The Choice

Part One

There was a plenty of place behind the hangings, so Mr. Betting could observe everything happening around the negotiation table in full comfort. He knew what was going to happen and he knew what the deal was for, the problem was that he hated acting as a second-grade spy. He had his best qualities; as obvious, quite hidden to be noticed by his new master. What he did best was granted by his former employer. He made his schedule busy enough to let Anita abandon him, although she loved him much more than she could admit it. He felt guilty when she moved to Quirm, establishing her prosperous business there. The place was good enough for a talented lacemaker she was. Even after those three years, he had no courage to visit her, though he had many chances to do his job there. However, time changes, unfortunately… The new king was a man with different vision over politics; his point was joining, not separating, as the former king insisted. He watched the life with different judgment, and what he saw, was what Mr. Betting hated. Why should the king die…? He was not a good man as such, but he made his days occupied and his pockets full. What King Stephen did firstly was gathering of the 'interactive' stuff and made them understand that He is the Master here and his rule will be His Rule. Pearce Betting was astonished. He knew that opposing his new master was a foolish act of suicide, but he had the courage to ask for audience. He did not remember what he said, but he still remembered the stare King Stephen had at the end of his tirade.

When he went home, he was pale and soundless. The housekeeper stood out of his chambers door, expecting to break in if necessary. He was not afraid of his own hand. He could do it anytime; he was sitting in silence, lending his ears to the street, expecting to hear well-known steps, a rush and a drawing of a bow. What he knew was that all kings are the same. King Petromus had a firm hand; he made no bones about taking more draconic measures against his enemies. He knew that because his best friend Marcus Delrogue was a member of THS, his Majesty's personal punitive squad. He expected to smell his aftershave that evening. He knew that it would be him; it was always him when there should be a fast hit.

What he did not expect was the letter he received shortly after returning home. King Stephen asked for his presence at the Conferencing in the Palace the next day. What he had to do was staying silent and listen. It was strictly written: 'Behind'. The only places to hide behind were those stupid hangings, suspended on the walls. When the Amazons came, he kept his breath. Her Majesty queen Germana herself. She was slim and short very young lady aged about sixteen or seventeen, it was obvious she was frightened to death, shimmering and turning all the time to her adult companion, Lady Marta Stonjegger, former queen's personal guardian. She was silent all the time. Her face was stabbed in Her Majesty queen Bettina's face. There was some kind of an expression war between them; if the eyes could kill, thought Mr. Betting, then there would be a sea of royal blood here.

'I do understand your principals' continued King Stephen. 'But there are a lot of misunderstandings we have to cover in our rule, Your Majesty. It is our duty to fulfil our destiny as rulers, the people would ask a lot if questions if we don't.'

'It is true what you are saying' answered the young queen and turned to Lady Marta's face. 'We have to gather against our own enemies.'

'We actually… don't have other enemies, Your Majesty' coughed King Stephen. Germana stared at him for a second, then turned at her left to receive the comments, then she smiled guiltily and shook her head, face down. 'Yes, yes, I nearly forgot. Forgive me… Well, then we just have to learn to live without killing each other, my friend Stephen. May I call you Stephen? I thought that we have already gathered, observing the situation we are in. I mean Lady Bettina's presence at your side as your companion…'

'She is actually my wife, dear Germana.'

'Oh, yes, forgive me, I really forgot… Well, that's much better then. We have gathered against our… uhum… we are gathered in a happy family, smaiilians and quartians. We could be good friends then… If you and we could be more delicate in some manners, as I have been told, we could mention the Treaty done. Written, signed and executed.'

'It was done a year ago, Your Majesty', smiled Stephen, 'but you are right. We are neighbours from thousands of years; we have always been in war because of something happened before our time, something too insignificant, a mere trifle nonsense darkening our days. We have to shake our hands, because we are friends now. Time will pass and we will learn how to be good neighbours, I know the beginning is hard and there would be some misunderstandings in future, but we have to face the reality. After all we live in a new time and we have to vouch for our people's well being.'

Queen Germana smiled at him, her eyes watered; she gave him her hand and shook it dramatically. King's eyes turned to Bettina's stare. She gazed at him and smiled happily, she knew how important it was for him, so she did not oppose him, although she had the right. Shaking hands with the young queen of Quart was useless. She was too manipulated; her voice was weaker than the servants. The one he had to negotiate was standing behind the girl. Bettina knew it would be hard to deal with the Council, but dealing with Marta was even harder. Her dark eyes observed the situation, she was bored of them all – smaiilians, quartians, men and women. What she wanted was to go back on the Warfield, where she was the best. Since De Constars left Quart, she became the ruler of the Army. Queen Balmola had no martial spirit, although she had a good eye on the politics. The one she could compare with was the Tulip, but she was summoned to fulfil her duty away from her sight. What a blessing… De Constars were gone, her way was free, and the army was her at last. She could do so many changes, if only she could control the Council…

Bettina knew that. She was not afraid of Marta, because she was not a danger for her or her mother; she was a woman with martial rights, fulfilling her duty, whatever it was now. But as every person, she had her weakness. She gazed at the old Amazon for longer that she thought she would, even when young Germana stood up and left the room. She removed her hand from Stephen's shoulder, letting him turn to her and smile. He pressed her cheek with a kiss and moved to the hanging, facing Mr. Betting lifting the rich dusty tapestry.

'What do you think?' gazed the King, turning his back to him and coming closer to his wife's chair. Mr. Betting's most evaluated talent was the quick gasp of what is going on. Therefore, that's why the invitation was for: to witness the gathering of two enemies. He had to be the private eye behind the curtains, catching the meaning of it all. The spy looked around, made a shifty step to his direction and sighed with boredom: 'I think the queen is too young to have any decision making by her own.' He stood closer and faced queen Bettina's tired eyes. 'I also think we might have a problem.'

The King sat, took the Amazon's hand in his and lowered his head. 'I believe you might be right, Mr. Betting. I suspect queen Germana has to make her a favour and get rid of some elements, affecting her rule. What do you think, darling?' He gazed at his wife's face. She buried her head in his adoring hands and answered slowly: 'I think you are both wrong. I have the feeling we are to see a lot from young Germana.' She stood up and prepared to exit. She turned around before leaving the room and sighed: 'But I would be surer if you put her party under surveillance. She would make us a favour, if we are patient enough.' King Stephen followed her retraction and marched nervously through the room.

'I guess you know what you are here for' said King Stephen, when Mr. Betting sat at the place he pointed. The man was nervous, it was obvious why.

'I do, Your Majesty' answered Pearce and stared at him. 'You wanted me to witness Her Majesty's move.'

'You mean her… stupidity?'

'Well…' the man rounded his eyes. 'She is quite young, she still have a lot to perceive in this direction.'

'You speak too moderate. She is a girl with power, which is very dangerous, as I could oversee. We have been sacrificing a lot for that Treaty, but all she could say in that direction was that her voice must be considered as a key in our agreement. It was obvious she was out of touch with the details. I think we are dealing with too young aggressive element we should be aware of. What do you think?'

Mr. Betting put his hands on his lap; it was not easy to answer a question he was too far from the beginning. Yes, the queen of Quart was young, very ambitious, otherwise she wouldn't have come here by herself with only one companion, nevertheless how vindicate she was. He knew her mother, she was a woman with style and name in politics, her methods were severe, but upright, nevertheless what was said after her death. He knew young Germana since she was born; she was a girl with poor health and a sick ambition to rule at any cost, putting her into the list of 'The most unwanted royals Pierce Betting would consider working with'. He looked at King Stephen's eyes and red his tiredness. He sighed deeply and put his hands on the table.

'Aloud me to speak, Your Majesty?'

Stephen smiled and leaned back. 'Granted' he answered. Pearce faced him and pronounced slowly: 'I think Her Majesty is right, Sir. We may expect too much and overestimate or underestimate the symbols we just met in Her Majesty's presence.' He lifted slowly and made a step aside. 'We still can not say anything about Queen Germana's style, we should wait and see. However, we should take some precautions in future. Putting her under surveillance should be our prime task.'

He stood still by the table's end and waited for the reply. King Stephen knit his eyebrows and murmured. He was not happy. Ruling the country was a hard job. What he inherited after King Petromus's death was too much to ask just for a broom and a mop. The country was almost ruined, the incomes were less than the expenses, and the consequences after the war were damageable. The people were in rage. What they wanted was piece, but not only piece with Quart, but a balance in state level. Petromus's luxurious habits made Smaiil face some financial problems. For first time in Smaiil's history. Even the gold produced in the country was not enough to make people less worried. Petromus's death and Stephen's election were promisable. The question the new King asked now was if it was a right decision…

'I do understand your visions, Mr. Betting' he added folding his arms. 'We are gathered here to make a small brain storming session and I am glad I could discuss the matter with you.' He stood up and walked by his site. Pierce observed his movement with interest. The King put his hand on his shoulder and smiled at his nervous face. 'I am glad I have found a genuine man at last. What you said yesterday evening impressed me. I think I could rely on you, I also believe my predecessor had good opinion about you.'

Pierce Betting blinked and tried to say something, but his mouth made a 'flip-flap' sound and nothing more. 'I have a job for you, Mr. Betting.' King Stephen made a step aside backing at him. 'I want you to look over the 'Office' and take any measures to keep Smaiil safe.' He turned back fast and faced him with seriousness in his deep blue eyes. 'I think I could rely on you, couldn't I?

Pierce made a step back. Well, that was unexpected. What he thought when he went through the Palace gates this afternoon was that he should have written his epigram earlier. What he faced now was not only the opposite. It was a quick career raise he even stopped hoping years ago. Today was definitely a good day in his life. He stood still and lowered his head in a military manner. King Stephen took his hand and shook it hard. Pierce Betting moved to the exit. He had a lot of work to do, time pressed his thoughts.

---

Sir Samuel Vimes, Commander of Ankh-Morpork City Watch and Duke of Ankh, squinted at the letter he had in his hands. He red it several times, although he knew the words, he could not understand them. It was not his special talent to do the politics, he was a cop after all, his job was to watch over the city and to chase after those who endangered it. However, this was… Vetinari sent him his regards and some instructions about the doings in Ankh-Morpork. Why should he be his deputy while he was gone? He never took a holiday, even when he was shot and poisoned. Now, when he got married, one year after that ominous day… now he went on holiday… with his wife… Leaving poor old Sam Vimes to take care of the city.

'That is not fair' Commander's ears heard the sentence before knowing it was his mouth opened. He sat at his chair behind the messy desk and tried to lift his feet on it. The paper sea moved slowly and toppled over his lap, spilling on the floor. Vimes stood up with an angry cry, that was enough, these papers were there for weeks, even months. He never had the knowledge of paper organizing, bit what he knew was that what he should never do is destroying. He destroyed nothing – his wardrobe at the Yards was full with shabby useless boots, he never had the heart to dump them away; nevertheless he was the richest man in Ankh-Morpork, he had the odd idea they would be useful someday. Let us not talk about his file holder at home… Sybil thought it would fall apart someday, if her husband doesn't stop filling it with useless papers as theatre tickets and advertisement fliers.

Sam Vimes kicked the paper river in his feet and took the hornpipe, put on the wall, whistled in it and stared at the exit. Soon after Collon appeared, breathlessly opened the door and saluted puffing.

'Let Carrot know I would like to see him, Fred.' Sergeant Collon saluted slowly, clearing his throat. Vimes turned to his stare. 'Is there something wrong?' Fred knit his eyebrows, his eyes failed down. Commander sighed again. 'What it is this time?'

Fred bent his head and smiled nervously: 'Little Thomas had a toothache, Commander. I told Carrot to use the babysitter Her Ladyship sent him, but he said she couldn't…'

'I see, Fred. Well… when he comes back, let me know I will be waiting at Vetinari's office.' He turned to his sit, preparing to take it, stared at the waist around it and pointed at the floor. 'Do me a favour, Fred, get rid of that trash.'

Fred obeyed immediately, soon after the door slapped his back shouting at the crowd downstairs. Vimes shut his eyes for a second. What Carrot did was… well… good, observing his family's status, after all he was the only parent of his infants. The father should do sacrifices for his children… But this was too long, it started affecting his job at he Watch. Sybil used to say he was having a single's syndrome, he was too devoted to his boys. That was unusual situation, but what he did bothered him more and more. Sam Vimes was a man with two sons too, he was no less devoted to his family, although he had Sybil there looking at them. Carrot had to be helped. He never asked for anything from him, nor his friends. However, the measures Samuel Vimes thought out from long time had to be taken. Sybil was right. He had to do something. He had to keep his prejudice to himself.

---

The first thing Drumknott did after receiving the letter from His Lordship was to take a deep breath. It was expected for long time, since the anniversary occasion Lord Vetinari pondered over the holiday he would spend with his wife. It was obvious it would not be in the city, he would never be left alone, and that is what he desperately needed for those months since Her Ladyship went into the Palace for first time. It was obvious why it happened now. His Lordship's behaviour the last several months was clear enough.

The second thing Drumknott did was to prepare the Oblong office for his current occupant. He removed Lord Vetinari's papers in a special container and cleaned the desk, the open drawers and what he could reach, not touching the lockers and the hidden shells known to his master only. The next was to make a hot tea for His Grace, rushing into the office. He knew Commander Vimes well, nevertheless they were not good friends. He expected his anger months before the Patrician announced his permanent withdrawal. It was obvious who was going to take his place during his leave. The guilds were not happy, but Vetinari let them know he would be very unhappy if they do mess with their rejection. It would be useless. Whoever the Patrician chose the guilds should never contest. Drumknott smiled slightly. Vetinari had a great power of imagination in perturbing someone's mind.

Commander Vimes sat at the ruler's chair and jumped up in a hurry, his suspicious mind didn't let him relax anywhere, thinking he would be watched, especially here, in the Oblong office, Vetinari's hornet's nest. He was sure His Lordship was somewhere around, hiding and giggling at his moves, opening a notebook and writing every stupid step he does during his weird experiment.

'May I do anything for you, Milord?' asked the secretary when Vimes finally sat and put his muddy boots over the desk.

'Well… I don't know… what does His Lordship usually do?'

'He reads files, he writes notes, he speaks with the guild members, he works over reports and memos, he gives orders, he signs contracts and verdicts, he negotiates in trade and politic issues, he audiences ambassadors and special alliances, he…'

'All right, I understand!' Vimes lifted up and nervously paced through the office. He moved closer to see Drumknott's look. It was not easy, the man had the fastest eyes in the Disk. The Deputy Patrician stood at his front and sighed loudly. 'You know I will not be like Vetinari.' Drumknott nodded. 'I can not be him, it is obvious. I even don't know why he noticed me as his deputy. I did nothing to deserve this.'

Drumknott rounded his eyes. Vimes stared at him. 'I believe I will not let the cat out of the bag if I say His Lordship used to say many pleasant words about you, Milord. I believe also that his choice is well considered.'

'What bothers me now, dear friend, is that he might be wrong, leaving the city in my hands. I am not a politician, I am a cop.'

'You are His Grace the Duke of Ankh, Milord.'

'I am still no trained to be in a position like this.'

'You did well during your mission in Ubervald, Milord. His Lordship never sued to say it aloud, but he was truly impressed. He never talked about the events at the Koom-Valey events, but I was under the impression he finds your contribution as more than useful.'

Vimes sat at the chair in his front and buried his eyes down. What he heard was too odd to be taken seriously. Vetinari thought he was… useful… Yea, yea… The fact was that he had to act his part into this particular game. He hated being a politician, he had to be it twice, and he genuinely confessed he didn't like it. He was a man of action, not a man to sit and think in advance. He would rather jump through the window in someone's scream, not waiting the report letting him know what had been done afterwards. But what Vetinari did was to put him under his confidence. He was not sure was this one of his jokes, but he had no right to fail, not this time. Vimes stared at Drumknott's face and said slowly:

'I will need a help, my friend.'

The secretary bowed and made a step to the door. 'His Lordship instructed me already, Milord. I will do anything in this direction, as far as I could be helpful.'

He opened the door and went through it. Before closing, he smiled slightly and whispered: 'By the way the first meeting will be in five minutes. Lord Rust is waiting already.' Vimes burst into panic.

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So, guys, this is the second part I promised after The Red Tulip. I would like to have your oppinion.