Disclaimer: I don't own Discworld or any of its character and I make no money from this. Everything belongs to the wonderful Mr Pratchett.
My first Discworld fic. Tell me if you think I kept them both (especially him) in character.
The lodging house is about to sit down to dinner. The respectable gentlemen shuffle their feet and cast nervous glances at each other. They listen to the voice of Mrs Arcanum in full flow in the kitchen.
"I really don't know what to think of him. Mr de Worde has become rather slipshod in his timekeeping of late; when he comes back I'm afraid I shall have to give him a piece of my mind. In a calm and respectful manner, of course."
They sit down at the dining table when they hear her take the pan off the stove and pick up the stack of plates.
-sc-
People are staring. They can no longer be referred to as passers-by, because they are stood stock still and silent whilst the group passes them by. They stare at the bizarre procession.
If it were any other toff doing this it wouldn't be bizarre, it would just be pompous, but this is him.
-sc-
In the lodging house Mrs Arcanum set down the last plate of food.
There was a knock at the door.
"If that's Mr de Worde", she said, opening the door, "I'll –"
She felt the words die an instant death in her throat.
In front of her stood, well, the most unexpected party she had ever thought to see on her doorstep. Lord Vetinari was seated on a shining white horse, the dusty black of his robes tempering the brightness just enough for the sharp blue eyes to fix her in place. In front of him and behind him, on every spare part of horse, were chests. There were Palace Guards with him, big strapping brutes obviously not chosen for their skills of reasoning or intelligence – they didn't need to be: that was all contained within the thin, pale figure atop the horse.
"Mrs Arcanum, I believe?"
She nodded dumbly, her mind screaming at her for being so impolite.
"Please forgive my not getting down; I have a game leg." He smiled slightly. "The chests rather get in the way." He signalled to the guards. "Gentlemen."
The chests landed in front of Mrs Arcanum with thuds that suggested that whatever was inside them was very heavy.
Mrs Arcanum couldn't decide whether to carry on staring at the Patrician or to start staring at the chests: she didn't really understand either of them.
The Patrician dismounted and moved in front of the chests to stand before Mrs Arcanum.
"I felt it to be an appropriate time for me to repay my debt to you, Mrs Arcanum." He stepped slightly to one side and gestured with his cane. "Seventy thousand Ankh-Morpork dollars, Mrs Arcanum. That weighs quite a lot."
He gave her a smile, turned, and walked down the road. The guards and a clerk that Mrs Arcanum hadn't noticed before followed him.
Mrs Arcanum's mind started to unfreeze and the tidal wave of Decency advanced to blast away the last of the ice floes, jerking her body into action.
"Mr Patrician sir! Your lordship – your grace – sir!"
As she passed his horse she noticed Mr de Worde standing with his hands clasped quietly in front of him, no notebook in sight. The Patrician turned.
"Yes?"
"I thank you for your… your consideration, I really do, but I can't take all that money… all those respectable people who pay their taxes –"
"I am sure that was the money to be taken from public funds the respectable people who pay their taxes would be very much obliged to give it to you, but this is not a case of the taxpayers' money, Mrs Arcanum. This is my personal gesture of gratitude to you."
Mrs Arcanum could hear the crackling of the ice as it formed. Seventy thousand dollars was a respectable sum, and there was no doubt in her mind that this was a very respectable man.
The knob of the black cane came up and pressed gently against her chin, shutting her mouth.
"The Vetinari family is the richest in the city after the Ramkins, now called Vimes. I am a very rich man. I am sure I can afford it."
The cane resumed its place at its owner's side.
"Should you ever want anything," said Vetinari, "then go to my clerk, Drumknott." He gestured to the clerk. "And if anyone or anything should stop you from doing so," he said, his eyes travelling to rest on a different figure, "then Mr de Worde will, I am certain, do his best to aid you." He returned his gaze to her once more, and he reached down and lifted her hand to his lips, smiling slightly as he did so.
"Good day, Mrs Arcanum."
As he walked off Mrs Arcanum seized her final chance.
"Thank you!"
There was a suggestion of laughter in the voice that answered her.
"It is my pleasure."