Part Seven - Father and Son

Nine AM the following morning saw Commander Samuel Vimes waiting outside of the Oblong Office, the first time he had ever been early to meet with the Patrician.

The door opened, and the head of Drumknott, Lord Vetinari’s senior clerk, poked out.

‘His Lordship will see you now.’  Vimes swept past Drumknott and entered the Oblong Office, his helmet under his arm, as usual.  He walked stiffly towards the same spot where he always stood when addressing the Patrician, but this time he did not fix his gaze on the patch of wall just behind the Patrician’s chair.  This time, Vimes looked Vetinari, and his son, square in their faces.

The Patrician was seated at his desk, as he always was, and Clarence was lounging on a sofa at the side of the room, looking like he owned the place.  Vimes resisted the urge to stride over and slap the smug look off his face.

It wasn’t easy.

The Patrician looked up as Vimes approached, and, seemingly reading his mind, he shot a look over at his son.

‘Get up, Clarence.  Show some respect.’  Clarence swung his legs on to the floor and walked idly over to stand behind his father’s chair.  He fixed Vimes with another smirk.

‘And you can take that look off your face as well,’ said the Patrician, without looking around.  ‘You are a Vetinari, and Commander Vimes is here on official Watch business.  Isn’t that so, Commander?’

Vimes was enjoying seeing Clarence being dressed down by his father so much that he had to mentally drag himself back to the here and now.

He cleared his throat and looked both men in the eye.

‘Yes, I do,’ he said.

‘Again, Commander,’ said Vetinari, smoothly.  ‘Your dedication to duty remains nothing short of exemplary.’

Vimes said nothing.  He still wanted answers, and he wasn’t going to let the Patrician dictate the terms of this engagement.

Not this time.

‘But thank you for allowing me yesterday evening,’ continued the Patrician.  ‘It meant a great deal.’

Damn!

Vimes looked at Lord Vetinari and, like the night before, saw only a man looking back.

‘It was nothing, sir,’ said Vimes.

‘It was not nothing,’ said Vetinari, meaningfully.  ‘You would have been perfectly within your rights, within the confines of the law that you so expertly uphold, to deny me my request.  It shall not be forgotten.’

Vimes blinked.  Despite his burning desire to finally get to the bottom of this whole affair, he mentally banked the fact that the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork essentially owed him a favour.  That could come in handy one day.

‘But, to business,’ said Vetinari.  ‘I am sure you have questions, Commander?’

‘Yes,’ said Vimes.  ‘Lots.’

‘Then please, sit,’ said Vetinari.

Vimes looked at the chair before him, the one that he had never sat in, and decided that today was the day.

So, he sat down.

Vimes’ helmet resting on his knees, Vetinari looked rather pleased, as if he had finally scored some little victory in the years-long chess game that the two men had never agreed to play but had gone head to head on nonetheless.  Vetinari cast a glance over his shoulder.

‘Clarence, you take the other seat, if you please.  This concerns you as well.’  Clarence walked around the desk and sat himself alongside Vimes, whose fists itched at being so close to the man who had run roughshod over him and the law.

With both men sat, facing Lord Vetinari, the Patrician gestured towards Vimes.

‘Where would you like to start, Commander?’

Where would he like to start?  Vimes had been turning the questions over in his mind on his way to the Palace that morning, but now that he had been given the floor his mind felt strangely blank.

But only for a moment.

Vimes looked at Clarence, and then Vetinari.

‘Why?’ was all he said.

‘Why what?’ asked the Patrician, in response.

‘Why let Rust think he had the upper hand over you?  And why drag your son into this?’

The Patrician sat back in his chair and rested his elbows on the arms.

‘Dear old Lord Rust was a desperate fellow, and desperate people often do stupid things.  He had forgotten, or perhaps underestimated, what you, Commander, took to be a given in your opening question, and that is nothing happens in this city that I am not aware of.’

Clarence made a small snort of laughter, and Lord Vetinari shot him another stern look before continuing.

‘The Rusts, as you well know, are one of the city’s oldest aristocratic families.  Not as old as say, the Ramkins �" my best to Lady Sybil, of course �" but certainly old enough to have acquired that oh so special dose of arrogance and stupidity that beleaguers the wealthy classes.’

Vimes’ fists balled again at the mention of his wife, as well the reminder that he himself was very much an aristocrat since marrying into clan Ramkin, but he stayed quiet.

Lord Vetinari continued.

‘Lord Rust, the last surviving member of his line, is a staunchly proud man, as I am sure you have experienced, but he is also a gambler.’

Vimes’ eyebrows went up involuntarily, and he cursed them for it because he knew that Vetinari would see, and comment.

Which he did.

‘Oh yes, terrible problem.  The poor chap would bet on anything, and, sadly, did, with decreasing success.  I believe you were at his estate quite recently, were you not?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Vimes.

‘No doubt you noticed the absence of certain items within his household?’

The mirror, thought Vimes.  That bloody great ugly mirror that used to hang above Lord Rust’s fireplace.

It was starting to make a bit of sense.

‘Yes, sir.  I did,’ Vimes replied.

‘All part of his unfortunate gambling addiction, I am afraid.  The last I heard, he had squandered what was left of the Rust family fortune and owed considerable sums to Crysoprase.’

‘And that’s why he started blackmailing you?’ asked Vimes, although it was clear what the answer was.  ‘To pay off his gambling debts?’

‘Not just me,’ said the Patrician.  ‘Other notable figures in the city as well.  Harry King, the Selachiis, anyone with money and something to hide.’

Which covers just about all of them, thought Vimes.

‘What did Rust have on the others?’ he asked.

Lord Vetinari raised an eyebrow.

‘My dear Commander, I cannot go about discussing the private affairs of fellow victims of this unfortunate incident.  I am afraid your enquiries as to Lord Rust’s other targets will have to be directed towards them.’

Vimes knew full well that the Patrician could discuss anything he pleased about anyone within his city.  He was just being difficult.  However, Vimes didn’t feel the moment called for him to press the matter.

‘And for you it was the fact that you had a son?’  Vimes cast a sideways glance at Clarence as he said this.  Gods, they really do look alike, he thought.

‘Quite so,’ said Vetinari, nodding.

‘But why keep Clarence a secret at all?’ asked Vimes.  ‘You essentially gave Rust the leverage on you that he needed.’

‘Commander Vimes, I am Patrician of Ankh-Morpork.  The city looks to me for guidance and leadership.  Although I understand you detest your title of Duke of Ankh and the duties it carries, you have held that position long enough now to understand the finely delicate game that is diplomacy.  Do you really think it wise for a man in my position to make public such a human a thing as succumbing to momentary weaknesses of the flesh?’

Both Vimes and Clarence winced slightly at the thought of Lord Vetinari being anything other than, well, Lord Vetinari.

It did not go unnoticed by the Patrician.

‘Think of me what you will, Commander,’ said Vetinari.  ‘But strip away all the mythos, all the stories, all the rumour, and I am but a man.  And, you have met Lady Margolotta.  Surely nothing more need be said?’  Vimes remembered that odd, thick feelings in his head when he had looked at Lady Margolotta, and that had been for just a second.  He had heard the rumours about her and Vetinari, of course, the whole city had.  But Vimes had always taken them to be just that, rumours.  But he was sat right next to living proof that where there was smoke there had clearly been fire.

Clarence cut in on the moment.

‘Father,’ he said, reproachfully.

Vetinari looked at his son.

‘Your Mother is a remarkably special woman, Clarence, as well you know.  But do not chastise me, please, for allowing myself to speak openly about the woman I love.  I have not had the opportunity to do so before, and quite frankly it feels rather nice.’

‘What I want to know, though,’ said Vimes, pulling the conversation back on track.  ‘Is how Clarence ended up working for Rust, and why he stole from you of all people.’

Lord Vetinari smiled, ever so slightly.

‘Oh, that’s quite simple,’ he said.

‘Yes?’ said Vimes when the Patrician didn’t continue.

‘It was my idea.’

Vimes was silent for a moment.

‘Yours?’

‘But of course.’  Lord Vetinari looked infuriatingly pleased with himself.

‘But why?’ was all Vimes could muster in the moment.

The Patrician smiled again.

‘As I said, Commander, nothing happens in this city that I do not know about.  Skeletons in the cupboard are all there for my perusal.  Take Lord Rust, for example.  I knew of his troubles before he made the unfortunate decision to underestimate me and attempt to extort money, and the moment I learned of the impending arrival of dear Clarence here, I knew that someone, at some time, would seek to use this information against me.’

At the mention of his son, Lord Vetinari looked at Clarence.  Vimes was still finding it difficult to process the Patrician as being human enough to be a father, and to see him looking on another person with genuine warmth in his eyes made Vimes irrationally nervous.

Lord Vetinari continued.

‘I had also long suspected that someone within the city �" some enterprising person or persons �" had placed one of their people within my staff.  Either that or they had paid sufficiently to turn one of my own.’

At this, Vimes turned in his chair to look over at Drumknott, who had remained by the door, ready to take any further instruction from the Patrician.

Lord Vetinari smiled.

‘Your suspicion of everyone and everything is a credit to you, Commander.  However, I am confident that there is not enough gold in all the Dwarf mines on the Disc that would tempt dear Drumknott to betray his position.’  The Patrician inclined his head towards his chief secretary, who bowed, quick and crisp.

‘And there never will be, my Lord,’ said Drumknott, dutifully.

Vimes turned back in his chair to face the Patrician again.

‘I faced somewhat of a quandary in that moment, though, Commander, I don’t mind admitting.  While I knew that someone would use my soon-to-be fatherhood against me, and while I had my suspicions as to whom, I needed to know exactly whom before I could act.  I reasoned that if I let things run their course, shall we say, that I would find out soon enough.  And I did.’

‘So, you let one of your own staff betray you just to find out who might blackmail you?’ asked Vimes.

‘Precisely,’ said Lord Vetinari, nodding slightly.  Even though Vimes was on duty, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what had happened to the offending employee.  He would have dragged the river, but in this icy weather he would have needed an army of trolls to hack the Ankh into pieces and lift it bodily out of the riverbed.

‘So, when did the blackmailing start?’ asked Vimes, keeping his mind on topic.

‘Oh, almost instantly,’ said Vetinari, with a lazy wave of his hand.  ‘It was really rather sloppy if you ask me.’

‘How so?’  Vimes shifted in his chair.

‘I am sure you are aware that there are any number of people in this city who believe that they could run it better than I.  Lord Rust was certainly amongst that number, and he seemed to enjoy nothing more �" save gambling, it transpires �" than telling me so, with regular correspondences.  You think the poor fool would have at least attempted to disguise his handwriting when he started sending me the blackmail notes.’

The Patrician smiled again, as if this was amusing, but Vimes frowned.

‘Wait, if you knew that it was Rust right off the bat, why didn’t you do something about it?  Why didn’t you report it to the Watch?’

Vetinari seemed to find this even more amusing.

‘Oh, come now, Commander, allow me some entertainment.’

Now Vimes was really frowning.

‘You let Rust blackmail you because you enjoyed it?’

‘Are you familiar with the old saying of “Give a man enough rope to hang himself…?”’

‘What?  Yes.  Why?’  Vimes felt like Vetinari was trying to side-track the conversation, and he was determined not to let him.

‘Well, that is what I was doing.  I was interested to see if it could be done figuratively as well.’

Vimes registered the thinly veiled reference to acts of lethal bodily harm and filed it away for another time.

‘And all this started before Clarence was born?’ asked Vimes, as he eyed the younger Vetinari sat next to him.

‘Indeed,’ said Vetinari.

‘And you’ve been paying him blackmail money all these years?’

‘I have.’

‘But why?’

At this, the Patrician rose from his chair and walked over to the large window that looked out over the city.  He stood, his back to Vimes and Clarence, his hands clasped lightly behind his back, just as he had stood the night he learned that he was to be a father.

‘You have heard me speak many times, Commander, of how this city works, yes?  Well, to reiterate, it works because it just does.  Because everyone within its walls, all the way from me to the admirably resilient Mister Dibbler and his curious ventures, plays their part.  Does their bit.  I paid Lord Rust who paid his debtors.  Or he gambled more with the money I paid him, either seems likely.  But what that represents, Commander, is capital circulating in the local economy.  I am, by most measures, a simple man.  My tastes rarely range to the extravagant, but I am embarrassed to say that the position of Patrician of the city does carry a rather significant salary.  It is written into our charter.  I had money to spare.  Lord Rust did not.  The route may have been somewhat circuitous, but vital funds found their way into the city.’

‘So, you condone blackmail because it’s good for the economy?’ asked Vimes, growing annoyed at what he felt was far too flippant an attitude towards crime by the man charged with running the city.

‘In this instance it proved useful.’

‘But…’ Vimes too rose from his seat, placing his helmet down on the chair as he stood to face the Patrician.

‘Fear not Commander,’ said Vetinari, turning around.  ‘I have no plans to legalise blackmail as I did thievery.  But, in blackmailing me about my son, Lord Rust gave me the reason I had been searching for to bring the fruit of my loins, when he was grown, to my city.’

Vimes looked at Vetinari, frowning.  He turned to look at Clarence, who continued to look nonplussed, and then turned back to look again at Vetinari.

‘Are you telling me,’ said Vimes, slowly.  ‘That you used Rust blackmailing you as part of a near two-decade long plan to bring Clarence to Ankh-Morpork?’

‘Quite so.’

It all felt so unnecessary, and Vimes was about to say so, when he remembered who he was talking to.

‘This has all been a game to you, hasn’t it?’ said Vimes, eventually, and rather quietly.

One of the Patrician’s eyebrows moved ever so slightly.

‘Not entirely,’ he said.

‘Then why go to all this trouble?’ asked Vimes.  He was starting to get agitated, especially at the thought that he had been involved in one of Vetinari’s little schemes that he seemed to concoct just to keep himself amused.  ‘Why not simply expose Rust, have him dealt with, and bring Clarence to Ankh-Morpork when he was of age anyway?’

Lord Vetinari smiled again.

‘Where would the fun be in that?’

Vimes stiffened.  He was not going to tolerate being party to a tyrant’s fancy and was about to speak his mind on the matter when the Patrician spoke again.

‘But, this has not all been without purpose, of course.’

Vimes took a breath.

‘And what purpose would that be?’ he asked, trying to remain calm.

‘Purposes, really,’ said Vetinari.  ‘Plural.’

‘Go on,’ said Vimes, feeling decidedly not in the mood for semantics.

‘Well, to out Lord Rust eventually, of course was one of them.  Despite how useful he proved to be; I could not allow him to blackmail me forever.  It was not a matter of the money; it was more the principle of the thing.’

The Patrician trailed off again, which was growing more frustrating to Vimes by the minute.

‘And the other purpose?’ he asked, irritably.

‘I had to wait for Clarence to be ready,’ said Vetinari.

‘Ready for what, to come to Ankh-Morpork?’

The Patrician nodded before continuing.

‘It was agreed that Clarence would remain in Überwald with Lady Margolotta.  There he would be raised and educated to the finest standards, and I was kept informed through regular correspondences.’  The Patrician looked over at his son and that unnerving softness stole over his expression again.  ‘I can assure you both that it was not an easy decision to make, necessary though it was.  But, it was also agreed that Clarence would travel to Ankh-Morpork once he had come of age.’

‘You say that Clarence working for Lord Rust was your idea, though?’ said Vimes.  ‘Did Lady Margolotta know what you had planned for him when he got to the city?’

‘Oh yes,’ said the Patrician.  ‘Lady Margolotta is not one to keep secrets from.’  Both he and Clarence smiled at this.

‘But wait,’ said Vimes, seizing on a thought that had just occurred to him.  ‘If Rust knew that you knew you had a son, how did Clarence end up working for him and Rust still think he had one over on you?’

‘That, Commander, was one of the fun parts,’ said the Patrician.

Fun?  Fun?  Vimes turned this over in his mind.  Lord Rust was facing several counts of blackmail and now one for attempted murder.  Fun wasn’t exactly the word that Vimes would have chosen.  He stayed quiet, though, to allow Lord Vetinari to elaborate.

‘It is here that Lord Rust made another fatal error, poor man.’  The Patrician certainly seemed to be enjoying recounting this for Vimes, and he leaned back in his chair slightly as he carried on.  ‘He clearly felt that simply knowing that I was to be a father would be enough leverage on me to suit his purposes.’  Here, the Patrician paused again and smiled, in that way that told Vimes he was enjoying a particular thought but not sharing it.

Vimes didn’t have time for that.

‘And why was that an error?’ Vimes asked.

Vetinari’s smile grew slightly before he spoke again.  Vimes didn’t think he had ever seen the man smile so much in the entire time that he had known him.  Granted, it looked like the kind of smile that sat behind a length of taut garrotte wire, but it was most definitely a smile.

‘It was an error, Commander,’ said the Patrician, softly.  ‘Because Lord Rust never bothered to learn the identity of the mother.’

Vimes looked at the Patrician, then Clarence, and back again.

‘You mean, he never knew that it was Lady Margolotta who…?’  Vimes’ voice trailed off as Lord Vetinari shook his head, ever so slightly.

‘It is another unfortunate truth about Lord Rust that as well as being a hopelessly addicted gambler, he is also quite the misogynist.’

Vimes’ eyebrows betrayed him again as they rose, but as soon as they did he realised that this wasn’t as surprising a piece of news as it initially felt.

‘I am afraid so,’ said Vetinari, sighing slightly.  ‘This may be the Century of the Anchovy, but you would never guess it with Lord Rust where women were concerned.’

‘He was always pleasant enough around Sybil,’ said Vimes, thinking back to any number of interminable social functions that Vimes had had to attend as part of his role as Duke of Ankh.

‘But of course he was,’ said Vetinari.  ‘To her face.’  Vimes bristled somewhat at the implication that someone had been bad-mouthing his wife behind her back, but he quickly remembered that Sybil was more than capable of taking care of herself, and if the proverbial had ever hit the fan, one stiff back-hand from Sybil and Rust would have been carrying his teeth home in his handkerchief.

‘But alas, he felt that his deplorably antiquated opinions on what he laughably referred to as “the weaker sex” were ones shared by all men.  It is interesting, Commander, how much a man will reveal of himself if he thinks that you agree with him.’

‘So, Rust didn’t know who the mother was when he started blackmailing you about Clarence?’ Vimes asked, pulling the conversation back to the matter at hand.

‘Quite so,’ said the Patrician, nodding again.

‘So, how did he end up with Clarence in his employ?’

‘Well, naturally, as soon as I started receiving the letters I informed Lady Margolotta promptly.  We have always kept in close correspondence, as the rumours about me abound, and obviously these correspondences only increased when we learned that dear Clarence was soon to be with us.’  Vetinari reached out and placed a hand on his son’s that made Vimes shift uneasily in his seat.  He felt again as if he were intruding on a decidedly private moment.

‘And how did Lady Margolotta take the news?’ Vimes asked.

‘You saw her last night,’ said Vetinari.  ‘Her reaction to our unborn son being used as leverage was much the same.  But, I am pleased to say, like last night, I was able to convince her to take a more, shall we say, level-headed approach.’

‘You mean you talked her out of ripping him limb from limb?’ said Vimes, remembering all too vividly the feral look that Lady Margolotta had taken on when her son had been threatened.

‘To put it bluntly,’ said the Patrician.

‘But, that still doesn’t explain why you continued to pay the blackmail for nearly two decades, and how Clarence came to be working for Rust.’

‘Like I said, Commander, I was able to persuade Lady Margolotta against her more, as you put it, limb-ripping course of action, and suggest something more beneficial to all.’

‘Which was?’  Vimes was really starting to feel like he was chasing his own tail in this conversation and it was starting to grate, noticeably.

‘Between the two of us, Lady Margolotta and I devised a plan in which, when the time was right, Clarence would make his way to Ankh-Morpork and seek out Lord Rust.  As you can see, there was little point in Clarence trying to act as though he didn’t know who his father was.  I am sure you can agree, Commander, that the resemblance is more than apparent.’  Lord Vetinari looked proudly at his son as he said this.  He was right, if you knew what Lord Vetinari looked like �" and anyone who had used a stamp to send a letter anywhere on the Circle Sea in the last several years would do, for the Patrician’s likeness graced the One Penny Ankh-Morpork stamp �" then meeting Clarence would be like meeting the Patrician’s younger doppelganger.

Lord Vetinari continued.

‘So, with no believable means of having Clarence seek out anyone within Ankh-Morpork and claiming not to know who his father was, it was decided that a certain degree of subterfuge was called for.  Clarence would play the part of the spurned son, telling a tale of woe and neglect to Lord Rust in order to gain his favour.  And it worked.’

Clarence looked proud as his father spoke.

‘What did you tell him?’ asked Vimes, directing his enquiry towards Clarence for the first time.  Clarence looked almost taken aback that he was being addressed.  He looked to his father, unsure if he should speak.

‘It is alright, son,’ said the Patrician, kindly.  ‘We are all on the same side here.’

Clarence cleared his throat and looked into Vimes’ hard face.

‘I made out,’ said Clarence, Vimes noting the definite Überwald edge to his voice.  ‘That father had never wanted any part of my life, my upbringing.  I had a whole story prepared, detailing years of being ignored, treated as a shameful secret, that kind of thing.  But, it turned out that I didn’t need any of it.’

‘How so?’ asked Vimes.

‘It became instantly apparent,’ said Lord Vetinari, cutting in.  ‘That Lord Rust was so desperate to find a way out of the hole that he had dug himself into with his ever-mounting gambling debts, coupled with his aforementioned rigid belief that he and his fellow aristocrats could run this city far more efficiently than I, that he greedily seized upon the first opportunity that came his way, in his mind, to solve both problems.  Poor man.’

‘So, you got yourself in with Rust,’ said Vimes, keeping a mental track of proceedings.  ‘And then he had you stealing for him?’

‘Yes,’ said Clarence.  Despite his generally arrogant demeanour, Clarence seemed to be taking note of the respect that his father held for Vimes.  That, and the fact that the Commander of the Watch clearly wanted to throttle him made Clarence keep more of a lid on his usual swagger.

‘Stealing what, though?’ asked Vimes.  ‘Throughout all this �" and I can’t believe I’m even saying it �" I’ve been chasing a thief when I didn’t even know what was stolen.’

The Patrician smiled at this.

‘Information, of course.’

Vimes sat for a second, realising that he had been a bit of an idiot for not realising it sooner.  That made complete sense.  Rust’s money troubles clearly needed more attention than the quick fix of a simple burglary.  Steal a man’s fortune, and you have power over him only in that one moment.  Steal his secrets, and you have power over him always.

At least that’s how Vimes pictured Rust thinking about it.

‘But wait,’ said Vimes, surfacing from that particular thought.  ‘Rust had been blackmailing you since you learned that Lady Margolotta was pregnant (Vimes didn’t even think that vampires could get pregnant, but that was not a thread he wanted to pull on at this time).  Why did he need Clarence to steal from you if he already had information on you?’

‘Quite simply,’ said the Patrician.  ‘He got greedy.’

‘That’s it?’ said Vimes.

‘Pardon me, greedier.  Lord Rust clearly could not pass up the opportunity to see what other skeletons I had in my cupboard, so he set Clarence to work.  I really could not have planned it better myself.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I said to you earlier, Commander, that it was agreed between Lady Margolotta and myself that Clarence would be permitted to travel to Ankh-Morpork when he was ready.  By that, I mean when he had been educated and trained to the required level.’

‘Trained?’  Vimes was certain that he didn’t like the thought of Überwald turning out cunning and efficient thieves and setting them loose in his city.

Again, the Patrician smiled.

‘You have seen him at work, have you not?’ he asked, knowing full well that Vimes had indeed been unsuccessful in chasing Clarence down before.

‘Yes,’ said Vimes, through gritted teeth.

‘Well, there you are then,’ said Lord Vetinari, as if this explained the matter.  ‘I had, of course, been kept updated as to Clarence’s progress throughout his life, but that was no substitute for seeing him in action, so to speak.  I hear he gave you quite the run-around.’

The urge to smack Clarence in the face was returning to Vimes’ mind with alarming speed.

‘Yes, he did,’ said Vimes, teeth still firmly gritted.

‘Come come now, Commander,’ said Lord Vetinari, in an almost schoolteacher-like way.  ‘I fully appreciate how frustrating it must have been not to be able to catch Clarence, but really you should be thanking me.’

Vimes’ glare whipped to the Patrician as if he had just said something unpleasant about his mother.

‘Thanking you?’  Vimes wanted to be sure that he had heard correctly, and that his ears weren’t simply playing tricks on him, egging the rest of him on for a fight.

‘Quite so,’ said Vetinari, calmly.  ‘Having someone with skills as finely honed as Clarence will no doubt be of great benefit.’

‘To whom?’ asked Vimes, determined to stay angry, but unable to stop a tinge of confusion from colouring the edges.

‘Why, to you, of course,’ said the Patrician, smiling.

There was nothing for it, Vimes was completely lost.

‘What are you talking about?’ he said, nearly barking the words.

‘My dear Commander, you cannot possibly think that such time and effort has been spent on Clarence’s education and training simply to take down Lord Rust.  No no, that was merely a longstanding issue that needed clearing up.  The chief reason for Clarence coming to Ankh-Morpork was for him to get a job.’

Vimes frowned.  A job?  Doing what?  As the son of the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork and arguably Überwald’s wealthiest woman, surely Clarence wouldn’t need to work a day in his life, if he didn’t want to.  The wheels in Vimes’ mind started turning, though.  Clarence had shown noticeable skill as a thief, and his little display at the Assassin’s Guild showed him proficient with camouflage and concealment.  Vimes disliked both prospects of the Clarence joining either the Thieves’ Guild or the Assassin’s Guild; he felt he was a little too good for both, and that could spell a litany of headaches for the Watch.

The Watch!

No, thought Vimes.

They wouldn’t dare.

Vimes looked hard at the Patrician.

‘You don’t mean…’ he began.

Lord Vetinari nodded, ever so slightly.

‘Commander, may I present to you your newest recruit.’  At this, Clarence stood up and snapped himself to attention.  Despite himself, Vimes couldn’t help but think that Carrot would be impressed with the lad’s snapping to.

But, Vimes was also dumbfounded.

They were daring, very much so.  Several seconds stretched out into what felt like aeons while Vimes tried to process what he’d been told.  Eventually, he found his voice.

‘You…want to join the Watch?’ he said, speaking to Clarence.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Clarence, staring fixedly ahead, as if he were on parade.

‘He…wants to join the Watch?’ Vimes asked, this time speaking to the Patrician.

‘He does.  Very much,’ said Vetinari.

‘But…he stole.  He ran from the Law.’  Vimes privately added, in his mind, that Clarence had also made him look and feel a fool, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud, especially given his current company.

‘Yes, he did,’ said Vetinari.  ‘But, on my orders, of course.’

‘So, this…this is what the training was for?’

The Patrician nodded.

Vimes couldn’t think.  In the entire time that he had been aware of Clarence’s existence he had considered him an enemy, a lawbreaker, someone he needed to catch and bring to justice.  And now, in a mere moment, he was expected to take him on as one of his own.

Vimes looked again at the Patrician and Clarence, swivelling his eyes between the two men.

He had no choice.  He wanted to have a choice.  He wanted to tell Vetinari, and his son, where they could stick it, and he was prepared to draw them a diagram.

The lad was good, though, it had to be said.  Vimes hated himself for admitting that, but it was unavoidable.  Say what you wanted about the Vetinaris, but they were clearly good at what they did, when they put their minds to something.

Vimes sighed.

He really did have no choice.

He looked at Clarence.

Sod it, he thought.

Vimes walked forward and, without a word, punched Clarence square on the nose.  The younger Vetinari staggered back and fell clumsily on to his backside, bringing his hand up to his face as he fell, while the elder Vetinari rose from his chair, tense and suddenly alert.

Vimes stood over the fallen Clarence and regarded him for a second.

He then held out his hand to help the young man up.

‘Pseudopolis Yard.  Daybreak.  Tomorrow.  Don’t be late.’  The Patrician visibly relaxed and removed his hand from where it had shot to on the underside of his desk.  Later that day, Vimes would have time to contemplate how much of his life he had taken into his own hands by striking the Patrician’s only son, but in the moment it felt glorious.

Despite his bleeding nose, Clarence was still able to snap to another textbook attention.

‘Yes, sir,’ he said, thickly.

‘And if you ever pull any of that stuff on me again,’ said Vimes, standing almost nose to nose with Clarence.  ‘I’ll have your guts for garters.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I mean it, lad.  I don’t care who your father is, if you’re going to be in the Watch then you’ll toe the line like everybody else.  No nicking stuff, no dressing up like bloody assassins and beggars.  Not unless I tell you to for a case.  You hear me?’

‘Yes, sir.’  Clarence’s gaze flitted to his father for a moment, and then back again.

Vimes turned smartly on his heel and began to walk out of the Oblong Office.

‘Oh, Commander,’ said Lord Vetinari.

Vimes stopped and turned around.

‘Yes, sir?’ he said.

‘Don’t be too hard on the boy.  After all, he was only guilty of two of things you so thoroughly admonished for just now.’

‘What…’ Vimes began.

Then, the Patrician coughed.  Or, it sounded like a cough at first.  After a second, though, Vimes realised that what Lord Vetinari had in fact said was “Buggrit!’

No!

‘It…was you impersonating Foul Ole Ron?’

‘It was,’ said Vetinari, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Silence, again, for a moment that felt like a lifetime.

‘But…why?’ Vimes asked, almost pleading on the second word.  With everything else he had to deal with from the Patrician, this really was too much.

Lord Vetinari smiled.

‘Permit me some fun in life, Commander.  It was so enthralling to see Clarence at work that I admit to succumbing to temptation to join the fray, as it were.  And, it provided an excellent opportunity to conduct an informal inspection of your Watch House.  You run a tight ship, Commander.  I applaud you.’

Vimes felt his hand ball into a fist again.  He wondered whether he could live through the day if he punched out two Vetinaris.

Probably not.

‘Yes, sir,’ he said, before leaving without another word.

Commander Samuel Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch left the Patrician’s Palace that day with a new recruit, some bruised knuckles, and a burning desire for the mother of all bacon sandwiches, complete with as many crunchy bits as humanly possible.

Sod it.

 

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