Scene 2
[Interior. Patrician Vetinari's office, in the Ankh-Morpork palace.]
[SFX: Knocking on door.]
Vetinari: Come in, Commander Vimes.
[SFX: Door opens, Vimes steps inside. Clerks mumbling industriously and doing paperwork can be heard outside, but cuts off when the door is closed.]
Vimes: Lord Vetinari? You wanted to see me? Oh, I see that Mr. Fusspot is looking cheerful, today.
Vetinari: Yes, he's been a bit under the weather, recently, but he's feeling much better now. Isn't that right, Mr. Fusspot?
Mr. Fusspot: [woofs affirmatively]
Vimes: Under the weather, sir?
Vetinari: Yes, one of those low-hanging miniature storm clouds that have been picking up stray magic from Unseen University. Poor little Mr. Fusspot, his fur was standing on end from all that static electricity, and he didn't enjoy the rains of fish, not at all.
Mr. Fusspot: [growls]
Vimes: I thought most dogs were quite happy to gobble down anything remotely edible?
Vetinari: That is usually true. However, in this case it was, alas, a rain of tinned sardines, and Mr. Fusspot has not yet mastered the use of a can opener. I shall have to inquire with the wizards, and ask them whether they could arrange for a rain of sausages, next time.
Mr. Fusspot: [yips happily]
Vimes: I take it that you didn't order me up here to your office in the palace, just so we could chit-chat about the weather, sir?
Vetinari: No, Vimes. I have a question for you; but first, I feel compelled to ask you a second question, unrelated to the first.
Vimes: I'm starting to question my own ability to tell which question I'm answering, sir. Why not take the second question first, and the first question in a second?
Vetinari: That was precisely my plan, Vimes.
Vimes: Just anticipating your orders, sir.
Vetinari: Most commendable of you, although I really would prefer it if you didn't interrupt me when I'm talking. It's making my trigger-that-releases-the-hiddentrap-door-leading-to-a-scorpion-pit finger, rather itchy.
Vimes: Well, spit it out, then!
Vetinari: The second question, or the first one?
Vimes: I vote for the first of those options, which is actually the second.
Vetinari: Seconded!
Vimes: Well, that's a first. So, what's the question?
Vetinari: Oh, umm... You have been in Klatchistan, I perceive?
Vimes: What? No, I most certainly haven't.
Vetinari: [in a sing-song voice] Mmm, yes, yes you di-i-id, you went to a foreign country recently, and I can tell it ea-sah-ly!
Vimes: Did not!
Vetinari: Did too!
Vimes: Did not!
Vetinari: Did too!
Vimes: Did. Not!
Vetinari: Did too... infinity!
Mr. Fusspot: [woofs supportively]
Vetinari: Thank you, Mr. Fusspot.
Vimes: And what makes you so infinitely sure about that... sir?
Vetinari: Well, for one thing, your shirt is positively slathered with the spiced sauces used so frequently in Klatchian haute cuisine. Secondly, the soles of your footwear are encrusted with a dried residue, exhibiting a peculiar hue indicative of the sandy oases of the Klatchian desert.
Vimes: That's certainly a comprehensive study of the deshabillé state of my attire, sir.
Vetinari: Indeed!
Vimes: My wife Sybil would be proud of you - although, on my salary, I probably couldn't afford deshabillé, and has therefore settled for plain old "shabby".
Vetinari: Mmm... Quite. Now tell me, Vimes: how perfect were my observations? Were they "spot on", as the pimple-squeezing street urchins might say, or were they merely excruciatingly exact in their pin-point accuracy?
Vimes: Missed by a mile, sir.
Vetinari: [happily] Capital!
Vimes: Textbook definition of "erroneous".
Vetinari: Glad to hear it. It's hardly surprising, since I'm always, inevitably, right – but it is, ah, gratifying to... wait, what? W-what did you say?
Vimes: I said, with all due respect: Ya dun goofed! ...Sir.
Vetinari: What are you talking about, man?
Vimes: Well, for starters, the smears on my shirt are leftovers from the take-away I had for lunch. I picked it up in the Curry Gardens, on the corner of God Street and Blood Alley, sir, right here in the city.
Vetinari: Oh... Does Sybil know you've been eating meat, again?
Vimes: I'd really rather prefer that she didn't find out, sir, and... Wait, are you changing the subject already?
Vetinari: I am... altering the subject. Pray I don't alter it any further.
Vimes: Duly noted, sir. As for your second point: the gunk on my boots isn't remotely Klatchian, unless the poor canine that provided it had been munching on Chicken Vindaloo, too. You see, it's common dog muck, Ankh-Morpork born and bred – and now spurned and spread, even further.
Vetinari: Oh, must you drag half the street into my office, Vimes?
Vimes: Actually, sir... I believe that this particular bit of dog muck was indigenous to the palace, as it were. Looks like Mr. Fusspot has been doing his business on the carpet.
Mr. Fusspot: [doggy noises]
Vetinari: ...Oh.
Vimes: Well, at least that means the stains on your floor aren't foreign, sir.
Vetinari: [flustered] Why would that matter, Vimes? I have nothing against Klatchians. Some of my best friends would be Klatchian, if I had friends. Do you have a problem with Klatchians, Vimes?
Vimes: No, but it seemed that you might have a problem with dog turds on your carpets, sir.
Vetinari: Oh, will you stop nattering endlessly on about foreigners and dog doo, Vimes?
Vimes: You're the one who started talking about 'em, sir.
Vetinari: Never mind, then. Heh, even if my deductions were slightly, uh... miscalibrated, at least I managed to impress you with my staggering observational powers, eh?
Vimes: You certainly made an impression, sir.
Vetinari: Every last infinitesimal detail was perceived by my keen argus-eyed, erm... eyes.
Vimes: You've always struck me as particularly beady-eyed, sir.
Vetinari: Oh, sod off, Vimes. What gave me away? I was being super-discreet. There's no way you could've noticed me noticing you.
Vimes: The giant magnifying glass was a bit of a give-away, sir, not to mention the tape measure.
[SFX: Metal mechanisms being shoved aside]
Vetinari: Damn! I've got to ask Leonard to make 'em easier to conceal. I'm usually the very soul of discretion, keeping abreast of every event in this city, seemingly without effort.
Vimes: What about that time where one of the wizards from Unseen University had to explain to you how the sun actually revolves around the Disc, and not the other way round, sir?
Vetinari: Oh, shut it, Vimes! I'm a politician, why would I need to know how the world works?
Vimes: Good point.
Vetinari: Anyway, that wasn't why I asked you to come here today...
[SFX: Long moment of near-silence, chairs creaking gently in the background, as someone shifts their weight]
Vimes: ...Did you just fall asleep?
Vetinari: I was pausing for dramatic emphasis!
Vimes: Well, you do look like you could really use a nap, sir. Say, 12-14 hours or so. The bags under your eyes are almost big enough to give your dog a new hammock.
Vetinari: Vimes... I'm afraid that Lady Morporkia is currently suffering from a grievous spate of magicide.
Vimes: I think you can get an ointment for that, sir, at the apothecary shop near Misbegot Bridge. They're very discreet about that sort of thing.
Vetinari: I meant: somebody's murdering wizards in the city!
Vimes: Ah, I see. That would probably require quite a lot of ointment.
Vetinari: One might say that there's an octarine thread of wizard-murder, running through the colourless skein of humdrum, everyday life in our fair city of Ankh-Morpork; and your duty is to unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch of it.
Vimes: That's very poetic, sir; although, the words "fair" and "colourless" would probably rarely be used to describe anything related to Ankh-Morpork.
Vetinari: Indeed.
Vimes: "Technicolor yawn" would, in fact, be far more appropriate, in every sense of the phrase.
Vetinari: ...Quite.
Vimes: The city is a festering pile of day-old vomit, is what I'm trying to say, sir.
Vetinari: Remind me to have a clerk from the Department of Tourism drop by the watch station and jot down some of your more memorable bon mots, Vimes.
Nobby: [shouting from outside the door] If there's bits of waffles in the vomit, it wasn't me! It was Sherman... I mean, constable Dorfl!
Dorfl: [plaintively] Nob-beee!
Nobby: What? It's not my fault you were sick, I told you not to buy that second meat pie from Cut-My-Own-Throat Dibbler.
Dorfl: Corporal Nobbs, Please Remember That I Am Most Certainly Not A Polar Bear, Or Any Other Carnivorous Animal; I Am A Golem, Fueled By The Raw Magical Fires Of Creation, And Not By Any Kind Of Comestibles.
Nobby: [sarcastic tone] Su-u-ure, and that raw pile of puke in front of the Alchemists' Guild just appeared by itself, like "magic".
Dorfl: Nob-beee...
Nobby: Come to think of it, considering the kind of stuff that you hear alchemists use in their brewing, that puke is probably going to dis-appear, as if by magic - it'll be worth its weight in gold, to them.
Vetinari: Vimes, who are these two clowns?
Vimes: They're not clowns, sir, that's constable Dorfl, and corporal Nobbs. They work for me, as members of the Ankh-Morpork city watch.
Vetinari: Oh, right. I thought I recognized them from somewhere. Faces like that aren't easy to forget. So the big one is a talking polar bear dressed up in a golem costume, and the small one is some kind of monkey, is it?
Vimes: Actually, sir, constable Dorfl is a golem, and certainly not any kind of polar bear.
Vetinari: Did you get something in your eye, Vimes? You appear to be... winking at me.
Vimes: No sir, I'm just worried about the structural integrity of the Palace. It could be dangerous, if someone broke the load-bearing fourth wall.
Vetinari: Oh... Oh! Alright, then. Magnificent-looking golem, right you are, certainly nothing even remotely ursine about it.
Nobby: Yeah Dorfl, stop ursine around. Ha ha ha!
Vetinari: But the small one is definitely a monkey, right?
Vimes: Actually sir, corporal Nobbs is a human.
Vetinari: [disbelieving tone] Really?
Vimes: Yes sir, he's even got a piece of paper that says he's a human. It's signed, and everything.
Vetinari: Well, that settles it, then. Conclusive evidence.
Vimes: Open-and-shut case, sir, much like the impression of a gaping fish you seem to be doing right now.
Nobby: Hey Mister Patrician sir, what's with the giant magnifying glass? Are you collecting really big stamps?
Vetinari: No, corporal Nobbs, I use it for, uh... detecting things.
Nobby: Really? You do know that this is an audio drama parody of a much-loved series of comedic fantasy novels, and not that Sherlock Holmes podcast of yours... right?
Vetinari: What, you mean The Adventures of Curly Fu and Peanut, which can be downloaded from double-you double-you double-you dot thecurlyfuandpeanut dot co dot you-kay? Yes, I'm perfectly aware that this isn't The Adventures of Curly Fu and Peanut (available on double-you, double-you...)
Nobby: Hang on, didn't you read the small print in your contract? Just because you're Belgian, you still have to stick to your contract, even if it's written in English, and it specifically stated that you're not allowed to promote your own stuff, while we're on the air.
Vetinari: OooOOooh! Well, if I was currently portraying the role of Sherlock Holmes, I would certainly have to obey the law. However, I am now Havelock Vetinari, Patrician and supreme ruler of Ankh-Morpork, master of all I survey, and-
Dorfl: Is That Why You Have A Theodolite In The Corner? The One That Has The Slogan "World's Greatest Detective" Stenciled On The Side?
Vetinari: What? Never mind that, my point is: I am a tyrant, and I can do whatever I bloody well feel like, due to Quia Ego Sic Dico.
Vimes: What's that?
Vetinari: It means: "Because I Say So".
Nobby: Oh!
Vetinari: This is jolly exciting! With my massive powers of deductive reasoning, harnessed for the betterment of mankind - or at least the bit of it that's sitting here in my chair - unlimited control of an entire nation of considerable power, every string at hand, just waiting for me to pull them... Why, I do believe I feel rather like Mycroft!
Nobby: Yeah, Tomb Raider was okay, but I prefer some of the more modern games, ones that combine high-quality graphics and enthralling gameplay, with a deep and well-written story arc... like Angry Birds, or Fruit Ninja!
Vetinari: ...What?
Nobby: You said "Croft" - as in: Lara Croft?
Vetinari: Nobby, haven't you ever heard of Mycroft Holmes? Wait, don't answer that, I've got a second question I want you to answer first.
Vimes: Are we about to do that whole tired "who's on first?" routine, all over again? Abbott and Costello must be rolling over in their graves.
Vetinari: Shut up, Vimes. What I want to know, is what these two hooligans were doing, shouting and loitering outside my office in the first place?
Nobby: [giggles] I think you just answered your own question.
Vimes: Just answer the Patrician, corporal Nobbs.
Nobby: We were waiting to use the recording studio... I mean, office, for our next scene, sir.
Vetinari: Can't you wait five bloody minutes? I was just about to start my big monologue!
Vimes: You mean, all that waffling about Klatchian threads and octarine dog turds was your small monologue?
Nobby: Actually, it can't wait, sir. You see, we're in hot pursuit of a suspect, who may be a wanted criminal!
Vetinari: Good grief! Why are you two just standing there, then? Get after him!
Dorfl/Nobby: Yes, sir!
[SFX: Whooshing noise, as the scene changes in a dramatic fashion]
[SFX: Dramatic pulse-pounding music, setting the scene for some fast-paced action]
[End scene]
