Chapter Text
1.
Havelock let himself drop to the narrow ledge that ran along the top floor of the Assassins' Guild. He knocked three times on the woodwork surrounding one of the windows, each time in a different place and with slightly different force, causing the window to open soundlessly. He slipped inside his room, carefully locked the window again and pulled the curtains closed and suddenly, where at first a casual observer might only have seen the suggestion of movement, there was a now boy who walked over to the bed, let himself fall down on it and flung an arm over his face.
“Such drama,” a voice from the shadows said. “I take it you failed your task?”
“I’m deeply sorry, Madam." said Havelock. Despite the somewhat dramatic pose, he sounded calm. "I did what I could, but I’m trained to kill individuals in carefully planned circumstances, not dozens of soldiers in complete and utter chaos.”
“I see you have already found a suitable justification for your failure. No, don’t protest. People need to tell themselves these things. Now, please, report.”
Havelock sighed. “As I said, chaos. The revolutionaries’ defences were not nearly adequate, and soldiers were coming in from the Shambling Gate and the Misbegot Bridge. Keel was defending the barricades at the Whalebone Lane end. I took position on top of the Watch House, a nice touch, I thought, and shot anyone who looked like he might be in a position to kill Keel. I got the first seventeen. The eighteenth managed to escape my attention and stabbed Keel just as my crossbow bolt pierced his throat. After that, it seemed there was little left for me to do, so I came back here.”
“Are you sure he’s dead?”
“Quite.”
“You know best, I suppose,” said Madam. She sighed. “Such a shame. I thought he would have been a good man to have in the Watch. Nevertheless, one must move on. I believe I owe you eighteen dollars, no?”
“I failed my mission, you do not owe me anything.”
“Doctor Follett would be very cross with you if he heard you say such things. A compromise, perhaps. I shall take you out to dinner on Saturday. Now, I must be off and busy myself with politics. Don’t stay here and sulk all day, will you? There’s the glorious dawn of revolution to enjoy, and I do believe you have classes to attend in the afternoon.”
There was a rustling of cloth and the sound of a door opening and closing. For a moment, Havelock let his aggravation get the better of him and considered setting a few new traps his aunt didn’t know about. He forced himself to remember the many reasons she deserved his respect, and decided it would be very unfortunate should she accidentally lose a limb or two. It would ruin her social life.
He folded his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. He felt restless. He had failed his mission, and it seemed to him he needed to do something to make up for it. Keel was dead. He was part of the past now, and that was not a place Havelock liked to linger. He’d heard from various sources that Keel seemed to have taken an interest in a young lance-constable by the name of Sam Vimes. Keel had seen something in the boy, and had wanted to encourage it before it was lost. Maybe, Havelock thought, I can go from there. Keel is dead, but Vimes is alive. Keel must have taught him a few things, by demonstration if not by discourse. Sam Vimes, he decided, was someone to watch. And if the boy did follow in the footsteps of Keel, he was someone to keep safe until he was needed.
2.
Captain Ashton was entirely uncertain whether he wanted to be here, but he knew he had to go through this eventually, and it might as well be now. It wasn’t as if he had a choice in the matter, not really. He stood to attention as best he could and waited.
Eventually, Lord Vetinari, Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, deigned to acknowledge the captain’s presence. He carefully put the documents he had been reading down on his desk and leaned back in his chair.
“Ah, Captain Ashton. So good to see you. Have a seat, please.” The Patrician gestured at the empty chair next to Captain Ashton, who saluted and gratefully sat down. He wasn’t used to all this standing about. A captain, he always said, belongs behind a desk. And if he wasn’t doing his paperwork so much as eating, sleeping and drinking tea, at least he was where he ought to be.
“Good. Now, Captain Ashton, I understand you are planning to retire from the Watch.”
The silence stretched out just a bit too long, and Ashton realized he had been asked a question. Blast. On the rare occasions he’d been summoned to the Oblong Office before, he’d gotten away with saluting and saying “Yes, sir!” whenever it seemed appropriate.
“Well, um, that is, I was considering it, sir.”
“A fine habit. A man certainly should consider all possibilities for his future before taking irreversible steps. It has also come to my attention that your wife is supporting your… considerations.”
Ashton felt sweat starting to form on his forehead. He thought about denying what seemed very much like an accusation, then decided it would be useless. If the man knew, he knew. His shoulders sagged.
“She seems to think a man of my age shouldn’t be risking life and limb every day to defend a city that is, in her opinion, rotten to the core and beyond redemption. Sir.”
“Risking life and limb. How very interesting.” Vetinari paused for a moment, steepled his hands and looked at Ashton – who was clearly in possession of both his life and all his limbs – over the top his fingers. “It is my experience,” he continued, “that these sorts of considerations tend to lead to actions rather quickly. Which is why you are here now. Tell me, who would you recommend as Captain of the Night Watch when the post becomes available?”
Ashton brightened up considerably. This he could do!
“I have, in fact, already spent some time thinking about that very question, sir. It seems to me that the best candidate would be Corporal Vimes.”
“Corporal Vimes? I seem to recall he is outranked,” said Vetinari as he reached for the folder again. He scanned some of the pages and continued, “Ah, yes. By Sergeant Colon. The highest ranking officer of the Watch, present company excepted. Wouldn’t tradition demand Colon be promoted to Captain?”
“That is definitely true, sir, no argument there. The thing is, it takes a certain sort of man to be Sergeant, and Sergeant Colon is that man. I don’t think he’d make a good Captain, and frankly, I don’t think he wants to.”
“I see. Very well. Corporal Vimes certainly seems to have managed to keep an excellent record over the entire course of his twenty years of service. Astonishing. There only seems to be the small matter of his tendency to drink to excess.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t hold that against him, sir,” said Ashton, in a tone that would have been defensive if his survival instinct hadn’t been so strong. He liked Vimes. “He can’t help it, sir. As far as I understand, Corporal Vimes is naturally just a few drinks on the wrong side of sober. The sober side of sober, that is. He himself says he has the bad luck of seeing the world as it really is, and I think he’s seen more of the world than is healthy for a man.”
“Ah. I think I understand. He tries to make up for this… disorder by consuming alcoholic beverages, and then overbalances, so to speak.”
“That’s exactly right, sir,” said Ashton, in the tones of a man who’s had this conversation a dozen times already.
“I don’t really see why that should be necessary, though, “said Vetinari ponderously. It’s not as bad an affliction as the general population seems to believe.”
“Sir?”
“My suggestion is for him to acquire a sense of humour instead.”
Captain Ashton felt increasingly out of his depth. His mind was still thinking up apologies for this tiny flaw in Vimes’ character, but the Patrician wasn’t acting according to the script.
“Thank you for your valuable input, Captain Ashton. I shall certainly keep it in mind. Before you leave, there’s one more thing I’d like clarified. I believe there is some sort of ceremony to formalize the retirement of a Watch Captain?”
Well, yes, there was, Ashton knew, and he knew he’d rather not go through it, if it was all the same to all parties involved. The thought of shaking the Patrician’s hand was enough to make a braver man than him feel faint with terror.
“Err… can’t seem to recall that there was, sir.”
The Patrician smiled thinly.
“Would you like there to be one? I’m sure my clerks could find information on the exact procedure in the archives.”
“Oh, no need to go through all that trouble on my account, sir. I’m not a man of ceremony. I’ll just make sure the paperwork is done, and that’s that as far as I’m considered.”
“Excellent. If only everyone in my employ was so self-sufficient. Tell Corporal Vimes to report to me as soon as you have all your affairs in order, and I shall make his new rank official. I’m pleased we were able to settle this matter to the satisfaction of both of us. Now, I’m sure you have much to arrange. Good day to you, Captain Ashton.”
Captain Ashton stared at the Patrician for a moment as he tried to process what he had just heard. The last bit had been pretty clear, so he got up, saluted and left as quickly as possible. Outside, he took a moment to wipe the sweat of his forehead and collect his thoughts. He wasn’t sure what had just happened. The conversation had left him behind at some point, and now it seemed his retirement was all but a fact, even though he hadn’t even been sure he wanted to retire. He definitely hadn’t wanted to retire right this instant.
He considered going back in there to make this clear, then considered that he could also dive head-first into the Ankh and get the same net result. He gave up and headed back to Treacle Mine Road dejectedly. At least his wife would be pleased. Probably. Well, at least he could damn well make sure his pension was adequate for a man who had given so much of his life to the protection of the city. That cheered him up a bit. And the lads would have to throw some sort of goodbye party for him, with lots of drink and unhealthy food.
By the time he reached the Watch House, he had convinced himself that retiring was the best decision he’d ever made.
3.
Shortly after Captain Ashton had left, the Patrician’s personal secretary entered the office.
“Are you certain that was wise, my lord?”
“You question my judgment, Wonse?”
“A judgment can be sound at a certain point in time, my lord, yet prove to have been made in error after new information comes to light.”
“Are there facts in your possession of which I am unaware? Please, do tell.”
Wonse shifted uncomfortably. “Not so much facts as intuition, my lord. I do not think Vimes would make a good captain.”
I’m afraid intuition just will not do, Wonse. You still have much to learn, if you wish to change my mind about things. Learn to find the facts that fit, for example.”
“My lord,” Wonse protested, “I wasn’t –“
The Patrician held up a hand to silence him. “It’s quite alright. I wouldn’t be where I was today if I didn’t have respect for the subtle art of intrigue. However, what I value most in a man is the willingness and patience to apply himself to his craft until he achieves mastery. You can learn much, in the position of my secretary. Watch and learn. I advise you not to aspire to outwit me, though. It will only lead to disappointment.”
Years of training were the only thing that kept Wonse from clenching his fists and gritting his teeth. His voice was perfectly neutral as he said, “Thank you for the advice, my lord. I shall strive to live up to your expectations.”
“Excellent. To return to your initial point, one of the facts you are missing is that I do not wish the Watch to operate in any manner resembling competence.” And, he added privately, if I ever do wish them to act as the enforcers of law, it will be so much easier if the men are used to following the command of Vimes than that of Ashton. However difficult it is to restrict a man’s access to alcoholic beverages, it’s almost impossible to instill a sense of justice and integrity into a man like Captain Ashton.
“Now, if there is nothing else?” The Patrician looked at Wonse expectantly.
Wonse replied, “No, my lord,” bowed stiffly and left the office. Vetinari watched his exit thoughtfully. It was not often that he engaged in self-disclosure, and tonight’s effort seemed to have been entirely wasted. As much as it would pain him to declare the entire project a failure, he might have to rethink Wonse’s fitness for his current position.
4.
Whatever else could be said about them, The Rusts threw great parties. They called them thés dansant and no one had the heart to tell them that those were really not supposed to last until the sun rose again. It was on one of these occasions that Lady Sybil suddenly found herself face to face with Lord Vetinari.
“Oh, hello Havelock!” she said cheerfully. “Such a rare pleasure to meet you at one of these things. Not that I have lots of time for them myself, mind you, but I hear going out together is all part of courting, and I thought Sam should like to see how high society amuses itself. It’s all terrific fun, don’t you think?”
“I’m sure it is. I was under the impression, however, that a courting couple is expected to enjoy these occasions together,” said the Patrician, looking pointedly at the complete lack of Vimes in the general vicinity of Sybil.
“Oh, you know how it is. I start talking with my friends and completely lose sight of him after a while. I suspect he’s gone off to have a nice chat with some of the boys. In one of the smoking rooms, perhaps.”
“Indeed," Vetinari said, and didn't say he thought it much more likely Vimes was brooding in a dark corner, as far removed from ‘the boys’ as was feasible. "I hope everything is going well for the two of you?”
Vetinari started walking along the walls of the large ballroom and Sybil followed.
“Of course, of course, no need to worry on our account. The wedding is in a month or two, as you should well know, we sent you an invitation after all, and everything is going fine.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. I was, however, enquiring on a more personal level. It would surprise me if a woman as affluent as yourself failed to organize a wedding. No, what I’m wondering is, are you pleased with these developments? Happy? The both of you, of course.”
Sybil looked flustered. “Well, Havelock, you know I consider you a close friend, but that’s a rather personal question, you know.”
“I do.”
Vetinari said nothing else but kept on walking. Sybil kept on following until the silence became embarrassing and she felt she had to answer the question just to break it.
“Well, yes, I would say I’m pleased. I know what the people say, he couldn’t do any better and I couldn’t do any worse, but it’s not as if I need to marry for wealth or titles, haha! But honestly," she said, sounding more serious, "I think he’s a better man than anyone present here.”
“Indeed?”
“Well, in a way. Life has got him down a bit, I suppose. But there’s also the man he could be, if you know what I mean.”
“I rather think I do. Tell me, do you think you can make him into that man?”
Sybil frowned. “I don’t think I like the sound of that, but I would like to help him change himself.”
“I see,” said Vetinari noncommittally. He himself had never had any moral objections to shaping the people around him. “Have you given any thoughts to the form this help would take?”
“I suppose I can’t give him a slap on the nose and take away his food bowl,” Sybil said and laughed nervously.
“Not his food, certainly. There are, however, other things you might consider removing from his presence.”
Sybil stopped walking abruptly. "There are certain things one does not discuss in polite company, Havelock," she said, without turning to look at him.
"And therefore we shall not discuss them. I merely wish to point out how much we might all enjoy a Samuel Vimes whose head is always clear."
Now Sybil did turn towards him. She looked confused. "I certainly agree, I don't see why you are involving yourself, though. I’m sure you know Sam will resign from his position in the Watch after the wedding?"
"Oh, of course, of course," Vetinari waved the question away. "I have my reasons to believe, however, that your betrothed will soon find a way to exert his very special brand of positive influence over the city once again."
"Well, yes, I suppose he will spend a considerable amount of time in the company of the city's gentlemen. It would be nice if he did have some positive influence on them."
"Something along those lines, yes. Now I'm afraid I must leave your charming company and give my attention to the city again. I wish you a pleasant evening." He bowed slightly towards her, Sybil curtsied in return and Vetinari left.
Sybil wandered towards the buffet, the one place at a party where it is acceptable to be alone for a short time, deep in thought. Havelock certainly did make a good point. Several good points, even. She could, she considered, use some simple tricks to associate alcohol with some sort of negative emotion, like shame. No, that would be too sneaky. She wasn't sneaky. A good, straightforward and definitely not sneaky first step would be to order Willikins not to serve Sam any alcohol.
At this point her thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Lady Brenda calling her name. Sybil turned and smiled, determined to enjoy the rest of the evening. Later, there would be more than enough time to think about the things Havelock had said.
5.
Lord Vetinari was sitting alone in his office, his elbows resting on his desk and his chin resting on his hand. His eyes were closed. He knew he should be doing something, reading or writing files, possibly calling someone else in for an appointment, but something was wrong. There was something odd about the weather. And there was something else. Something that was trying very hard to escape his attention, and almost succeeding. A lesser man might have given in, but Vetinari ruled even his mind with an iron fist. And, yes, there it was.
He remembered.
He remembered a day, thirty years ago, when a small-scale hero had tried and failed to defend a handful of streets. He remembered a true hero who had succeeded in keeping almost a quarter of the city safe from harm.
He remembered thinking Keel could be a useful man, someone who, if only he had lived, could have done some real, lasting good for the city. He remembered thinking Keel was a genius who understood the heart and soul of the city and could make it do whatever he wanted, and miraculously this man was a good man, the kind of man who could make a great city glorious.
He remembered thinking he should keep an eye one Sam Vimes, because Vimes was impressionable and Keel was impressive, and maybe he had made just enough of enough of an impression. He remembered wishing fervently that they boy’s memory of Keel would stay forever sharp, that Keels influence would be felt throughout the rest of his life.
He remembered holding every city official up to the standard of Keel, and no one ever being good enough. He remembered trying to shape Vimes in the image of Keel, and he smiled at the literal-mindedness of history.
He remembered knowing it was possible to read the city’s streets through the soles of your boots. He remembered always being vaguely annoyed with his aunt's tendency to insert significant pauses in her speech. He remembered how chocolate milk, permanent ink on a plaster cast and ginger could be used as weapons, as tools in one of the most peaceful attempts at war he had ever heard of.
He remembered trying to save a man's life from a safe distance, he remembered… He felt the memory of a conversation change shape.
6.
“Such drama,” a voice from the shadows said. “I take it you failed your task?”
“I’m deeply sorry, Madam." said Havelock. His voice was strained. "I could only take the coach as far as Heroes Street, where the remnants of the barricades blocked my way. When I didn’t find sergeant Keel there, and,” his voice sounded a touch reproachful, “had no idea where he might be either, I ran across the rooftops until I heard fighting. I arrived just in time to see Sergeant Keel holding Captain Carcer by the throat. The next moment Keel dropped to the ground, stabbed to death, and Carcer was gone.”
“It seems to me that that last part of your report is less detailed than what I have come to expect from you.”
Havelock shrugged. “There was chaos. I was aiming my crossbow. It’s amazing how you miss the larger picture when you’re focusing on a man’s throat.”
“You’re certain he’s dead, though.”
“Yes. I checked. Wounds. Blood. Body already cooling. Definitely dead.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“Err, well, not really, not as such. That is, I may have jumped into the battle and killed as many of the bloody bastards as I could, and I dare say people noticed the Assassin in their midst, but my face was definitely not recognizable, being covered as it was with the soot I found in a nearby chimney.”
The voice sighed. “I suppose that will have to do. Such a shame. He could have been so useful. Still, I’m sure you did all you could and I won’t hold this failure against you. Though I must say I’m surprised at your reaction. I believe you suggested inhuming the man yourself not two days ago.”
“That was different.”
"How so?"
"I would be the one doing the inhuming."
"I see. How very surprising. I must say I'm also surprised to hear that you, as you said, killed as many of the bloody bastards as you could. In the streets, like a common murderer."
"Not a murderer." said Havelock sharply. "A revolutionary."
"A revolutionary? Fighting for what? Against who? You might remember Lord Winder had already been deposed. You took a rather active part in the process."
"After which I discovered we had replaced one mad oppressor by another."
"Those are dangerous thoughts. Be careful where and when you express them, Havelock."
"I shan't do so again. Don’t think I’ll put them out of my mind soon, though."
"Then don't. Maybe one day you'll have the opportunity to act on them."
"I dare say you have just expressed thoughts more dangerous that mine."
"Possibly. Let's not linger on them." Madam's voice took on a cheerful tone which Havelock knew meant she had stepped into her role of charismatic socialite again. "Now I must be off and busy myself with politics. Don’t stay here and sulk all day, will you? There’s the glorious dawn of revolution to enjoy, and I do believe you have classes to attend in the afternoon."
"And educative they will be, no doubt. Goodbye, Madam."
"Goodbye, Havelock. I'm sure we'll meet again soon."
With that, she left. Havelock didn't move. There were times to look life bravely in the face, and times to cover your eyes and dwell on what could have been if only you had done things differently.
7.
The Patrician’s coach stopped in front of what would soon be the Treacle Mine Road Watch House. Again. The first person to step out of it was Drumknott, followed by the Patrician himself and Commander Vimes. They didn’t move far away from the coach. The Watch House was being rebuilt by dwarfs and you never knew when they might decide a small explosion was in order.
“Work seems to be progressing nicely, Commander,” said Vetinari.
“Trust dwarfs to do a good job of it, sir.”
“So I’ve heard. I trust you are keeping a close… watch on them?” asked Vetinari.
Vimes mentally rolled his eyes at the pun. He’d heard it more often than he could count, and if Vetinari wanted to revel in cheap thrills he definitely wasn’t going to encourage it. Thank the gods the man didn’t insist on social niceties. Instead he said noncommittally, “Yes, sir, a close watch.”
“We wouldn’t want them to get the important details wrong.”
“No, sir.”
“Such as, for example, the window in the wall across the privy?”
Damn the man, Vimes thought. How does he do it?
“Windows certainly are an important aspect of architecture, sir,” he said woodenly.
“Indeed they are. And possibly an important aid for the watchman in need, as well?”
Vimes’ face betrayed nothing. Vetinari sighed.
“Commander, I know you have instructed one of the dwarfs to ensure that a specific window can be kicked open from the outside. You seem to underestimate the power of gossip. I have told him you must have been suffering from sleep deprivation and to forget about the order. No, don’t interrupt me. There are more trustworthy people than random labourers to be found in this city, and I happen to employ most of them. I shall ensure your little secret entrance is perfectly functional, after the building is finished.”
Vimes knew Vetinari was right, knew he should probably feel grateful for this thoughtful interference, but instead he felt deeply annoyed. His little secret entrance, eh? He gnashed his teeth and glared at Vetinari.
“How do you even know about it?” he demanded. “I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone.”
“Apart from hearing about it from the dwarf in question? I discovered it quite by accident, I assure you. You might remember the short presence of a certain Captain Keel in our fair city, some thirty years ago. He made quite a spectacular entrance, and I was asked to keep him under surveillance whenever I could spare the time. Imagine my surprise when I saw him break into his own Watch House. I was quite impressed by his capacity for stealth, especially given the presence of other watchmen in the same building.”
Drumknott stepped forward from his standard position two steps behind the Patrician, and whispered something in his master’s ear.
“Ah, yes,” said Vetinari. “Thank you, Drumknott. Of course, Commander, when I say Keel, I do, in fact, mean you. Memory can be such a tricky thing.”
Vimes started to say something, but caught himself and glanced at Drumknott with deep suspicion. Vetinari smiled a thin smile and turned to his clerk, “Drumknott, I notice Mr Rockhewer is looking at us in a rather apprehensive manner. Please go and tell him we are simply here to observe the proceedings and ask him if there is anything he wants. Take notes.”
Drumknott nodded and walked off towards the dwarf.
"You told him!" Vimes exploded.
Vetinari raised an eyebrow. "Oh my, have I forgotten about the solemn oath of secrecy we swore?"
"Well, no," Vimes admitted. "I just assumed…"
"A bad habit, Commander. Let me assure you, I only talked about the matter with Drumknott because my memory keeps trying to rearrange itself. It’s rather vexing. Drumknott was not yet born when the Glorious Revolution took place, which makes it easier for him to remember both accounts of the event. It’s simply history to him. I've instructed him to correct me on the rare occasions I make a comment that somehow conflicts with the context of the conversation. Since the context is you, it makes sense to refer to you instead of Keel.
"And you're sure he can be trusted?"
"I'm quite certain."
"You also thought Wonse could be trusted."
"Was I?" Vetinari asked with an unreadable expression. When Vimes didn't reply, he continued, "Wonse was an ambitious man, but mean. He resented those with power, and believed he could achieve their position by means of aggression. Drumknott, on the other hand, is only ambitious in the way of wanting to excel at his job. Ironically, he does exactly what Wonse should have done, by which I mean he is always attentive, always observing, always learning. And he does this only to improve himself as my secretary."
"Plotting to take your place, it sounds like."
Vetinari sighed. "I dare say not. Here are a few simple comparisons. When Wonse applied for the position of my personal clerk he looked me in the eye. Drumknott did not. He was bashful, nervous. When Wonse attended my meetings with other officials, he asserted himself, tried to make an impression. Drumknott fades in the background and attends to everyone's wishes as unobtrusively as possibly. I think this gives a clear image of their characters, and the differences between them. If you are still not satisfied, I shan't try to change your mind any further."
"You're probably right," Vimes said. None of his inner voices had ever raised the alarm as far as Drumknott went, so to give the man his due he added somewhat reluctantly. “I’m no particularly suspicious about him either.”
"Not particularly suspicious? I dare say that means you believe he won't assassinate me in my sleep as long as the opportunity to do so with ease and without danger of discovery doesn't present itself too strongly."
"Don't mock me, my lord. It's my job to be worried about your safety."
"And I feel much safer in the knowledge, I'm sure. Ah, I see Drumknott has finished talking to Mr Rockhewer. I shall instruct the coachman to make a stop at Pseudopolis Yard, shall I? I'm sure I'll be able to make it back to the Palace from there without your personal protection."
"Fine."
Vetinari turned and walked back towards the coach, knowing Vimes and Drumknott would follow him. He smiled to himself. It might not serve any material purpose, but there were few things he enjoyed more than provoking Vimes, thus giving him the opportunity to truly be Vimes: a suspicious bastard with a dislike for authority that only grew the more of it he acquired for himself. As far as signs of trustworthiness went, he reflected, that in itself was enough to satisfy him.