A/N: Alright, so...I know Vetinari and Vimes act a bit differently then you expect of them, but...try to think of it as creative license. Or, you could also imagine that by the time they are in their mid to late fifties, maybe they are almost friends. That's the way I'm putting it in my head. Also, I will randomly insert Moriarty stuff between Vimes/good guy chapters, so be prepared for some insights into a very twisted mind. Oh, I nearly forgot: The chapters for this will probably be on the short side, but there will propably be a lot of them, so this might get updated faster than my other stories.

Chapter 1: A Day Gone Wrong

Once every three months or so, there came a Perfect Day. Sometimes it came after a one-month case, a long murder case usually. Sometimes, it happened after only a couple of weeks, or only one. But, unless that bastard in the Palace had anything to say about it, it happened about four times a year.

Today had been a Perfect Day. No crimes had gone on, that the Watch knew about, anyway, other than the usual meeting with Vetinari Vimes hadn't been called to the Palace, no assassination attempts on anyone (which fell under part one, but Vimes considered assassination of the illegal sort special), and no foreign dignitaries to impress or any balls or dances to attend.

Today had been good...

Unfortunately, a Perfect Day has to be interrupted at one of two points: The first, it's beginning. The second, it's end.

And so, as Vimes trudged up the Palace steps, the midnight rain pouring down on his face and back and slithering under the chain-mail, he wondered why Vetinari had had to ruin his Perfect Day at such a late hour...or maybe it was early?

He'd been given time to shave, which was good, but Vimes knew that anything that made Vetinari call him to the Palace at such a late hour boded ill anyway.

Lighting a cigar, he snorted, then took a long drag. Forget Vetinari's polite wish that he not smoke in the Office, he had called Vimes out at this ungodly hour, and so Vimes would show some slight discourtesy back.

"Commander Vimes? The Patrician will see you now," Drumknott said quietly, his voice carrying uncomfortably in the silent Palace. "And he asks that you put out the light...he isn't in a mood to deal with that now, Commander," he added warily, and watched Vimes grunt and put it out, then tuck it behind his ear. Drumknott nodded once, then showed him into the Oblong Office.

The Office was mostly dark, but that didn't bother the two current occupants. Vetinari turned from the window, his usually almost friendly eyes dark and angry.

Vimes eyed him almost nervously, his weight shifting from his usual angry pose to one that was more respectful.

"Vimes, do you recall a wizard named Rincewind?" Vetinari said quietly, not turning to Vimes again. His eyes were locked on the Tower of Art, and Vimes moved respectfully closer, uneasily following his gaze.

"Yessir...bit of a failure as I recall. Became leader of the Red Army in the Agatean Empire because he wanted to become a real wizard, right?"

Vetinari's lips twitched, just a little at the corners, and he raised an eyebrow. Vimes held back a grin, settling for a smile. "I have my own spies and friends, Sir."

"Quite, Vimes," Vetinari replied, and Vimes watched a small smile of genuine amusement curl the lips briefly before the taller man sighed and limped over to his desk, lighting a candle. Vimes drew in a sharp breath, his eyes refusing to adjust for a moment. And then the light was out, and Vimes looked his boss over, when the colored dots faded from his vision.

"Sir? It's quite early, I'd like to get back to Sybil," Vimes grunted, but it was more polite than his usual grumbling.

Vetinari eyed him for a moment, then sighed and passed him what looked like a hastily written letter. "Rincewind was wandering in the Agatean Empire and apparently had a mysterious man slam into him at something approaching firespeed, Vimes. Upon inspection, Rincewind found his name to be-"

"-Moriarty."

Vimes spat the name out like it was venom, and Vetinari watched one lip twitch in anger and disgust. "How long ago was it that this report was sent?" Vimes barked, and remembered who he was speaking to in time to cut off the curious eyebrow. "-sir. How long ago was this sent, sir?" Vimes tried again, and at Vetinari's tiny nod, calmed a bit.

"About a month ago, Commander. No, I do not know where he is now...I wish I did. My contacts in the Empire tell me nothing of his activities, but my contacts there have slowly been shrinking in number for the last month and a half. I suspect it took Mister Rincewind about fifteen days to work up the courage to go into a city again," Vetinari replied, cutting off Vimes' interruption. Vimes cursed, getting him an eyebrow from Vetinari that remained as he tried to figure out what he had done.

"Sorry, sir. I've been awaiting his arrival for the last twenty or so years."

Vetinari nodded, looking Vimes over. In the nearly thirty years they had worked together, Vetinari had privately noted the slightest gain of weight that came as Vimes became older in his position as Duke of Ankh. But he also saw the fire in Vimes' soul, and saw the white around his knuckles. He had to focus to keep a smile from his lips. They were getting too old for this, really. But neither could stop even if they wanted to. And how they both wanted to...Vetinari wished to retire sometime, perhaps to his estate, perhaps somewhere less obvious. The quiet of a vacation where no one wanted him dead because of his position.

Vetinari looked at Vimes again. "I wanted you to know that I want the investigation to begin tomorrow...I won't send you to Agatea, I would like my diplomatic status to stay level there for now. But I want you to find what you can on Moriarty again, go over it all, maybe send me some notes...my libraries are open to you."

Vimes snorted. "But not my less-educated men, right sir?" he grunted. Vetinari held back a smile.

"I would like my library to survive and remain intact, Vimes. I will allow Sergeant Angua, Constable von Humpeding, and Sergeant Littlebottom to accompany you tomorrow morning, when one of my Clerks can be...will be awake."

Vimes barely held back a laugh. The idea of Vetinari using the word 'rousted' seemed to fit, though Vetinari obviously did not think so. Of course, Vetinari had shown Vimes some impressive things in these last two or three years, them being the reasons that they were now relatively decent friends, with the occasional master to servant relationship.

"Understood, sir."


Vetinari paused as he heard the door creak open slightly. He turned from the window to give the young woman a bright smile.

And she was not only young, but what he had heard other men describe as ravishingly beautiful. He'd met very few noblewomen who were as beautiful as Elena de Worde. Very few women at all, really, discounting vampires.

"You called me, my Lord?"

Vetinari looked the young lady over again, noting the cut on her arm and bite-scar on her stomach. She wore a workman's clothes in general, though tonight she had been called from just after an assignment. She was wearing extremely form-fitting silks, but they made no sound when she walked. Her rather revealing clothes had been quickly but effectively hidden beneath her also usual navy blue cloak, though her long black hair had been pulled into a tight pony-tail. Her arms were bare, the left one bleeding from what appeared to be a knife wound, but he decided it prudent not to comment upon it at this time.

"Good morning, Miss de Worde," he replied, offering her a seat. She nodded, sinking gratefully into the offered chair. Unlike most people, including some of his other Dark Clerks, Elena chose to look directly at him, her emerald gaze seldom wavering from him. Except on the rare occasions when he was angry, at which point she seemed to shrink away, like Mr. Slant near an open flame.

He noted that she was fidgeting, and wondered if he appeared annoyed or angry to her. Perhaps he was. He easily separated himself from the annoyance and gave her a friendly smile, since when Elena got jumpy, she got rather pitiable. A carry-over from her days in Lord de Worde's household. An unfair carry-over, he felt.

"Yes Ms. de Worde. How was your trip from Agatea?"

"Fine, sir. Just fine. A bit...exciting, but that's slavers for you."

Vetinari let a lightning-smile grace his lips. Ah yes...Elena de Worde had impressive fighting skills, generally in the range of most Assassins, but mostly outside of it. Excellent reflexes.

"Has Rincewind started back here to the city, Miss de Worde?"

"Yes, sir. Last I saw, he was going to try and run the land-way. Through the Hublands. Apparently he decided it was scarier to have me following him than to just come back."

Vetinari thought this over. Elena was one of his best stealth agents, but she was also a great Assassin, and an excellent person for intimidation. She didn't have her brother's haughtiness, she instead had inherited her father's confidence (in most areas), and her brother's insistence that truth be found. But she preferred to do something about the world, and so had come to him...

...The despotic tyrant who had been known to have to ignore the truth to secure relations or stability.

"Ah. I can see his viewpoint. Do take care of that cut, Miss de Worde, your brother will insist on an interview otherwise," he added.

"Yes, sir. Sir...could I take a few days off? I promise I shall assist Commander Vimes, but...I would like to spend a few days with my brother, and my sister-in-law. I haven't really seen my brother in nearly a year."

Vetinari noted that she had hurried the sentence, and was fidgeting again. Lord de Worde had been a cruel man...While he had never done anything physical to his children, he had done far worse in many ways. It did make a part of him very angry that a man who called himself a pillar of the community could be so cruel to his own children.

"Of course, Miss de Worde. I'm sure your brother will appreciate it, after his customary argument about your job," he said, giving her a reassuring smile. She returned it nervously, but she had calmed considerably.

As she left the room, Vetinari sighed, and limped back to his window, overlooking his city. You could only do so much paperwork before you had to look at something else.

"She's a bit of a handful, isn't she, my Lord?"

Vetinari turned and looked at his secretary.

"Miss de Worde is a good Clerk, is she not?"

"Well, yes my Lord, but...she takes a bit too much pleasure in it, for my tastes."

"Why, Drumknott, are you being critical? Miss de Worde has had a rough, I might even say troubled, life. If she enjoys her work, it is no worse than a talented Assassin enjoying theirs. Indeed, it is almost exactly the same, is it not?" Vetinari said, innocently faking confusion and worry.

Drumknott looked thoughtful, briefly. "Well my Lord...I suppose. Would you like your meetings for the day, my lord?"

"No Drumknott...I think my schedule should be cleared until about noon, when I believe either Captain Carrot or the Commander will be back here for an update," Vetinari replied quietly, dismissing Drumknott with a wave of his hand.

Once alone, the Patrician sighed, hands gripping the windowsill until his knuckles went white as sheets. He didn't dare slam his fists down on the sill in anger. He didn't know what was going on...his contacts in Agatea were disappearing, no doubt into the underground where Moriarty was planning his war, his...conquest.

Suddenly the lord calmed, and sighed, sinking into his chair and shaking his head. His cane bounced several times on the carpet, absently and distantly. But in a perfectly even rhythm. He looked tired, and he felt it too. So, with a grunt as he stood, he slipped down the hall to his room, where he decided an hour or two's sleep wasn't out of the question.

A/N Continued: Alright, I know Elena is stretching it a bit, HOWEVER!, we are never told the names of William de Worde's sisters, so I made one of them a Dark Clerk. And an Assassin. Just try to take her as an awesome character if you don't like what I've done to the de Worde family, ok?