Work Text:
Vetinari says, Oh how infinite are the capabilities of mankind.
Vimes snarls, You mean they’re being bloody stupid.
-
The crown of Ankh-Morpork is gold. It’s possibly the only gold left in the city that isn’t attached by nails and pliers and rope to whatever it is that it originally belonged to.
When the brass has been stripped off of the Brass Bridge you know what kind of city you are dealing with.
Yet the crown is made of gold and in it are precious stones. To Vimes they almost look fake. The emeralds and rubies and sapphires all remind him of his sister’s costume jewellery that she would get out for special occasions. Which, on Cockbill street, means funerals. So they remind Vimes of costume jewellery and death. Fake things and death.
But the diamond is very real. Vetinari once explained its origins. Up in the Lancre mountains a dwarf found it, naturally. It was declared to be the most perfect diamond ever discovered to date. And it was perfect. Perfectly perfect. Men and women from all over the disc – specialists, con artists (another term for specialist), historians, artisans, and more – all looked at it. Inspected it. Turned it over and over and over like a bad thought and all declared it perfect. The dwarfs wanted to keep it but the King of Ankh, someone with a name beginning with a W, wanted it and so drove the dwarves to bankruptcy (the only time in history this has ever happened) and offered to buy the diamond off of them.
They sold.
So the perfect diamond was cut and fitted into the centre of the Crown of The Kingdom of Ankh.
Vimes had replied to this monologue of a story, ‘Well, I never did like perfect things, sir.’
‘No,’ Vetinari had said. ‘No, you never have, commander.’
-
Carrot asks, a bit indignant if Vimes was asked his opinion, ‘Who is this William and how is it that he was crowned king?’
Murmured answers.
Vimes wants to ask, ‘Why? Did you think it was going to be you?’ Instead he shrugs, ‘We had a dragon for a while. It’s Ankh-Morpork, we like to put crowns on things that don’t deserve crowns. But then, that’s only something you know if you’re from Ankh-Morpork.’
He leaves the room.
It is silent and there could have been a pin dropping that would have been an explosion.
-
Vetinari is made a private citizen and appears to be amused by this.
‘Once a patrician you can never be a private citizen.’ He is straightening things on his desk and Vimes, standing before it, wants to stare over the man’s left shoulder but it isn’t the Oblong Office and now, technically, Vimes is the superior between the two of them.
Some things are etched in stone. Their relationship is one of them.
‘Sit down, Vimes.’ It sounds tired.
But then stone smooths, fades and vanishes with time and water and the pressure of the world around it.
They are smoothing rumpled edges, torn and frayed and left in tatters. Only neither is as gentle as water and time. More abrupt, forceful, both of them forces of nature – only in different ways.
‘What will you do now, sir?’
‘And you don’t have to use the sir anymore.’
They’re staring at each other.
Vetinari continues, ‘I thought I’d pick up the family business. Save it from itself. I have a distant cousin who’s been running it these past years – he’s been doing a terrible job.’
‘But he didn’t break it.’
‘No.’
‘What are you going to do about him?’
‘We will see.’
Vimes remarks, as he leaves, ‘I suppose I can’t punch the wall outside your door anymore.’
And Vetinari laughs.
Vimes thinks it’s probably the first time he’s ever heard the man laugh in an unguarded way. He walks around the city and smokes aggressively.
-
The King is no more than a boy. Eighteen with dark eyes and a smile that is guileless but he clearly trying to craft into something knowing.
The boy-king asks, ‘What were my predecessor’s plans for the city?’ He shifts in his seat, adjusts the crown, fiddles with the hem of his robes.
Such a child. It makes Vimes wonder what Sam will be like when he grows up. Sam who has his mother’s wit and hair and eyes and his father’s obstinacy and bloody-mindedness. It was a dangerous mix. It made Vimes worry but then he reminded himself that the boy was only nine and so too young to worry about yet.
The boy in front of him is technically no longer a boy expect that he fidgets and is very keen and eager when asking for advice.
‘I couldn’t say. He never confided in me.’
‘I hear that’s not true.’
Vimes shrugs.
‘Believe what you want. Your majesty.’
The king glances around and the courtiers, that is the nobles of Ankh-Morpork who are suddenly eager to wait hand and foot on the new leader, shift towards the walls.
‘I want you to be frank with me, your grace. I feel that we could make a good team, you and I, but that will only work if you are frank with me.’
‘Your majesty.’ He gives a jerk of his head that the boy has graciously allowed to be considered a bow. ‘Where does frankness end and impertinence begin?’
‘Better. Now, what were the patrician’s plans? I heard he was an excellent ruler, one of the best this city has seen.’ He pauses. He is shifting again and finally leans forward and says, ‘I’ll have a private council with you in the Oblong Office.’
-
Vimes had wanted to correct the king.
This is a factually incorrect statement: “I heard he was an excellent ruler, one of the best this city has seen.”
This is a factually correct one: “I heard he was an excellent ruler, the best the city has ever seen and ever will see.”
-
The Oblong Office looks no different from when Vetinari had occupied it. How long ago was that? Four months. Four months and two and a half weeks.
‘Your majesty.’ Vimes says as the boy sits in Vetinari’s chair. He is so small compared to the high backed seat. It had made Vetinari seem more imposing. It makes the king look young.
‘Please,’ the boy whispers. ‘What would you recommend me to do? I don’t know what I’m doing. I trust you, I don’t know why but I do. Please, help me.’
‘You wanted frankness.’
‘Yes!’
‘Well, Ankh-Morpork and kings don’t get on very well. Worse than Ankh-Morpork and Patricians.’
‘Please.’
He wears a similar look Sam has when actually scared of something. That Sam had when Sybil had been-
‘I think he was focusing on modernizing the infrastructure. We’re an ancient city and the roads can’t support the amount of people we have now. I think he was going to do something about that. Lipwig would know more.’
‘The banker?’
A nod. He is staring over the king’s right shoulder.
The king considers this. He frowns then murmurs, ‘where would I get the money?’
‘Taxes.’
‘No one pays them.’
‘I do.’
The laugh and smile are both sharp and sweet. The king tries to contain a giggle. He says something like, Yes, you’re the model citizen. Or so says the memo my predecessor left me.
‘What else did he say?’
It’s fished out from an inner pocket of the robes, ‘it says a few things, just about how the palace ought to be run, that the University and the Palace have a Special Relationship (though I’m not sure what it is), that you’re a model citizen, and that I should wear a crown without wearing a crown because Ankh-Morpork tends to take crowns from heads when bored. Usually the head accompanies the crown.’
‘Well, there you go.’
‘My advisor says I shouldn’t pay any attention to it. That as king I should make Ankh-Morpork the greatest kingdom the disc has ever seen. Like it was during the Pax.’
‘An ambitious man.’
When Vimes leaves he sees a shadow in a shadow and wonders when the advisor had trained at the assassins guild and if he knew Vetinari. Those sorts all know each other, don’t they? Old boys club and all.
-
‘He wants to know where you would get the money to modernize the infrastructure of the city.’
Vetinari is inspecting the Watch House and the officers look nervous. Even without power he still oozes power. That steady, heavy weighted presence. The officers whisper amongst themselves, sometimes, when they think Vimes can’t hear them. They wonder what the Patrician is playing at. When will he turn his trick and be Patrician again.
Some of the officers are sixteen, seventeen. They grew up with Vetinari has Patrician. They’ve never known anything else.
‘The Vetinari family bank is always ready to make a loan, should the king need it.’
He is reorganizing Cheery’s filing behind the desk. Vimes is watching and uncertain.
‘How were you going to do it?’
‘The same way I’ve been doing it.’
‘Which is?’
Vetinari looks up,‘I repeat my offer to his majesty.’
Vimes snarls, later that day, as he stalks into Vetinari’s office. ‘You bloody bankrolled the city!’
‘I did mention we have a tax collection issue.’
‘Why didn’t you fix it?’
‘I was going to. Clearly I was interrupted.’
They stare. Vimes points at Vetinari and says, ‘you, you, you person.’
He slams the door instead of punching the wall. He feels that the effect is somehow not the same.
-
Vetinari arrives the next day around lunch.
‘How is his majesty?’ He asks as he begins neatening Vimes’ desk. Vimes sits back, puffs on his cigar, and watches.
‘You’re a strange man.’
‘I’m aware. How is his majesty?’
‘Why do you keep coming around? It makes the men nervous.’
A perfectly innocent look appears on Vetinari’s face. ‘Oh, I am sorry. Why ever are they nervous?’
Vimes blows out smoke. The innocent look is maintained.
‘You’re the man with the scorpion pit.’
‘Oh,’ a blank smile. ‘That old rumour.’
‘What does that mean?’
The former patrician now Merchant-Banker just smiles.
-
The advisor reminds Vimes of Wonse which made his skin itch. He smiles the same oily smile. He is in black and has white-gold hair which is plastered to his head. It makes him look almost bald – combined with hawkish features it reminds Vimes of a lean and hungry animal.
‘His majesty is indisposed at the moment.’ He says when Vimes arrives. The man occupies the Oblong Office like a personal room.
‘Well, I will return when he is better.’
‘My lord.’
‘What?’
‘I am a lord. I should be addressed properly.’
Vimes smiles – bright and happy. ‘Very good, my lord. So long as you address me as Your Grace, the Duke of Ankh, Commander of the City Watch, we’ll get along splendidly.’
-
Carrot brings coffee to Vimes around tea time. He makes it perfectly so Vimes is fairly sure he asked Cheery how to make it.
‘It’s his apology.’ Vimes explains to Vetinari’s raised eyebrow. ‘And don’t you have somewhere important to be? Somewhere that’s not the watch house.’
‘My dear Vimes, after twenty years of running this city, managing a Merchant House and Discwide Bank takes only the morning hours. Unless I’m meeting my Genoan counterpart. He doesn’t wake up until midday.’
‘So you spend your spare hours here.’
Vetinari spreads his hands.
‘I could have you arrested for Loitering With Intent.’
The former patrician raises an eyebrow.
‘No, I don’t know what the intent is but I’m damn sure it’s there.’
Vetinari pats his hand and smiles that flashy brilliant one he saves for people like Lipwig and Gilt. ‘Excellent, commander. I’m glad to see you’re in top form.’
-
The advisor, who is still Wonse to Vimes only blonder and older, is sitting at the foot of the throne. Lounging would be a better word. Loitering.
Young Sam had met the king a few days earlier and had asked, ‘Daddy, why is he scared?’ And Vimes hadn’t had a reply. Because really, he hadn’t noticed. He had been too focused on the brilliance of the gold and the diamonds and the fake-real jewels to see anything else.
But now he sees it.
The boy underneath the crown.
‘Commander,’ the king greets. Vimes does the head-jerk-bow-thing. ‘I’m glad to see you.’
‘Your majesty.’
‘I was informed you kept your appointment with me the other day. My apologies I couldn’t make it, I was ill.’
The advisor is silk and says, ‘A king does not apologise to his subjects, your majesty.’
The boy looks uncomfortable. He is trying to build steel into his spine but finding it resistant. Vimes assumes that had the boy not been a king he’d probably make a decent copper. Coppers and kings. They do tend to go together.
‘I’m glad to see you feeling better. Your majesty.’
‘Anything to report?’
‘Nothing out of the ordinary.’ Except, Vimes wants to say. That there is a snake at your feet and it wants to strike and unlike your predecessor you can’t see it. And you haven’t built dungeons with the locks on the inside and you don’t know this city because you are not from this city. ‘I would have a word in private, your majesty.’
This starts the advisor who turns and is about to say something when the boy-king explains that anything the Commander could have to say could be said in confidence here.
‘Your majesty-‘
‘You heard the king.’ The advisor murmurs.
‘Your majesty.’ A terse nod. ‘Good day.’
He’s at the end of the hall the oil slicked voice comes back and says, lazily, ‘your grace.’ He doesn’t stop, he’s opening the door. ‘It would do you good to remember where your loyalties lie.’
Here he does turn. He stands at full attention and stares down the long stretch of carpet. The steep rise of stairs to throne. The silk and gold embroidered tapestries.
‘Oh I do,’ he says. Softly, but it carries. This room is made for sound to carry. Soft, deadly sound. ‘If you read the oath that the commander of the city watch takes you will know exactly where my loyalties lie.’
‘To the leader of the city.’ The advisor replies.
‘Exactly. The leader.’
-
‘I think I made an enemy today.’ Vimes greets when he finds Vetinari lounging in his office. ‘And take your feet off my desk. Only my feet are allowed on my desk.’
‘Another one? My, my you’ve been busy.’
‘The advisor to that child wants my head. I’m convinced. I bought curry, want some?’
Vetinari looks affronted. Vimes sighs and passes over naan but keeps the bowl of something obscenely spicy in front of him.
‘You’ve always had a knack for making enemies you ought not to make.’
‘Didn’t make one of you.’
‘Of course not. It takes two to make an enemy.’
Vimes humphs and tucks into his lunch. Vetinari nibbles on the bread and looks expectant. Vimes isn’t sure how he manages it. Looking expectant whilst clearly having no expression on his face. He gives in and sets the bowl aside.
‘He asked where my loyalties lie.’
‘Ah.’
‘I said to the leader of the city.’
‘Ah.’
‘Which means to the city, since the city leads the city.’
‘Quite. And there is that none-too-subtle difference between leader and ruler.’
‘I think he wants me dead.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘You’re not helping.’
Vetinari covers his mouth for a moment, looks up at the ceiling. Vimes wonders if the man has ever let anyone see him laugh other than by mistake.
‘I do apologize.’ Vetinari stands, neatens a pile of papers. It’s meant to be an absentminded things but nothing with him is ever absentminded.
-
The boy-king says, ‘My father named me William. He said it was a strong name.’
Vimes continues his stare over the boy’s right shoulder.
‘But when I was a boy everyone just called me Will.’ The boy-king William called Will fidgets. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever manage to fit the name William.’
‘I never managed to fit Samuel.’ He frowns. Is uncertain. ‘Most of us never fit the names we’re given.’
‘And if I can’t fit William how could I ever fit Your Majesty.’
The advisor, named Francis and called Lord Francis, is absent. The king has met him in the Oblong Office and is swamped by the chair, the no-longer neat desk, the robes, the crown, the everything.
‘If I may be blunt-‘
‘Please.’
‘Why are you king of a city you’re not from?’
The boy blinks. It’s owlish. Wide eyed, dark, and uncertain. ‘Oh, er, well, I’m the heir you see. I’ve got a birthmark and all…and a sword.’
‘Do you.’
‘Er, yes. Um, why?’
Vimes says, Oh nothing. He parts ways with the boy and wanders through the city smoking until his lungs no longer know what clean air is.
-
‘We have too many heirs running around.’ He grumbles. Vetinari has invited himself over to Vimes’ house and is rummaging through the Ramkin library. ‘I feel like Sybil would know about it more.’
‘Probably.’
‘How well did you know her?’
It’s twilight and Vimes feels he’s in the mood to reminisce. When the air is still and the city quieter than usual he sometimes feels like she is still with him. That she will walk in at any moment smelling of her mother’s perfume and looking beautiful. He’s never said that he misses her.
Vetinari stops, fingers lingering on the spine of a book and only says that they knew each other when they were young.
‘In the way that all nobles sort of know each other when we were young.’
‘Oh. I always thought you were friends.’
Vetinari shakes his head. A patrician doesn’t really have friends. It’s not conducive to a long life.
‘And now?’
Vetinari is still looking at the books, he is in profile and Vimes is reminded of old coins from the ancient kingdom of Ankh. The patrician has the perfect profile for being a patrician if not a king.
‘Now. Well.’ He pulls out a slim volume, thumbs through it. Vimes is watching and wondering what the paper feels like to the other man. If all paper feels the same. He remembers Sybil reading the book. She had said it was one of her favourites. ‘We’ll see.’
Vetinari leaves as silently as he came, but before he does he says, ‘I know.’
And Vimes thinks, But I never told you that I miss her.
And Vetinari is quiet, but is there, and murmurs, You didn’t have to.
-
Vimes asks Angua, Why can’t people kill off families properly? Afterwards he thinks, Maybe she’s the wrong person to ask.
She shrugs, Then we wouldn’t have a story to tell.
Carrot continues to bring him coffee at tea time. Vimes finally tells the younger man that it’s enough. Really. Stop. Please. Thank you.
-
It appears at first like a trick of the light. Will getting smaller. A little pale about the edges.
‘I’m doing well,’ he responds when Vimes asks. The commander doesn’t say anything.
-
Vetinari puts a thin blade down on the desk.
‘Who tried?’ Vimes asks.
‘Oh, no one in particular. You’re still on the “no kill” list.’
‘Oh?’
‘I checked. When I returned the poor boy to Downey.’
Vimes wants to ask if he was alive or not. He decides he’ll sleep better if he doesn’t. Instead, he pushes the half eaten curry take-out across the desk. He tells the other man to eat. Vetinari pokes at the meat and wonders allowed if it’s actually chicken or not. Vimes grumbles under his breath about Vetinari’s obnoxious eating habits.
In the end they finish it together.
-
The boy-king is ill for a week. Vimes sends the only doctor he trusts. Because he has to be seen doing something. Because of his last name and his nick-name and his ancestor's name.
The advisor tells him one morning – Oh that statue? “Stoneface Vimes” I believe?
‘Yes.’
‘It’s being taken down.’ He waits. Vimes shrugs. ‘Destroyed.’
‘Never much liked monuments myself,’ the commander replies. ‘How’s His Majesty?’
‘Mending, thank the gods.’
They stare at each other. The advisor is the one who ends the meeting.
-
‘I feel like your office is being polluted.’
‘It’s not my office anymore.’
‘Well. Still stands.’
-
There was a king of Ankh, years and years before the line that both William and Carrot claim to be from, who had said “Men are as changeable as the winds. Spend your days watching the foundation of your kingdom for it’s from the foundation that the revolt will come”.
-
Vimes notices that the trash isn't being picked up in a timely manner.
'It's on account of not being paid right.' John Prichard says. 'We've not been paid in two months, ye hear? Two months! The wife ain't pleased with it and I've little 'uns to look after.'
'I understand.'
'Course this wouldna happened under Vetinari. Say what you will 'bout him, at least we was paid on time.'
-
The king continues to be ill. Francis is meeting people in the Oblong Office. He is saying, I am only standing in until the King returns to full health.
Vimes remembers Vetinari explaining what a Patrician’s role is to a Klatchian ambassador. He had said, In effect, my lord, I am only standing in until the King returns.
‘Commander, there have been disturbances in the Shades.’ Francis looks pointedly at Vimes who is doing his damndest to not be rude.
‘There are always disturbances in the Shades.’
‘So I have been told. However, these seem to be more, ah, definitive in nature.’
‘We’ll do what we can.’
Francis stared. Vimes stared back.
‘I don’t think you understand me, commander.’
‘Do enlighten me. My lord.’
‘I want it put down-‘
‘We don’t have enough cells.’
‘See, commander, I wasn’t exactly talking about arresting them. It’s the Shades, I’m given to understand that accidents happen there.’
Francis waits for a reply and Vimes feels his jaw clenching to the point where his head is hurting. He fists are curled at his side. He is very, very still.
Each word is punctuated: ‘That is not the job of the City Watch.’
‘Commander-‘
‘Good day my lord.’
-
‘Gonna kill the bastard.’
‘Vimes-‘
‘Gonna pull a Snapcase and string him up by his figgen.’
‘Vimes-‘
‘No! I’m going to string him up from his figgen and his gizzard and stuff his spleen in his mouth and-‘
‘Vimes.’
‘What?’
‘Sit down.’
He does.
‘Good, now tell me exactly what Lord Francis said.’
Vetinari is quiet when Vimes finishes. He nods after a moment then says, softly, ‘Well. Something must be done about this.’
Vimes mutters, Finally.
Vetinari smiles. Sort of.
-
Downey is grinning when Vetinari explains the situation to him.
‘Oh I do miss revolutions.’
‘No you don’t.’
‘Well. Maybe not, but still.’
Vetinari watches as Downey snubs out a cigarette with a look that clearly says, Don’t Lecture Me About the Health Hazards.
‘Just Francis, then?’
‘Just him. Don't worry about the king.’
‘Very good. Shall I forward the bill to you when it’s done?’
‘If you would be so kind.’
‘Dog-botherer,’ the wicked smile is firmly in place.
‘...Scag?’
‘What’s your trick?’
‘Who said I had one?’
-
Trade slows due to the increase in the entrance tax to be paid upon all goods.
When trade slows the economy slows and when the economy slows people make less money and when that happens Ankh Morpork, a distinctly mercantile city, is not happy.
-
The unrest in the Shades spreads across the river. It begins slinking through back allies, side streets, and is passed between pints of beer and the purchasing of two-in-the-morning kebabs. The city is a machine and the well oiled hinges are being to bend and brake. Cogs have stopped moving all together. Rather quickly, things are beginning to fall apart.
Vimes is watching the tide swelling. The feeling is the same as that one long ago. When he had been a lad the same age as the boys in the canteen talking of freedom excitedly amongst themselves.
Reg Shoe only shakes his head when they ask him for advice. He says he keeps his revolutions strictly societal now. That he learned the hard way.
They don’t seem to understand, even with the now dead man in front of them.
Vetinari doesn’t mention the feeling in the city to Vimes. Vimes doesn’t mention it to Vetinari. Instead they speak of things unrelated. Vimes sometimes mentions his wife. That it’s been six years and gods – well... And Vetinari seems to understand though Vimes isn’t sure how. And sometimes, only occasionally, do they mention graveyards and lilacs and angels.
'Lipwig said that you believe in angels.' Vimes is smoking. Vetinari is doing the crossword.
‘I do.’ He pencils in an answer. ‘And oh how they do rise up.’
-
There are some things you can’t forget.
Vimes leaves instructions on how to properly construct moveable barricades next to the coffee pot.
-
No one has seen the king for two weeks, now. Angua has asked the palace staff and they shrug and say that only the advisor Lord Francis is allowed in His majesty’s presence. That the Lord Francis is starting to look worried so must be the king's proper ill. One of the maids, Molly, holds that this isn’t right.
‘When his lordship was ill we were allowed in. To clean the bedding and make sure the fire was strong. It ain’t right, not being allowed to tend to a sick man’s room. And him just a wee thing. Just a boy. My boy’s his age and if I were the king’s mum I’d demand that my lad had service. Is only right. ‘Specially with him bein’ king and all. If a patrician allows it then surely a king? And then there's Lord Francis all worried and the like but not letting us help. He keeps muttering that this ain't right, whatever this is.’
Angua passes this on with a shrug. ‘Only Francis has seen him.’
‘Then he could be dead,’ Vimes says.
‘If he is?’
Neither say, The King is Dead, Long Live the King.
-
There are some things you wish you could forget.
Vetinari says to Downey, When he’s inhumed, leave a sword next to the body.
-
Young Sam picks up on the feeling almost instantly – in the way that kids do. He asks his father what a revolution is. Vimes explains it. He asks his father if he’s ever been in one. Vimes says he has. He asks his father if it’s fun. Vimes says it’s not.
Young Sam, a few days later, asks Mr Patrician Who Isn’t Anymore what a revolution is. Vetinari explains it. He asks Mr Patrician if he’s ever been in one. Vetinari says he sort of has. It’s complicated. He asks Mr Patrician if it’s fun. Vetinari says that it would depend on who you ask.
Young Sam then finds Carrot and asks Mr Captain Carrot what a revolution is. Carrot explains it. He asks Mr Captain Carrot why he says it’s unlawful? No one else has mentioned the law. Not even Daddy who mentions the law with everything. Carrot explains it. He asks Mr Captain Carrot if he’s ever been in one. Carrot says he has not. He asks Mr Captain Carrot if he thinks it would be fun. Carrot says he thinks it would be interesting.
Young Sam meets Downey by the Cham as he trudges home from school. He asks Mr Downey what a revolution is. Downey doesn’t really explain it. He asks Mr Downey if he’s ever been in one. Downey says he’s only been in one, once. He asks if there’s been more than one. Downey says there’s been two big ones he can remember – Windor and Snapcase. He asks Mr Downey if it’s fun. Downey says that it depends which side you’re on.
-
When Vimes and Downey show up at the palace they find it ringed with guards. Vimes remembers Cheery saying something about this after she came off her night patrol. Francis is furious and there is a cup of water in the middle of his desk next to an apple with a note pinned on it.
‘They say next time it will be their last time visiting the palace for me.’
Vimes stands at attention. He bores a hole in the wall with his stare. Downey follows suit.
‘I am the king’s advisor! I should be exempt from murder!’
‘It’s not murder,’ Downey murmurs. It’s milk and honey in tone. ‘It’s inhumation. There’s a distinct difference.’
‘Pray tell, what is the distinct difference?’
‘It’s a classier way to die.’
Francis is red, he is breathing heavy. Vimes wonders why the man is dressed in all black since it is clear, now, that he was never at the guild.
‘You will cease these attempts on my life. You will call off your men.’
‘And women.’
‘Your men and women and ensure that I am safe.’
A moment passes. Vimes decides he wants the assassin to do all the talking.
Downey is as delicate as a baby in a china shop, ‘and the king? Surely you want his majesty taken off the list as well.’
‘What? Oh yes, of course. And his majesty! Who is ailing as we speak-‘
‘You know, if you let me see him I might be able to tell you if it’s poison or not.’ Downey is smiling. It’s sugar on strawberries on a hot summer day. Vimes wonders how the man does it. Oh yes, he thinks, twenty years smiling at Vetinari when he’s angry will train anyone. Because Vetinari angry is silence. Is a delicate, cheerful smile, and a calm statement of fact. It’s enough to put steel in the back of the weakest man.
‘He is too ill to see anyone.’
‘Even doctors, apparently.’
Francis stands. It is slow, practiced; he is trying to control his breathing. He leans forward and stares at Downey who is ignoring him and admiring the crenulation on the ceiling.
‘What, exactly, are you saying, my lord Downey?’
‘Nothing.’ The assassin’s eyes snap back to the king’s advisor. ‘Nothing at all. Good day, my lord.’
‘And the assassins?’
‘What assassins?’
-
Vimes says it was a nice touch with the apple.
Downey says thank you, he thought it was too.
Vimes stares.
Downey explains, Only guild leaders kill heads of state.
And Snapcase? Windor?
Downey shrugs, Sometimes exceptions are made.
Later, in Vetinari's office, he asks, ‘who killed Windor?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Snapcase?’
‘Not sure. I was having dinner when he died. If the post-mortem is anything to go by.’
‘And where were you when Windor died?’
‘Sixteen and having a battle of wits with Downey. Though I’m not sure he had that many when he was younger. His insults were certainly less than creative.’
Vimes peers at him. Mutters that he never can tell when Vetinari was lying. Vetinari asks, Why would I lie to you Vimes? Vimes replies that he’s sure Vetinari lies just to lie.
‘I’m offended.’
‘Don’t bloody look it.’
‘You’ve wounded me, Vimes.’
‘Sod off.’
‘Hurt me deeply, you know.’
‘Oh come off it.’
‘Very well. Care for some tea?’
-
A crowd begins to gather one afternoon. Vimes mutters, And so it begins.
Nobby just shrugs, Bound to, wasn't it Mister Vimes?
-
The first strike comes when a protestor insults a guard’s mother and chucks a half eaten apple at him. This is usually how things start. Guards overwhelmed and staring at a large crowd that is angry and ready to burst with any provocation.
Vimes is standing on the bridge when the first punches are thrown. He sighs, takes out a cigar, turns, and stalks back to the watch house. He orders more men out, try and keep things more or less civil. Break up the brawl before it becomes a revolt.
‘And when it becomes a revolution?’ Carrot asks. He has his usual passive, unreadable face. Vimes is thanking the gods that it’s the kid William on the throne and not the man Carrot.
‘If it does, mark me it won’t be to put the crown on anyone else’s head.’
-
The first night things quiet down. A few explosions here and there – nothing to call out the guard for. People are mingling in the streets. They are waiting for something. Anything. And the summer heat only makes the situation itch.
Vimes and Vetinari are sitting on the roof of the Ramkin estate and watching the city. It feels like an animal roiling. An animal churning in a cage, snarling and hissing and waiting for the moment to attack.
‘Sometimes, bloody dumb, but I still don’t think I deserved her.’
‘She thinks you did.’
‘I know but-‘
‘No buts.’ Vetinari hands over a box of matches. ‘That’s not how these things work.’
They climb down a little past midnight and make coffee. Neither say much beyond how strong they like it and whether they want cream in it or no. A pack of cards comes out and they play Cripple Mr Onion until daybreak because it seems a surreal thing to do and these are surreal times.
-
Young Sam asks over breakfast, ‘Would you want to be Patrician again if the king was gone?’
Vimes becomes very intense about his eggs.
‘I couldn’t say either way.’ Vetinari answers. ‘Regardless, I do believe I need another occupation beyond managing the family business.’
‘Why not "Watch House Filing Manager"?’ Vimes says with a mouthful of toast. ‘Gods know you’re there often enough.’
Vetinari chides, ‘don’t eat with your mouth full.’
-
It takes three days until the city dissolves in on itself. Francis is frantic. He is snarling and foaming at the mouth, chomping at the bit. A tight bundle of angry energy.
Vimes stands and takes it. There hasn’t been another attempt on the advisor’s life. The commander reasons that Downey is playing for time. The assassin has always been very good at playing for time.
‘Maybe if the king showed himself the crowds would settle,’ he finally suggests with Francis has run out of steam.
‘He’s too ill.’
‘Even just being at the window-‘
‘Too ill, commander.’
-
‘I bet he’s dead.’ Angua is opening a book. It might be in bad taste but Vimes has little heart to stop them. The City Watch no longer officially exists as of a Royal Edict issued that morning. Most of the officers are in the canteen getting trashed. Nobby and Colon bought several kegs with the petty money and are trying to pour pints without too much head.
‘All right, put me down on that,’ Vimes finally gives in. ‘Five dollars.’
‘Carrot?’ Angua looks over to the king-non-king. He shakes his head, looks prim.
‘I’m in for alive but comatose,’ Nobby shouts from across the room. ‘Two bucks says I’m right.’
‘Three fer he’s wrong,’ Colon adds.
The others add their bets, even those who normally wouldn’t. Visit puts in five for “with Om” and Cheery puts in three for “undead” just to shake things up.
When Angua closes the book the men are silent. They consider their beer. Even Nobby and Colon look sober.
-
Vetinari murmurs, ‘So we’re both private citizens now.’
On the skyline heavy clouds sit. It’s summer and Vimes has been waiting for this storm to break for a week now. There are bonfires in the streets, bawdy songs crudely changed from ‘the patrician ain’t got no balls’ to ‘the majesty ain’t got no balls’.
‘Once a commander of the city watch one can never not be a public citizen.’
‘No.’
There is thunder. On the street a boy woops wildly and curses with glee. There is a laugh from a girl. Vimes and Vetinari are contemplative by the chimney.
‘I’m not sure how Carrot is taking all of this,’ he finally says.
‘Probably in his stride. As he does.’ Vetinari is cruel and he adds, ‘I suppose it must be disheartening to no longer have the power of history and kingship over the person ruling.’
Vimes says nothing. He decides he doesn’t want to know what it’s about. He blows out smoke. There is lightning and the beginning of a song about angels.
-
When it begins in earnest the commander makes sure Sam is safe at home and ventures by rooftop to the palace. He only comes down when he crosses bridges and when he finally arrives at the palace garden walls. He assumes that the king is in the Old Very Blue Royal Chambers. The chambers that still have the initials of Lorenzo the Kind engraved on the doors. The ones that still have tapestries depicting the glories of past kings lining the walls.
Vetinari said he had been through them once then locked them up. You cannot destroy the entirety of the past, no matter how much you may try grains of truth escape into crevices of cobbles and the slips of walls where eventually they will grow. It is better to accept the existence of the past but to guard it carefully. Keep a watchful eye on it. And know when it has finally comes back for you.
When Vimes enters the king’s chambers he finds them empty. They are dark, musty, and clearly unlived in. He leaves and begins checking every room he comes to. The palace is quiet. The servants are gone, most likely on the streets with the other citizens. Most likely committing “loitering with intent to do bodily harm to the palace guards, those ass holes who said that about our Annie”.
It’s the last room. It’s always the last room. Vimes feels that he should have known.
The king is lying in the bed. At first he cannot tell if the boy is alive or dead but then the smell hits him and he knows that King William I of Ankh-Morpork, at the age of eighteen, is very much dead. He is curious how the boy died and who, if anyone, was guilty. Uncertain about what to do with the body he leaves and locks the doors and stalks through the halls smoking.
-
Adora is by the palace walls also smoking. She is angry and furious and burning through cigarettes at a faster rate than normal.
When Vimes lands next to her she doesn’t appear surprised. The commander thinks that you’d have to get up very early to surprise Adora. In fact, you ought not go to bed in the first place. He wonders if she’s related to Vetinari. They sort of look the same. In a hawkish, intense, kill-you-with-a-stare sort of a way.
‘Commander.’ She greets.
‘Ms Dearheart.’
‘Beautiful day for a revolution.’
‘If you say so.’
‘King’s dead.’
‘Yes.’
‘Hm.’
They exchange a match box. They puff pensively.
Adora says, ‘I can’t say I’d recommend quite such a colourful hat for a revolt. Easy target.’
‘Well, Mrs Cake always did believe in dressing for the occasion.’
Vimes watches as more people gather. They’re milling about, it’s uncertain milling, a waiting milling. Vimes knows that this is the teetering moment. He sighs, snubs out a cigar, and hears someone yell “oy palace sonsabitches, catch” and then an explosion.
‘Keep low, Ms Dearheart. I must be off.’
‘And the king?’
‘He’ll keep.’
‘And the advisor?’
‘Not sure where he is. But regardless, he’ll probably keep too.’
-
See, there’s a problem when a city has a dead king, an unofficial-official-king-who-is-a-cop, a former patrician, and a current regent-advisor.
One person says, as Vimes walks by, Just bring Vetinari back. He always knew how to get things sorted.
Another says, No, it’s time for kings. We should find another one.
And yet another, But we don’t know this one’s dead yet.
And Lord Francis?
Stretch his neck till he’s good and dead.
This was universal.
-
Vetinari is adding up his accounts and Vimes wonders about the entire godsdamn family when he watches the other man finally tick off the last column. What was Madam doing when Windor was killed? Most likely drinking champagne and watching.
‘Thank you, commander. I am at your full disposal.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I was thinking of starting a rose garden-‘
‘No. Right now.’
‘Lunch.’
He wants to punch the former patrician very hard. Vetinari just smiles and looks prim.
The patrician says, ‘the king’s dead.’
Vimes sags into a chair. Outside it’s getting louder. There are more chants with terrible rhyme schemes. ‘Yes,’ he breathes. ‘Fouling up one of the palace bedrooms.’
‘How long?’
‘Two days? Three. A week at the very most.’
Vetinari straightens the papers on his desk. He asks about Lord Francis. Vimes replies that no one knows where he is.
‘So what are the people rebelling against?’
‘The fact that the city is beginning to fall apart.’
Vetinari nods. He hums to himself then says, Thank you, commander. That will be all.
Vimes stands and as he opens the door he hears a soft murmur of, Don’t let me detain you.
-
Quiriam cocktail. That’s what is being pitched between sides as Vimes tells City Watch members that they’re back in business.
When news outed that the king was dead the riots only became bigger. Bloodier. Vimes is furious and forcing his men to work around the clock to contain it.
Lord Francis is missing.
Vetinari appears to have disappeared as well.
-
On the second night the city goes quiet. Most are at home nursing wounds and making more weapons. Homemade weapons are the worst, Vimes knows. Loving, caring, brutal thought goes into their creation.
He patrols the streets and snarls at people who are abroad. Go home, go back to the pub, go back to your gutter, your bridge, wherever it is that you rest your weary hide. Go back. This is not a night to be out. To be seen. Because I will remember who is out and if anything happens it’s you who’ll be answering for it.
Angua asks, Who are we keeping the peace for? There’s no one in charge.
Vimes says, I'm in charge. And it's for the city. Always and ever, for the city.
Angua asks, Would you?
Vimes galres, Would I what?
Would you? If the position was open.
He spits, No. Never.
The next morning brings a pink-purple sky and restless, aching movement. People gather on street corners. They ruffle through The Times. They drink scalding coffee and eat cold, day-old pastes. They are waiting again.
This has a movement different from anything Vimes has experienced. This has a patience. A sort of undertow drift that says, We’re just waiting for someone to take charge. A sort of calming excitement. A revolution for stability.
Vimes is exhausted by it. When he naps he has dreams and he remembers a man named Keel and lilacs breeding from dead ground. When he wakes he must remember that this is different. This is not then. This is new.
Men. What infinite capabilities they have.
-
It happens at midday and no one can say who did it. But in the Cham there is a platform errected and upon it is the King laid out in state; crown, sword, gowns and everything. He looks even younger, with the mask of death. A child. A child in robes.
The people murmur, watch, are quiet. It settles them.
So, the king is dead.
Carrot looks to Vimes. Vimes stares back. Carrot nods, asks, Shall we bury him with the crown?
Vimes says, Yes captain. With everything.
-
‘He was a puppet,’ Vimes explains. ‘I’m sure Lord Francis was only using him to gain control of the city, kill him, then take it for himself.’
‘What went wrong, d'you think?’ Nobby is lounging against a light pole.
‘He forgot that this is Ankh-Morpork.’ A pause. ‘Or never new it to begin with.’
‘Course Mister Vimes.’ Nobby mulls over the thought. He adjusts his helmet, his sword. He says, ‘and we never let them foreigners rule us. Least ways not for long.’
‘No. Never for long.’
Carrot walks by.
They nod, Good evening captain. When he’s gone Vimes offers Nobby a cigar.
-
He can’t say he’s surprised. Can’t really at all, when he walks into the Oblong Office a week later.
All he says, as he stands at parade left with his eyes over the other man’s left shoulder is, ‘I’ll miss our lunches, sir.’
‘Are you insisting that they end, commander?’
This does startle him. Their eyes meet briefly. He shakes his head. Oh no, just thought, maybe you would want them too.
‘Never assume to know what I think.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘How is the traffic on Easy Street?’
‘Clearing up, sir. Nobby and Colon are on it. Had the remnants of a barricade blocking part of it.’
‘Excellent.’
‘Sir.’
‘Anything else to report?’
‘No, sir. City is calming down nicely. We’re still missing Lord Francis, though.’
‘Hm.’
‘Any help in that area would be appreciated, sir. We’ve let the public know.’
Papers are shuffled. Vimes returns his gaze to the wall. He can’t watch the other’s face as he answers.
‘I’m sure that’s a generous thing to do. Though, I’m not sure it’s a priority, commander.’
‘Of course.’
‘That is all. Thank you.’
Vimes begins to leave.
Vetinari stops him with, ‘oh and commander. You’ll have to bring the curry. I’m afraid take out tends to get lost on its way up.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Don’t let me detain you.’
-
Ankh-Morpork is a machine. It’s gears oiled, run well, maintained regularly. It is also an organism. It breaths, it evolves, it changes. It moves forward with the push of time. It is a creature of habits. New ones take a long time to form and old ones are hard to break.
Vimes isn’t sure how he feels about this.
But, he supposes that it’s only natural. He still wonders though, sometimes, what did the old bastard mean when he said “oh, that old rumour”.
He still wonders, sometimes, if Lord Francis found out.
He decides he doesn’t want to know.
-
The crown of Ankh-Morpork is gold. It’s possibly the only gold left in the city that isn’t attached by nails and pliers and rope to whatever it is that it originally belonged to.
And now it’s underground. Held to the deep earth, soft loam, by the weight of the disc and nails in a coffin and the presence of time and the careful control of history.
-
Vetinari says, Oh how infinite are the capabilities of mankind.
Vimes snarls, You mean they’re being bloody stupid. And pass the curry before you eat it all.