Disclaimer: They're all Pterry's. Every single one...
A/N: This was posted first as The Visionary... but then I read Night Watch! So it's now been amended... yes, perhaps some small spoilers... Vetinari is seventeen; perhaps once this attempt fails his aunt will form the plan with which Night Watch deals. (And if you haven't read it, I hope that's cryptic enough to
The Head of the Guild of Assassins leaned back in his chair, tapping his steepled fingers together over his not inconsiderable middle.
"Now if you would just let me get this straight, young Vetinari," he said in the rich, contented tones of a man who had spent the last three hours having luncheon and confidently expected to occupy the next five with dinner, "You propose that the Guild of Assassins should send the cream of our finest to assassinate Lord Winder? To assassinate, in a word, the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork?"
"Yes, sir," said the slight seventeen year-old standing motionless to attention on the deep carpet of the other side of the desk, and his voice was the voice of one who had known that the battle was lost before he began, yet fought it still to the best of his ability and was prepared to fight until the end.
"And you know the Guild price on his head, Vetinari? Thirteen thousand dollars. But you knew that, I'm sure."
"Yes, sir." And still no expression fought its way onto the boy's marble visage.
"Vetinari," said Follett as kindly as he could, for he always tried to encourage the neophytes, "do I understand that you are seriously proposing that we should do this gratis?"
"As a service to the state, sir."
"A... service. The state... thirteen thousand dollars, Vetinari."
"If I might speak candidly, sir, and if I might abandon reservations, Lord Winder is a... liability. His policies might even be considered unwise. And if I might be utterly sincere, the Guild could afford it."
"As a citizen, I have to agree with you. But I am running a Guild here. This is not a charity! If you are so adamant to have Winder assassinated, I can only suggest that you do it yourself."
"Yes, sir," said Vetinari. Follett couldn't see the flame in the compelling eyes that he avoided as he waved a plump, bejewelled hand.
"Run along now, Vetinari, there's a good lad. I'm sure there's some essay that you could be writing."
"Yes, sir. The rôle of the Guild in modern politics. I had written it, but I need to do some redrafting now."
"Good, good. Well, off you go, and do try to come up with some more sensible ideas."
Follett watched the young man go and sighed. A promising lad, although his marks were poor... but with such obsessions, he would never rise.