The following day found the pain in his side reduced to a dull, grumbling throb, and only the barely veiled threats of Nurse Graniteblood and the Patrician's firm orders kept him from adding to his mistake tally and trying to get back to work. He had entirely forgotten that he was supposed to make a statement to the Watch until he heard Commander Vimes' familiar growling in the corridor outside, before, after a perfunctory knock, he was suddenly standing glowering right in the middle of Drumknott's bedroom like a particularly sullen piece of mismatched furniture.

"Commander, please have a seat," Drumknott greeted him, civilly enough, although he was resentful of his presence. Why couldn't he have sent someone else, like Sergeant Angua, or Captain Carrot, or the dim-witted fat sergeant, or even Corporal – well, maybe not Corporal Nobbs. He was still ill, after all. Vimes had better not be here to gloat. The Commander dragged up a chair with a noisy grating sound. How can he manage that on carpet? Drumknott wondered, distractedly.

"I won't be long," Vimes said, in the same characteristically wooden tone he tended to use in the Oblong Office, "I just need you to go over what happened yesterday for the record."

"I'm sure Lord Vetinari has already accurately supplied all the details you need to know," said Drumknott smoothly, admittedly to deliberately annoy the Commander. Vimes' glare didn't seem to have much heart in it though. Perhaps Drumknott looked more frail than he suspected, or perhaps browbeating bedridden secretaries was against some obscure policeman's code of honour. He got out his notepad and thumbed to a clean(ish) page expectantly. Drumknott sighed. Best to get this over with as soon as possible.

"We were both working in the Oblong Office. Just after 6pm, I went over to hand Lord Vetinari some papers to sign. As I was about to return to my own desk, the assassin smashed through the window and landed on it." The desk was, possibly, still a sorer point than his side, and he hadn't even got a chance to look at it yet. It was bound to be scratched all over.

"Go on," said Vimes, as he paused. Drumknott hesitated. Now that he was parsing it again logically in his mind he really couldn't quite connect his thoughts with his actions. The actions seemed to have happened distressingly by themselves, and Drumknott was not the sort of man that often happened to.

"The assassin was armed with some sort of large, curved dagger in each hand and his face was covered," he said, sticking to the easy facts first, "Obviously, he was there to attack the Patrician. I could see him getting ready to leap towards him and so I…tried to stop him."

"You tried to stop him," Vimes repeated slowly, as if to demonstrate its absurdity.

"Yes I tried to stop him," Drumknott repeated testily. He drew a breath. "I cannot say exactly what happened next."

"Very fast was it? Bit of a blur?" Drumknott glared.

"Yes, it was. I somehow collided with the assassin as he jumped off my desk, but Lord Vetinari pulled me to one side, and I assume, er, dealt with him. The next thing I knew I was on the floor, I was in pain and there was a lot of commotion going on about me." He watched as Vimes studiously wrote commotion in his notebook, and made a mental note to suggest to A.E Pessimal that he teach the Watch shorthand.

"Huh," the Commander grunted, "I don't get it. You're a sensible man, Mr Drumknott." Sensible. Yes, he knew that. It had been written on every school report since he was five. It was what everybody said because they couldn't remember anything else about him. "What led you to think that becoming the paste in an assassin sandwich was a good idea?" He took a measured breath.

"Clearly I did not think," he replied calmly, deciding to try dissembly by frankness, "Apart from the fact that there was hardly time to, I acted on instinct to try and prevent someone getting hurt. The Patrician was, so far as I know, still seated when the assassin came through the window, and moreover is slightly lame, putting him at a disadvantage. I was on my feet. In addition, whilst I am of course aware of Lord Vetinari's training, his skills are not something I have personally witnessed, and I was entirely unaware as to their extent. In our everyday interactions, I only see the Patrician, who ordinarily does not deal with anything sharper than a quill pen and a few unwise tongues." He was quite proud of that; a series of perfectly reasonable, truthful statements that added up to a politician's lie. You didn't spend that much time around Vetinari without learning a trick or two, after all.

"You unthinkingly jumped in the way to protect someone you…care about." And there were policeman's truths, as well.

"Are you saying that you would not have done the same in my position?" Vimes had of course done very nearly the same thing, with Lupine Wonse, some time ago, and they both knew it. He returned Drumknott's look with a measured one of his own.

"Do you have any more information about the assassin?" he asked, deciding to press his advantage. Vimes smiled nastily.

"I am keeping Lord Vetinari apprised of all developments in the case, of course," he said.

"Of course." Well, he'd asked for that one. He waited. Vimes wasn't saying anything more but he was emphatically not leaving either. "Do you need anything else Commander?" he asked, with pointed politeness, whilst trying to project Go Away as strongly as possible, "I would like to rest a little now." Vimes fidgeted, with a soft clink of armour, and thumbed absently through his notebook without looking at the pages. It was a notebook that suffered cruelly from Vimes' thumb, Drumknott couldn't help but notice.

"I still can't quite believe you had the nerve," he said at last, "That anyone would…dare." Drumknott had really had enough by this point.

"As I said, it was rather instinctive…"

"You bloody kissed Vetinari!" Vimes interrupted, and Drumknott bit back a rude retort. The Patrician had had the grace not to mention it, but not, apparently, his Grace. Vimes subsided, however, and, incredibly, did that staring at the wall thing he usually did when in the Patrician's presence, leaving Drumknott utterly bemused.

"Should have seen his face," he said at last, in a tone of such gruffness it could only be the result of sincere awkwardness, "Don't think I've ever seen him look so genuinely surprised. Like a beggar child given a rocking horse for Hogswatch. Just for a moment. If you happened to be looking." What? managed Drumknott's brain, blindsided a little. Vimes abruptly got up almost as noisily as he had sat down.

"Well I guess that covers it so I'll let you get your rest." He briefly met Drumknott's eye again. "Kindly try not to get yourself turned into clerk kebab again," he added, still in that gruff tone, "His Lordship was what you might call most severely displeased."

Drumknott sagged back into the pillows, but hardly had time to think or even close his eyes before the door banged loudly open again and a tub of steaming water with short, stocky legs barged in. That wretched painkiller, he thought, before the image resolved itself into something more rational in the form of Nurse Graniteblood, wearing a quite appalling apron apparently fashioned out of leather. He looked like a dwarf butcher.

"Right! Time for a spongebath Mr Drumknott! Got to keep that wound clean, hygiene is very important."

"Oh just kill me and put me out of my misery please," he mumbled. Nurse Graniteblood set down the tub with a quite unseemly clang and stared at him, thoughtfully thumbing his beard.

"Well in cases we can't do much about there is always the option of an honorable, as I believe you humans say, Coop de Grass," – here he tapped his axe meaningfully in a way that made Drumknott's throat go quite dry – then the cheery tone was instantly back again, "But you're going to be perfectly all right, Mr Drumknott, do not worry so, it's bad for the blood pressure." He set about pulling the sheets off and whipping Drumknott's nightshirt over his head before he could voice a protest.

"I just don't…" Drumknott began, helplessly, as the Nurse began peering critically at his naked body, rather like a farmer sizing up an unlikely looking cow at the market, he couldn't help but think, "Oh never mind."

"Aha!" Graniteblood said suddenly, with a sly glance, "I think I know what is bothering you Mr Drumknott," I'm fairly sure you don't, Drumknott thought, wryly, eventually surrendering himself to the process. "You are worried that your wound will affect your functioning as a man."

Drumknott fell back on "Er."

"There is no need to be embarrassed," the Nurse continued jovially, vigorously scrubbing around the area in question, "We nurses are Unshockable, and we take an oath of strictest confidence. Anyway, the wound is nowhere near there and if you're not feeling your usual vigorous self yet it's just the blood loss. You'll be right as rain in a few days."

"Oh jolly good," he said, weakly, wondering if this was the first time anyone had ever applied the term 'vigorous' to him, howsoever theoretically.

"Although you really need to eat more, you're all skin and bones, how do you expect to attract yourself a mate looking like an underfed pup? No offence."

"None taken."

"And try growing a beard. Make a man of you!"

"Thanks for the advice." At this rate, he'd have one too: he'd not had the nerve to ask Graniteblood for a shave – he might use the axe.

"Any time! Now let's get you turned over and do the other side."