His Lord Vetinari groaned, and fell forward in the carriage. There was a horrible spewing sound, and his left foot got wet.
"Sir?" he asked tentatively.
"What?" he snapped back. "I'm not well."
Rufus went into shock. "Well - it's not like you to become unwell, sir."
"I can't help it," he replied, reaching for his handkerchief. "It was that prawn cocktail I ate at that conference from the buffet, I'm sure of it."
He was sick again, and heaved.
Rufus did nothing but twist his hands in his old robe until they got to the Palace. His Lordship climbed unsteadily out of the carriage, and started to sway. Rufus leapt down, and steadied him.
A man came forward. Rufus said, "Help his Lordship into the Palace while someone else cleans up the sick. He's not well."
Rufus went back for their bags, paperwork, and scrolls. He left the carriage door open to air somewhat.
When he got in, his Lordship was trying to climb the stairs - all the way up seven flights by himself, by the looks of things - and hanging heavily onto the banister.
Rufus readjusted the top scroll, and dumped his pile onto the nearest busying clerk. "Take everything upstairs at once."
It was slow going. He helped his Lordship up seven flights, mostly by dragging him, until they got to the Oblong Office. His Lordship sat heavily down in his wooden chair, and stumbled his legs into the dog's basket.
"Leave me," he ordered. "No, actually, fetch water. I don't feel well at all." With that, he stood upright, and hurried to the toilet door. It was a long corridor after that, and Rufus worried that he wouldn't make it in time.
While he was gone, Rufus had a nip of brandy to make him feel better. Then another. Then some more. Then he poured half the bottle to stop his hands from shaking.
Supposing it was poison, and his Lordship died? What then? He didn't know if he could live with himself. He sat down in his Lordship's chair, and thought back to what his Mum did when he was unwell. She tucked him into bed, sang him songs, and patted his forehead and cheeks with a wet towel. He was a man. He didn't know if he was up for it.
He thought about summoning another clerk to brainstorm with him, when it occurred to him that he should cancel all of Lord Vetinari's appointments. He went into his office via the side door, and made swift work of it.
When he returned, his Lordship was back, and looking waxy and pale. Paler than normal, which shouldn't be possible, with a grey and green tinge to his cheeks. There were shadows under his eyes inside the bags, and he looked tired.
"You should go to bed, sir," he said.
"No, Drumknott. I have work to do."
"Well, you never know, it could be contagious. I've cancelled all of your appointments."
"Very well." He slumped back, and rubbed his temples. Then he was sick with water into the bin. Screws of paper floated to the surface. "You might... ah, have a point."
He stood up, and Rufus gave him his cane. He stumbled out the door, and along the corridor towards his bedroom. He liked to sleep near the job.
Rufus tidied his paperwork, refilled his inkwell, and left everything nice and neat for the morning. If it was really the prawn cocktail, he'll be over it in a day.
He let himself down the corridor, and into his bedroom. "Sir?"
"In here," said Lord Vetinari from his en suite bathroom. In there, the walls were a horrible pale peach colour, and the wallpaper was shells. "I think... I believe I need a new roll of toilet paper, please."
Rufus went to fetch some. He tucked the loose end in, and rolled it through the open door without looking. There were the sounds of someone standing up, and scraping their cane along the floor to reach it.
"Have you got it?"
"No, Drumknott. I haven't. Close your eyes, if you must."
Rufus shut his eyes, and wandered into the bathroom. It stunk to high Dunmanifestin. He was whacked across the shins with the cane.
"Down there, to the left, if you please."
Rufus felt down, and around. Someone sat back down, and got on with it. He groaned, mostly from embarrassment from the sounds of it. Rufus reached to the right, and found the toilet paper, which he handed over.
"We shall never speak of this again," he was told coldly and not sharply.
Rufus peeked a bit at the floor to see himself out. He shut the door, and leaned on it. That had been a close brush with the assassin of the man.
Rufus waited with equipment he had fetched until Lord Vetinari stumbled out, half naked, with his robe tied around his middle. He sat on the bed, grey chest hair heaving.
He looked old, around twenty years older than he should be. He was supposed to be in his fifties, like Vimes.
He got into bed, removed his robe, and draped it over the top side of himself.
Rufus couldn't imagine fluffing his pillows. So he poured him a glass of water from the jug, and set it on his bedside table on the coaster. He'd already pulled all the books away, and generally tidied his room up. It was all in the Oblong Office to sort out tomorrow. He'd even tied all his paperclips together, so he knew where to find a new one.
"Thank you, Drumknott. Your... work is invaluable." He coughed. "But I believe I need a sick bowl."
"Sir?"
"I have one already that Lupine Wonse gave me to once. When I had to use the toothbrush."
Rufus winced. "When you had to shove it down your throat to stop yourself from swallowing too much poison? The older clerks told me about that."
"Yes, that. It's in the memorial room as it once was a gift from Ephebe." His tone told him that he didn't like it much. "It contains a fresco of some Olympian fighters. Not very peaceful like at all. I used that. It's better than that bucket Vimes gave to him during the arsenic attempt."
"Yes, sir. The handle came off. I'll see to it." He found the memorial room without incident, and found it tucked away amongst tissue paper. It was very large and heavy earthenware. It did depict Olympian athletes throwing the javelin and so forth. He wondered what he had against it.
He hefted it back. He placed it on the floor, near the bed, and Lord Vetinari sicked up his water glass into it.
"Do I have to empty it, sir?" Rufus was dreading doing that.
"No, it's got enough room until morning. Actually-" He got out of bed, and hurried back into the loo, farting strongly.
Rufus blinked, slowly. He'd just seen him naked. That was not particularly anything he wanted to see again. He was too old, too thin, and too weak. Rufus liked young, strong, athletic men. Except that they didn't have enough power. Rufus was ambitious like that, much more ambitious than a porno star.
The door shut from the inside. It was something to do with the hinges. It bolted.
The bolt scraped open. "Actually," he called through a centimetre of open door, "I need help. Stay."
Rufus hung around. He opened the window, rearranged potpourri, and fluffed up pillows like his Mum showed him to. He asked for the water jug to be refilled.
The maids had a bell system, part engineering, part magic where you could call them via a touch of a button. The buttons were part of the wall near the lamp as Lord Vetinari liked to stand up to use them, and connected to the maids area via bells.
The maid, Mildred Easy returned, bobbed a curtsey, and poured her flagon into it.
"What's that?" she said, pointing at the Ephebian urn.
"That's his Lordship's sick bowl," he replied. "Don't ask. I like Ephebian men."
She giggled. "His Lordship likes you, actually," she said back. "You've been his secretary for several years now." She left.
Rufus panted. No, he did not want to think about staff rumours, which started with the many gay Dark Clerks that they had, and obviously finished with Vimes and Captain Carrot having late night meetings with him.
Lord Vetinari returned, gaunt and pale. He sat down on the bed, shaking.
Rufus tucked him in. Vetinari gave him a weird look. He sat up on his pillows, and his hand reached automatically for a report.
"No," said Rufus. "You're too unwell. Get some rest."
The hand remained. "I have work to do."
"No, sir. You're to go to bed early. Then you'll be all right in the morning."
"I won't be well with morning. This lasts several days, if it's that vomiting bug. I've had it before."
Rufus emptied some herbal remedy into his water glass, and handed it over, swilling it about to mix it. His Lordship drank.
He took his hand back, and dove it under the covers. Both hands. They covered his groin, judging by the way the blanket moved. He blushed.
"I'm cold," he complained, blush tingeing his chest.
"I'll fetch you another blanket, sir," began Rufus, but his Lordship grabbed him quickly.
"No, I need someone else to warm me up."
Rufus' mouth hung open. "Really, sir?"
Vetinari shifted over. It was a narrow bed, much too narrow for two people. His Lordship had a suite downstairs that he used for seamstresses, unless a member of state was in it, like an ambassador. There had been rumours.
Rufus stood still. "I have to think about it, sir. I was expecting to be your Mum tonight."
Lord Vetinari laughed, briefly. He flung the bedcover back, exposing his hip and leg. "Please join me... Rufus Drumknott."
"No, sir. You're feverish. I shan't impose."
His mood changed, capricious. "Are you suggesting that I'm delusional?"
"No, sir. You're not well, that's all." And you're not my type. You're my boss. My Lordship.
He flung the bedcovers back. "That will be all. Do not tell."
Rufus hurried back to his room, and shut the door. He locked it, although what he was scared of he didn't know. Well, apart from death. But that happened a lot daily in Ankh-Morpork, growing up.
He changed, and got into bed, head in his arms, on his back. He was dreadfully worried, and it gnawed inside his stomach, like he, too, would be puking his own guts out all night.
End of it on FFN. Sex parts on my blog or Archive Of Our Own. If you're old enough, read.
It was the next morning. Rufus' alarm went off at five, an hour earlier. He hoped to catch his Lordship unawares.
He showered, got dressed in that awful mimicry robe again that they all wore, and crept along the corridor.
Mildred Easy walked out of his Lordship's room. "Hello, Mr Drumknott. He's awfully quiet today. He says he won't be well enough to work."
"Oh. I see. Is he up already?"
"Every morning, bright and shine."
Rufus walked in to see his Lordship shaving. He had foam everywhere, and he was hanging onto the basin top with his other hand to steady himself.
"Come to clear up, hmmm? I did that."
Rufus tapped his heels together. "I'm sorry, sir, about what happened. I'll try again later... when you feel better."
"When you have no experience in the matter?" He breathed off foam.
"You can teach me, sir!"
"No. I prefer an experienced hand. Still, I have my seamstresses... and tailor boys." He shaved under the chin. "You're still hired, by the way. I have need of a fine secretary."
Rufus breathed out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Yes, sir." He bowed, and backed off.
"Your dressing gown is on the chair. I gather that sometimes you used to breakfast in it. No doubt Miss Easy recognised it."
"Oh, god, sir. Please don't spread malicious lies about me just because I was no good."
"I'm not that sort of person," he snapped, and almost cut himself. "You must realise that."
He shrugged. "Sometimes people do things, sir. I wouldn't want my name to be tarnished."
"Name not tarnished, done! I would shake on it, except that I'm shaving. Damn!" He shaved part of his goatee off. "I wonder if some of the dye will stick back on..."
Rufus went to the Oblong Office, and tidied up the mail. He fetched a newspaper, and lay it open at the crossword. Thankfully, his name wasn't in it.
He went along the long corridor to the public toilets, and then trailed back to his Lordship's bathroom. He stocked up toilet rolls.
"Here, sir."
"Oh, gods, don't remind me. That was so embarrassing yesterday. I almost had to use my cane as a plunger."
"Is there anything else, sir?"
"No, that will be all."
THE END