Captain Angua,’ said Vetinari, extending a gloved hand to her.  ‘May I say that you are looking lovely this evening.’

‘Thank you, your Lordship,’ said Angua awkwardly, as her hand was shaken by the Patrician of the city.

‘Doesn’t she, though?’ said Lady Margolotta, agreeing.  ‘The City Watch uniform does not do her justice.’  Angua felt a hotness in her skin that threatened to become a blush, but she willed it into submission.  The day a werewolf blushed in front of a vampire was the day they might as well all sit up and beg for treats.

Lady Margolotta turned her attention back to Lord Vetinari.

‘I must commend your officers on their dedication, Havelock.  Stationing their entire squad at strategic points throughout my humble home, just to protect our little get together.’  The use of the Patrician’s first name hung in the air like a lead weight, at least for Vimes and Angua.  Everyone knew what the Patrician’s first name was, but no one used it, ever.  Vimes sometimes wondered if his parents �" assuming he had had any �" had simply called him Vetinari…or your Lordship.

‘And their inventiveness must be praised as well,’ Lady Margolotta went on.  ‘Your dear Commander here is convinced that we are in danger of being beset by this courageous young thief who has so quickly become the talk of the town.’

She smiled at the assembled guests around her.

‘I wouldn’t call what he is doing courageous,’ said Vimes before he could stop himself.

Again, the smile.

Again, the raise of an eyebrow.

‘Wouldn’t you?’ said Lady Margolotta, sweetly.

‘No, I wouldn’t,’ said Vimes, flatly.

‘But as you say, Commander,’ said Lady Margolotta, silkily.  ‘This intrepid young thief has managed to steal from some of the most dangerous corners of the city.  Dangerous for a law-breaker, at any rate, begging both your pardons.’  She nodded again, ever so slightly, at two of the men the thief had stolen from.

‘Intrepid or not,’ said Vimes, the Duty reinforcing every word.  ‘Courageous or not, he has broken the law.  I will catch him, and when I do, I will throw the book at him!’

Both of Lady Margolotta’s eyebrows raised this time.

‘I beg your pardon?’  Her expression was one of confusion, but there was something in her eyes, something else.  Vimes noticed it, but Angua really noticed it.  It was predatory.  It was visceral.  It was gone as quick as it came, but it had been there.  Angua frowned slightly and looked at Vimes to see if he had seen the same thing as her.  This train of thought was interrupted by Lord Vetinari.

‘It is a figure of speech, your Ladyship,’ he said, his gaze flitting between Lady Margolotta and Vimes.  ‘Commander Vimes does not intend to literally throw a book at the thief, or anyone, as far as I know.’  He looked at Vimes for a moment, almost as if he expected him to contradict him and state that he would throw whatever he liked at whomever he liked, but Vimes said nothing.

‘Commander Vimes merely meant that once he catches our elusive young thief he will, like he would with any law-breaker, charge them to the very letter of the law.  Is that not so, Commander?’

‘Sir.’  Lady Margolotta smiled and Vimes had the strangest sensation that he had just avoided something potentially unpleasant, maybe even dangerous.

‘So, tell me, Commander,’ she said.  ‘Who is the rather strapping young man trying so valiantly to pass himself off as a wine waiter?’

Vimes didn’t need to look around.  He knew who she meant.

‘That’s Captain Carrot, your Ladyship.’

‘Ah yes, the Dwarf,’ she said, knowingly.  Vimes felt Angua tense beside him.  If there was one thing that would tip her over the edge, Vimes thought, it would be a little jab at her boyfriend.  He prayed to the god of coppers everywhere that things could remain civil, at least between these two.

‘And, the rightful king of Ankh-Morpork, if my genealogy is correct.’  The conversation stopped dead in its tracks.  Vimes, Angua and Vetinari all looked at Lady Margolotta as if she had just sprouted another head.  She seemed to find this very amusing.

‘Oh, come now,’ she said, almost laughing.  ‘It is hardly a secret, if you know where to look.’  She seemed to be enjoying herself immensely at bringing up a topic that people generally didn’t talk about, either because they didn’t believe it, or they didn’t know about it.  Lord Vetinari certainly seemed to know about it, judging by the expression on his face.  This made Lady Margolotta smile even more.

‘I wouldn’t worry yourself, Havelock.  As I understand it our esteemed Captain Carrot is most happy being a Watchman.’  She slipped her hand into the crook of the Patrician’s arm and smiled.  Vimes and Angua suddenly felt as if they were intruding on something that they shouldn’t.

Vimes coughed.

‘We should be circulating,’ he said, awkwardly.  ‘Keeping our eyes out for anything suspicious.’

‘The honourable Lord Rust!’

The voice of the footman cut through the room.  Vimes looked across at the door and saw the elderly aristocrat walking directly towards them.

Great, thought Vimes.

Vetinari seemed pleased, however.

‘Ah, Lord Rust,’ he said with a dangerous brightness to his voice.  ‘So good of you to come.’

Rust looked a little put out, but decades of having the proper manners drilled into him maintained control.

‘Your Lordship,’ he said, tersely.  ‘Your Ladyship.’  Rust bowed to Lady Margolotta.  As he stood, he caught sight of Vimes.

‘Commander.’

‘Your Lordship.’

Rust didn’t even bother looking in Angua’s direction.

‘Your journey here was a pleasant one, I trust?’ said Vetinari.  Vimes was starting to feel a little worried.  Vetinari was verging on being nice.

What was going on?

Rust looked at those around him before answering.

‘Very comfortable, thank you.’  He seemed on edge, ill at ease.  ‘But really you did not have to send one of your carriages to collect me.  I could have made my own way here.’

‘Not at all,’ said Vetinari, genially.  ‘It was my pleasure.  I understand that it is your driver’s afternoon off, and Lady Margolotta has spared no expense on this wonderful event.  I really would be most remiss if you had been unable to attend.’

Lord Rust frowned slightly while attempting to maintain the normal air of polite nobbiness that set Vimes’ teeth on edge.

‘How…how did you know that it was my driver’s afternoon off?’ he asked.

Lord Vetinari smiled.

It was a knowing smile, Vimes noticed.  Instinctively, he took a slight step backwards, as if to get out of the blast-zone.

‘I pride myself on knowing all that goes on in the city, your Lordship,’ said Vetinari, smoothly.

Rust’s frown turned, momentarily, into raised eyebrows.  They were back down in a second.

‘Yes, well, thank you for thinking of me.’

‘Oh, I assure you, your Lordship,’ said Vetinari, meaningfully.  ‘I have been thinking a great deal of late.’

The two men looked at each other.  It wasn’t overly hot in the ballroom, but looking at Rust, Vimes got the distinct impression that he was growing rather hot under the collar.  There was a definite tension in the air, and Vimes’ copper senses were sitting up and taking notice.  Ordinarily, he had no time at all for the petty squabbles of Ankh-Morpork’s aristocracy, but this felt different.

This felt important.

Vimes watched both men with increased scrutiny, trying to fathom what was going on.

His train of thought was cut short, though, by Lady Margolotta.

‘Would anyone care for a drink?’  She hailed a passing waiter and as Vimes continued to look at both Rust and Vetinari, a young man with a tray of glasses approached them.

‘Commander?’ said Lady Margolotta, as she took a glass of the deepest red wine Vimes had ever seen.

At least he hoped it was wine.

‘No, thank you,’ said Vimes.

‘Do not worry, Commander,’ said Lady Margolotta with an indulgent smile.  ‘Havelock is not the only one who knows what goes on in this city.’

Vimes looked at her quizzically.

Lady Margolotta continued to smile.

‘I am aware that you no longer drink, Commander.  So, I have made special provisions for you.’  She reached with her free hand for a glass at the far end of the tray.

‘Here,’ she said, offering Vimes the glass.  ‘One hundred percent alcohol-free.  You have my word.’  Vimes partway reached for the glass but stopped.  Part of his copper’s brain was screaming at him to not be so bloody stupid, but his eyes had met with Lady Margolotta’s again.  It was there again, still as brief, but there, nonetheless.  That pull that, if he allowed it to, would have him swilling down the contents of every wine cellar in the city if it would please the woman in front of him.  He scrutinised the eyes for a moment and saw not the animal but the Lady, a seemingly genuine desire to accommodate her guests.

Vimes took the drink.

‘A toast,’ said Lady Margolotta, smiling still.  ‘To this marvellous city and all who dwell within it.’  The small group of people �" each with drinks in hand �" raised their glasses to the toast and drank.  Vimes moved his gaze from Lady Margolotta to the waiter who stood patiently, waiting for the empty glasses.

Their eyes met.

Vimes’ eyes narrowed.

The waiter’s eyes…

They looked just like…

Of all the nerve!

In an ear-splitting moment, Vimes threw down his glass and shot his arm out, closing his fingers around the upper arm of the waiter.  Oddly, the muscle under Vimes’ grip didn’t even tense.

As if he’d been expecting this.

‘You’re under arrest, m’laddo!’  The words erupted from Vimes’ mouth with no attempt to conceal the triumph.  He had done it.  He’d caught the cheeky bugger with his hand firmly in the till.

But the waiter �" or thief �" didn’t resist.

That wasn’t what Vimes was expecting.

Vimes looked into the thief’s eyes.

The thief smiled.

Vimes then looked at Vetinari.

And it hit him.  Like the force of a cannonball.

Scratch that.  Like the force of a cannonball, followed, rather promptly, by the cannon.

Lord Vetinari nodded, ever so slightly.

It was as if someone had let all the air out of Sam Vimes.  He relaxed his grip and let his hand fall to his side with a depressing little thud.  Captain Angua looked at her Commander in stunned amazement.  All around them the ball was proceeding as planned, but within this small knot of people, the world was unravelling.

It was the waiter who spoke first.

‘Well, aren’t you going to introduce me…father?’  The waiter gave his tray to an unexpecting member of the serving staff, who took it with a look of mild confusion on their face, while the waiter removed what had, up until that point, been a rather impressively done false nose and forehead.  The rubber makeup cast aside, the waiter �" the thief �" stood before the small cluster of people, his identity revealed at last.

‘You!’

This time it was Lord Rust who had spoken.  The old aristocrat looked apoplectic with rage.  He was pointing a shaking finger at the young man in front of him, who merely smiled.

‘Me,’ he said.

‘Is something wrong, your Lordship?’ asked the Patrician, who looked mildly amused by the proceedings.

Lord Rust could barely speak.  He managed to choke out the words: ‘You’re here?  And he knows?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Vetinari.

‘Surprise,’ said the thief, still smiling.

As if someone had put the air back into Vimes, he jerked himself out of the stupor this situation had knocked him into and found his voice again.

‘I’m sorry, but what on the Disc is going on?’  Almost as if he had forgotten he was surrounded by a room full of people, Lord Vetinari looked at Vimes as if he had only just entered the room.  He recovered in a heartbeat and walked over to stand next to the young man, who was still smiling.

‘Commander, allow me the pleasure of introducing you to my son, Clarence.’

‘Hi,’ said Clarence, giving Vimes a little wave.

‘Clarence?’  Vimes said it before he had time to stop his mouth.

‘Yes, Clarence,’ said Vetinari, who did not seem to find anything funny about this whatsoever, allowing the unspoken that neither should anyone else to sink in.

‘But…but…’ said Vimes, not knowing where to start to unpack this dragon-sized piece of information that had just settled itself on to his shoulders.

‘Allow me to explain,’ said Vetinari.

‘What’s to explain?’ cut in Lord Rust, now pointing his shaking finger at the Patrician instead.  ‘The truth is out!  You, our so-called benevolent leader, has had a child!  Out of wedlock!’

‘Yes, I have,’ said Vetinari, with a dangerous level of calmness to his voice.  ‘Your point being?’  Lord Rust looked wildly around him.  This was not supposed to happen.  This was not how it was supposed to go.  He looked at the assembled masses attending the ball.  He suddenly felt hot and cornered, His lips felt dry.  The skin on his forehead felt too tight.

He was trapped.

Time to make a break for it.  With an agility that belied his age, Lord Rust moved swiftly, standing quickly on a chair and then on to one of the tables, giving him an unobscured view of the ballroom.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?’  Lord Rust was bellowing at the top of his lungs.  Even over the background noise of the chamber music and the small talk of so many people he could be heard.  Vimes caught sight of Captain Carrot moving through the crowd.

Once the old aristocrat had the room, he continued.  Some of his confidence returning, he seemed to warm to being in the spotlight.

‘I would have you at this time draw your eyes to the young man standing with the Patrician of our fair city.’  Lord Rust allowed a moment for people to crane their necks to get a look at who he was talking about.

‘As I am sure you are all aware, Ankh-Morpork has recently been at the mercy of a master criminal.  A master criminal who has struck with impunity at the very core of our hearths and hearts.’  Vimes stared at Lord Rust as he went on.  The old snake was enjoying himself now, whatever he was up to.

‘Well, it may interest you to know,’ continued Lord Rust.  ‘That not a moment ago our intrepid Commander Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch apprehended the thief �" that very man there - after a painstaking investigation.’

Don’t bloody well drag me into it, thought Vimes.  I want no part of your madness.

Lord Rust looked about him, an unnerving steeliness in his eyes.  There was a vein standing out in his neck, as if his whole body was tensed, clenched like a fist.

He continued.

‘But it may interest you more to know that this arrest will most likely not stand.’  There were curious murmurs from various parts of the room after Lord Rust said this.  Vimes’ devotion to the law was known throughout the city, and it was also common knowledge that he rarely, if ever, arrested the wrong person.

‘For you see, ladies and gentlemen,’ said Rust, spreading his arms wide, like some insane deity.  ‘The young man whom you see before you, the master criminal of Ankh-Morpork, is none other than…’ Lord Rust paused for effect.  If Nobby had been within earshot, Vimes thought, he would have bet a good couple of Dollars that he’d yell “Get on with it!” from somewhere in the back.

Lord Rust smiled a terrible smile.

‘Lord Vetinari’s son!’

The effect was instant.  The curious murmur that had died down while Rust shouted from atop the table resumed immediately.  People began talking rapidly, looking at Clarence, at Lord Vetinari, and at Lord Rust.  Vimes was keeping a close eye on all three, wanting to keep close track of everything that was going on.  Sam Vimes could smell a powder keg from three streets away, and right now Lord Rust was juggling flaming torches.

Vimes pulled his gaze away from the nauseatingly self-satisfied expression on Rust’s face and looked again at the Patrician.

He was smiling!

It was faint, but it was there.

Lord Vetinari was smiling!

Oh, s**t, thought Vimes.

‘That’s enough, your Lordship,’ said Vimes, approaching Rust cautiously, as if he might explode at any moment.  If there was one thing that Vimes had learned about the Patrician, it was that he only ever broke his normally stony façade when it suited his purpose.  Lord Rust had crossed a line, or was awfully close to doing so, and Lord Vetinari was feeding him all the rope he could hang himself with.

The poor fool doesn’t even realise, thought Vimes.  Part of Vimes’ mind wanted to just step back and let Rust talk himself further and further into the open waters of unequivocal doom, but he was a copper, and if he was paid to protect one citizen, he was paid to protect them all, no matter how much her personally wanted to smack them in the mouth.

Vimes continued to approach the table, his hands open and apart in a gesture he hoped would convey that he was trying to help.

‘Let’s get you down from there, your Lordship,’ said Vimes, quietly.

Rust was having none of it, though.  He snorted with derision at the sight of Vimes and ploughed on.  In for a cent, in for a Dollar.

‘Now our benevolent ruler,’ said Rust, casting a smug smirk in the direction of Lord Vetinari that made Vimes wince.  ‘Does not wish you fine people to know that he has fathered a child.’  More people looked at the Patrician, and more people noted the small smile on his face.  A few of them took a step or two backwards.

‘A child, I might add,’ said Rust, loudly and triumphantly.  ‘That he fathered out of wedlock!’  Lord Rust paused for effect again, clearly considering such a thing to be the height of scandal.

A current seemed to be pulsating in the air as the scene continued to unfold.  People were growing afraid; it wasn’t every day that the best and brightest of Ankh-Morpork were treated to a verbal bashing of the Patrician of the city, and many fought the twin urges to flee from the ballroom and stay to see what happened next.

And still Lord Rust continued.

And still Lord Vetinari stood there, smiling that terrible, terrible smile.

‘I have it on good authority, ladies and gentlemen, that Lord Vetinari has been so keen to keep this little secret from you, the people, that he has been paying what I hear to be extortionate amounts to keep the matter private!’

‘Yes, to you.’

Lord Rust stopped dead.  It was Lord Vetinari who had spoken, softly and clearly but somehow it seemed to cut through all other voices in the room.  Anyone else talking at that point promptly shut their mouths and strained their ears.

For a moment, the two men stared at each other; Rust’s eyes bulging and mad, Vetinari’s cool and impassive.  Rust’s arm was raised, his finger pointed, ready to emphasise another hammer-blow of his bringing down of the Patrician.  He must have realised that he was holding it up, and his arm fell limply by his side.  He opened his mouth to speak, but only a strangled sort of noise was able to escape his suddenly constricted throat.

Lord Vetinari took this moment to step forward.

‘As our dear Lord Rust seems to have temporarily lost the power of speech, I shall interject.’

All eyes were now on the Patrician.

‘Lord Rust is quite right,’ said Vetinari, as he placed his hands lightly behind his back and started to walk slowly, up and down, in the empty space of floor in front of the table that Lord Rust was still standing on.  ‘This young man is indeed my son.’  People exchanged glances and muttered things to each other, hurriedly.  Eyes darted from the Patrician to the one who had been identified as Clarence, and back again.  People, especially Vimes, were also keeping a wary eye on Lord Rust, who was still standing, rigid, his eyes wide.

Lord Vetinari looked over at Clarence before continuing.

‘It will come to no surprise to my son that his…coming to be… was not planned.’

More muttering.  Some people nudged others in the ribs, eager not to miss a word.

‘Despite rumours to the contrary,’ said Vetinari, the smallest of smiles playing again across his lips.  ‘I am only human.  And, as a human, I am susceptible to, shall we say, errors of judgement.’

Again, Lord Vetinari looked at his son before speaking again.

‘That is not to say that I consider Clarence an error,’ he said firmly, as if to quash any thoughts that might be heading along these lines in the assembled mass.  ‘At least, not anymore.  I confess, when news of his impending arrival reached me, I was…scared.’

Vimes felt his feet tense in his boots, as if they were preparing to either run or stand and fight.  Lord Vetinari was always the one in complete control, that’s how it had always been.  So, to have him stand before the upper echelons of Ankh society and admit something as human and vulnerable as fear was itself a frightening concept.  Vimes often wondered if the city of Ankh-Morpork worked the way it did, such as did, because enough people believed the Patrician to be somehow more than a man, more than human.

Vetinari looked at the sea of faces that were staring at him.  He seemed to read their thoughts.

‘Yes, scared.  I was faced with a situation that I could not control, and that was a new concept for me.  I was at a loss as to what to do.’

Words from the past came floating back to him in the moment.

You must do what you feel is right.

Yes.

‘So, I did what I thought best at the time, and went about my duties as appointed leader of this city, leaving this most private of matters just that, private.’

Lord Vetinari stopped pacing and turned to face Lord Rust, who seemed to quail under the Patrician’s suddenly hard stare.

‘But the matter did not remain private, did it, your Lordship?’

Rust gave no answer.  He couldn’t.

‘How long had that poor, unfortunate individual been in your employ before you had them betray my confidence?’

Again, Rust said nothing.

The Patrician smiled.

More of Vimes’ body tensed.  All of this felt like build-up, and the tension was starting to become so thick that Vimes could practically chew on it.

‘I’ll tell you, shall I?’ said Vetinari.  ‘A year and seven months.  You must pay handsomely for a member of my staff to turn information to you, your Lordship.’

‘I…,’ was all that Lord Rust could manage.  His popping eyes flitted down for a moment, and he suddenly felt very exposed, standing on the table in full view of everyone.

‘Or you would pay handsomely,’ said Vetinari.  ‘Had you not squandered the last remnants of your family’s fortunes some years back.’

Eyes now darted from Vetinari to Rust and back again.  Lord Rust had just enough presence of mind to look almost affronted.

‘How…?’ he managed to croak.

‘Oh, come now, your Lordship,’ said Vetinari, smoothly.  ‘It really was rather foolish of you to think that anything could happen in this city without me finding out about it.’

Rust’s eyes resumed their resemblance of a frog that was being squeezed a bit too tightly.

‘I am sure there are many people in Ankh-Morpork who think that they are being clever enough to �" what’s the phrase �" “get one over on old Vetinari,” but I assure you that anyone thinking such a thing is only doing so because I allow them to.’

Rust tried to moisten his lips wish his tongue, but it was no use.  It felt like he was dragging sandpaper over yet more sandpaper.  He felt hot and cornered.  His brow was prickling with sweat.  But the Patrician remained maddeningly unruffled, just as he always did.

Vetinari looked up at Lord Rust and raised an eyebrow.

‘And this extends even to you, your Lordship,’ said the Patrician, almost matter-of-factly.  ‘Really, ten out of ten for effort, but if you needed money so badly why did you not simply ask?’  Vetinari knew full well that the proud old aristocrat would pursue all other avenues before going cap-in-hand to another for charity, even if it was so far as to attempt to blackmail him.  Despite Lord Rust feeling wholly overwhelmed and more and more like a trapped animal with every passing second, his ingrained sense of indignancy could not fail to rise to this.

He spluttered as if he were choking on his sherry.

‘Well…I never…’ was all he managed to blurt out, his expression a mask of the most refined affront, before the Patrician raised his finger to indicate that he had not, in fact, finished.

‘But of course, that is not your way, is it, your Lordship?’  Vetinari placed his hands behind his back again and continued.  ‘The lengths you have gone to conceal the hard times you have fallen on would be impressive, were they not so utterly depressing and pitiful.  I take no pleasure in seeing one of the citizens under my charge suffer unnecessarily, but I am afraid that I really must draw a line at this level of deceit and dishonesty.  And you not even a member of the Thieves’ Guild either, your Lordship.’

The Patrician then turned his attention away from Lord Rust and faced the assembled partygoers, who were a veritable tableau of agog faces and curious expressions.

‘There are some amongst you, ladies and gentlemen, who have received letters from my office.  Perhaps you have those letters about your person this very evening.  Perhaps not.’  At this, one or two people in the crowd produced pieces of paper from within jackets or pulled them out of purses.

The Patrician nodded, and then continued.

‘For those of you not in the know, our unfortunate Lord Rust here targeted not just me in his endeavours to rebuild his fortune, but others amongst the city’s more affluent individuals.’  Vimes looked out into the assembled crowd and noted a few frowns and angry faces amongst the sea of curiosity and confusion.  Harry King was massaging his knuckles on his beringed fingers with a menacing air, and Lady Selachii �" gods, was the old fool desperate enough to go after them? �" was looking at Lord Rust as if trying to decide which bit of him to dissect first.

The Patrician continued.

‘Now, it may surprise Lord Rust �" or perhaps it won’t, I am not sure �" that were it not for me, this issue would have been culminated with definite finality some weeks prior.  I do not believe that the other targets of this programme of blackmail knew for certain who was behind it, but if there is one thing that I wish Lord Rust to take away from this is that he is only standing there, living and breathing such as he is, because, again, I have allowed it to be so.  I have even heard from Chrysoprase that he himself was attempted to be extorted.’  There was an intake of breath from many corners of the room.  Chrysoprase’s reputation as the godfather of the troll underworld was well-known, and if the thought of someone trying to blackmail Havelock Vetinari sounded like lunacy, then trying it on Chrysoprase was nothing short of lunacy turned up to eleven.  Vetinari had the trappings of a civic leader and head of state to consider when conducting his business, Chrysoprase did not.  It was becoming clearer to the audience just how desperate Lord Rust was.

And, if that had left anyone unconvinced, what Rust did next left no one in any doubt whatsoever.

Lord Rust effectively committed suicide.

Something inside him seemed to snap, and after taking a rapid and manic look around the room, he sprang from the table with an agility that belied his advanced age and made for Clarence.  The people at the front of the crowd stepped back, and the members of the Watch who were present tensed at his sudden movement.  Vimes’ fists clenched, and he readied himself for a fight, or a chase, or both.  Captain Angua had hold of the slit in her dress, ready to make it more possible to move, as the situation may dictate.  Captain Carrot moved slowly but steadily amongst the people, begging their pardons as he did so.

The knife was at Clarence’s throat before anyone knew that Rust even had it.

‘Rust!’ shouted Vimes.

‘Quiet!’ hissed Rust, the maddest of glints in his eye.  Clarence stood stock still and looked at his father.  He didn’t even seem to be breaking a sweat.  That seemed to infuriate Rust even more.  He pressed the blade of the knife even harder to the young man’s throat.

‘Stop!’ said Vetinari, taking a step forward and reaching out a hand.  His face showed genuine concern, even love.

‘Got you now, haven’t I?’ spat Rust.  ‘You’ve stopped me from reclaiming what is rightfully mine, so in turn I will take away what is most dear to you!’

The Patrician lowered his arm and stood, looking at his son’s captor.

‘Don’t be a fool, your Lordship.’

Rust grinned.

‘The foolish thing was to put my trust in a Vetinari,’ he said, putting as much derision in the name as he could.  ‘I should have known that I could never fully trust a son of yours!’

‘A son of ours.’

It happened faster than anyone in the room could have seen.  Even Angua.

One second she was not there, the next she was.

Lady Margolotta had her hand to Lord Rust’s throat, her teeth bared.  It was common knowledge what Lady Margolotta was, but it was never spoken of in polite conversation.  So, to see this normally refined woman �" the epitome of quiet grace and elegance �" flashing viciously in the eyes and baring terrifyingly in the fangs, was to many a truly horrifying sight.  Vimes, still tensed for action, looked at her hard, wondering how many people he could save, or how many he would lose, if Lady Margolotta decided to drop all pretence and savage the lot of them.  He cast a sideways glance at Captain Angua, and he could see that she was tensed even more than he was.  The muscles in her legs were bunched and her stance was that of preparing to pounce.  Her steely eyes were fixed on the woman now making Lord Rust go rigid with terror.

He knew what she was, too.

Against the point of the knife, Clarence smiled.

‘Poor move, Rusty,’ he said, smugly.

‘Be quiet.’  It was Lord Vetinari who spoke.  Vimes’ head whipped round to look at the Patrician, who was standing stock still.  He looked tense, too.  Gone was the air of coolness that Lord Vetinari had perfected, replaced instead with a hardness in the face and a stiffness in the body.  He frowned at the scene in front of him.

The three of them �" Clarence, Lord Rust, and Lady Margolotta all looked at him.  Clarence was still grinning in a decidedly self-satisfied way.

‘Wipe that silly smile off your face,’ said Vetinari, sternly.

Clarence did so.

The Patrician looked past his son to Lady Margolotta.

‘My lady,’ he said, the tiniest note of pleading in his voice.  ‘Don’t.’

Lord Rust whimpered as the iron grip of Lady Margolotta stayed fixed around his now clammy throat.

She did not take her eyes off Lord Rust �" her prey �" as she spoke.

‘He dares to threaten our child!’ she hissed.  ‘In my home!’

‘I know,’ said Vetinari.  ‘But let me deal with him.’  At this, Lady Margolotta shot a look to the Patrician that would have sent anyone else screaming and blubbering to the floor.  But he remained steadfast.

‘You?’ she said, almost mockingly.  ‘What will you do that I cannot?’

‘Forgive him,’ said Lord Vetinari.

It was like a huge bell that tolled silence had been struck in the very centre of the ballroom.  Eyes, many disbelieving, were fixed on Lord Vetinari, a man not famed for his powers of forgiveness.

But his face showed nothing but sincerity.

Lady Margolotta’s, however, looked shocked.  Shocked and affronted.  She increased the pressure on Lord Rust’s throat another foot-pound or so.

‘Release him,’ she said, icily.  Lord Rust had completely forgotten himself.  He still had his arm raised and the knife was hovering inches from Clarence’s throat.  His bulging eyes swivelled downwards, took in what he was doing, and his fingers snapped open, the knife falling to the floor with a clatter.  He released his other arm as well, the one that had been holding Clarence in place, and snapped both arms by his sides, still locked in Lady Margolotta’s vice-like grip.  Now free, Clarence stepped forward and turned to face Lord Rust.  He opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off.

‘Clarence, come here.’  There was no suggestion of Lord Vetinari not being obeyed, and with a smirk, Clarence turned on his heel and walked over to stand next to his father.

Vimes noted just how much they looked alike now that he was able to get a proper look at them.

Lady Margolotta let go of Lord Rust and he practically fell to the floor, his body deflating after being wound like a spring for such an extended period.  Lady Margolotta stepped past him and began to walk over to where Lord Vetinari was standing.  Halfway there, she turned and looked directly at Lord Rust.

‘Don’t move,’ she said, fiercely.

Rust did not move.  At all.

Lady Margolotta approached Clarence and Lord Vetinari with a frown creasing her perfect brow.

‘Don’t do this,’ said the Patrician, looking deeply into Lady Margolotta’s eyes.  Clarence at least had the good sense to let his parents have this moment, all cocksureness gone from his demeanour.  It was, after all, the first time that he had been in both of their presence at the same time.  He looked from one to the other, drinking it in.

‘What this man has done,’ said Lady Margolotta.  ‘Is unforgiveable.’

‘I’m sorry, but you’re wrong,’ said Lord Vetinari, quietly.

‘What?’  The word snapped out of Lady Margolotta’s mouth like a whip-crack.

‘Please, think,’ said the Patrician, still speaking calmly and quietly.  ‘If you kill him now, in front of all these people, in front of the City Watch, what will your defence be?’

‘Defence?’  Again, Lady Margolotta sounded as if she almost found the situation amusing.

‘Yes, defence,’ said the Patrician.  ‘You are, of course, always welcome in my city, as a guest, as a dignitary, even as the woman I love.  But I will not stand here and allow you to become a fugitive.’  Lady Margolotta looked at Vetinari for a second, and then she cast her eyes towards Vimes and Angua.  She looked back to Vetinari before speaking again.

‘You would set your dogs on me?’  At this, Vimes laid a warning hand on Angua’s arm.  Whether Lady Margolotta meant this as an insult to the werewolf in the room he didn’t know, but the last thing anyone needed was a vampire and a werewolf tearing into each other.  Angua flinched at Vimes’ touch and snapped her gaze to him.  For the briefest of moments, Vimes thought she was going to strike.  He moved back an imperceptible amount but held his gave on his Captain.  He felt her relax ever so slightly, and she did nothing more.

The Patrician too had looked to where Vimes and Angua were standing.  He then looked back to Lady Margolotta.

‘Yes,’ he said, simply.

Lady Margolotta took a step back, as if Lord Vetinari had just slapped her in the face.  When she didn’t say anything, he continued.

‘The law is the law, my dear.  I can no more allow it to be circumvented by you than I can by me, or anyone.’

‘But he…’ said Lady Margolotta, pointing a pale finger to where Lord Rust sat, bedraggled, on the ballroom floor.

‘Will be dealt with, of that you can be sure.’  Lord Vetinari never broke eye contact, never wavered in his steady tone.

‘But…’

‘Tell me, my lady, how go vampire relations currently?  What is the general mood, out there?’  Lord Vetinari swept his arm to indicate the wider world.

The question seemed to confuse Lady Margolotta, as her frown returned.

Lord Vetinari continued.

‘I hear good, and I pride myself on being a relatively well-informed man.  So, how would it look if you were to tear out Lord Rust’s throat here and now?’  At this, Lord Rust could be heard whimpering.  Someone in the crowd whispered �" a little louder than necessary �" that he had probably wet himself.

‘Or even if you were to drag him off,’ said Lord Vetinari, continuing.  ‘And do what you would to him in some darkened corner or recess of your stately home, people would know.’

Lady Margolotta resumed some of her normal self and addressed this point.

‘What do I care what people think?  This man has insulted our collective honour!’

Lord Vetinari sighed.  It was small, but it was there.

‘You should care,’ he said.  ‘As an ambassador to your country, and to your kind, you should most definitely care.  What are we if we stoop as low as those who seek to wrong us?’

But you,’ said Lady Margolotta, no small amount of accusation in her voice.  ‘I have seen how you rule.  You rule through fear.  That is just as bad!’

One of Lord Vetinari’s eyebrows went up.

‘Do you really think so?  I may be somewhat lax in quashing the rumours that circulate this city as to my methods, but kill indiscriminately?  No.  That is no way to rule.  That is no way to act.’

At this, Lady Margolotta flushed anew.

‘Who are you to tell me how I should act?’

The ruler of the city you are in, I am afraid.  But, more importantly, I am the father of your child and the man you love.  So, I ask you, my lady, as all three of those men, please, don’t do this.’  Silence rang out between the two, and Lady Margolotta looked into the eyes of Lord Vetinari.  She could kill him, kill them all, with terrifying ease �" well, maybe not so the werewolf �" but he knew her.  She was no monster.

Eventually, her expression softened, and she bowed her head slightly.

It was done.

‘Very well,’ she said, quietly, and with a touch of hurt in her words.  The room seemed to fill with air again, as if someone had lifted an enormous bell jar from over the ballroom.  Vimes took in the moment and stepped forward, determined that the law was going to take charge from this point.

‘Captain Angua,’ he said, authoritatively.  ‘Take Lord Rust into custody on charges of blackmail, grand larceny, conspiracy to commit grand larceny, and attempted murder.’  Angua strode forward, casting a wary glance at Lady Margolotta as she did so, and hauled the aged lord to his feet.  He did not resist at all, but allowed himself to be led, head hanging low, from the room.

He looked exhausted.

Once Lord Rust was safely out of the room, Commander Vimes turned back to face the trio of Lord Vetinari, Lady Margolotta, and their apparent son.

The thief.

Vimes frowned.

‘I want answers,’ he said, sternly.  ‘And I want them now.’  His steely gaze moved between the three of them.

‘And you shall have them,’ said Lord Vetinari, as calmly as ever.  ‘Tomorrow.’

Vimes blinked.

‘I’m sorry, what?’

‘I said, Commander, that you shall have the answers you seek tomorrow.’

Vimes’ frown intensified.  He knew that he was treating with his boss �" with everyone’s boss �" but the law was the The Law, and Vimes’ career had not been spent flying this flag to have it trampled on by the mere whim of one man, no matter who he was.

Lord Vetinari made to leave the proceedings, but Vimes stepped in front of him, barring his way.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot allow you to leave.  Not yet.’  The Patrician looked at Vimes, but instead of the dreaded eyebrow raise there was simply a man.  A father.  When Vetinari spoke again it was with uncharacteristic humility.

‘My dear Commander, you have my word, one father to another, that all will be revealed in due course.  Clarence will not leave my side, and he will be present when you report to me at nine AM tomorrow morning.  My office.’

‘But…’ Vimes tried to interject.

‘In the meantime, though,’ said Vetinari, cutting across him.  ‘I ask that you allow me this evening to enjoy the company of my son, a luxury that you enjoy daily, and one that I have not had these past eighteen years.’

Vimes looked at the man standing in front him of, and perhaps for the first time he saw not Lord Vetinari, Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, but Havelock Vetinari, the man.  Just a man, asking to be permitted time with his son.  He thought of his own son, of Young Sam, and his insides squirmed unpleasantly.

He couldn’t do it.

Vimes stepped aside.

‘Thank you, Sam,’ said Lord Vetinari, placing a hand on the Commander’s shoulders.  No one else heard it, but Vimes felt his mouth drop open upon being addressed by his first name.  The only other living person who ever called him Sam was his wife, and to be spoken to in such human tones by the Patrician was a sensation that his mind was simply not prepared for.

Sam Vimes stood there, not knowing what to do and what to think, as Lord Vetinari and Lady Margolotta left the ballroom with their son.

 

*           *           *