Chapter 2: The Library

"That bastard expects us to find anything in this library!?"

Alright, so Vimes had been inside once or twice...but he'd never really paid much attention to the sheer quantity of books in the Patrician's private library and records. Drumknott had left the Watch members earlier, and now Vimes was just angry.

"We'll never find anything in here! It's a mess!"

"Commander, I must correct you. It is quite organized, you just have to observe a bit."

Vimes spun around at the cool, calm voice. While they were decent friends now, Vetinari's tendency to appear from seemingly nowhere drove Vimes up the walls and down the other side.

"Sir, what are you doing here?" he asked, looking annoyed. Vetinari gave him an infuriatingly puzzled look, obviously contrived to Vimes' eyes, but he let it pass.

"It is my library Vimes. Besides, no Clerks would come down here to guide you and your men around. Only speaking in metaphorical terms, ladies." Vimes had noted Cheery's disgruntled noise of dislike, and her brief nod at the Patrician's polite correction of himself. It was funny, in a strange and possibly deadly way.

Of course, Vetinari could be a very good and giving person...sometimes. When it came to the Watch's eccentricities...and equal rights. Usually. Mostly with the first.

Still, the other Watch members decided that now sounded like a really good time for some lunch, and left the two men bickering in their own private way. One yelling, and the other standing very still and looking polite.


It was nearly three hours later.

The other Watch members had a pool going on how long Vimes could continue shouting at Vetinari. Angua had put in the option of 'forever,' while Cheery had submitted 'until his throat is too dry to let him talk.' And, amazingly enough, work was actually being done. They were now arguing (in their own special way) over the pieces of information they had dug up.

Still, the Watch was listening to each word said by both speakers, almost like a football match, or maybe that newfangled tennis.

"What do you mean my old case files got sent here when the old Watch house burned down!? It was burned. Down! There wasn't anything left, I checked!"

Vetinari shook his head, leaning back with his leather boots on the desk and looking immensely pleased with himself as he scanned a report. "Yes. After my Clerks had done their job and cleared out the paperwork."

Vimes snarled in anger, but snatched up another report, scanning it angrily before grabbing a quill-pen and dipping it in red ink to circle incorrect grammar and spelling. Vetinari flashed a lightning smile, and the tension in the room settled minutely. They were in fact friends now. Anyone who knew Vimes could see the tell-tale signs. Yes, he hated the man's profession, but somehow he'd grown to like the man the Patrician was, and their friendship, while seeming tenuous, was really quite strong.

"Vimes...I have a report here that specifically mentions him by name. It seems it was written hastily, and with blood."

Vimes went stiff, and he turned his head slowly. Angua could smell the fury, guilt, and sorrow already.

"Is it written on a tiny piece of paper, no bigger than an alchemist's stick-it note?" he breathed, swallowing. Vetinari looked up, eyes narrowed, before he turned briefly to the other Watch personnel.

"I'm quite sure that someone, somewhere in this city is committing a crime, yes? I think the Commander and I have this well in hand."

They practically ran for the door. When the Commander and the Patrician had their most private talks, it was best to be a long way away. Partly because either one would see you punished somehow very badly if they found out you had listened in.

Vetinari waited silently, and extremely patiently. In the years they had known each other, Vetinari had perfected his patience with Vimes when he knew that Vimes had something private to tell him. Vimes had done the same, and both knew that often the other didn't want anyone to know except those involved, no matter how close the friendship was.

Vimes leaned back, taking deep breaths that Vetinari recognized as his attempts to calm down from some memory. He looked on the verge of speaking, but the Patrician said nothing, setting the report on the table and folding his hands calmly on his chest.

And then, quietly, Vimes began to speak.

"It had my name on it, Sir, because I wrote the report."

Vetinari didn't move for some time, evaluating whether or not Vimes wanted his input or his silence. The commander seemed troubled, shifting uneasily and reverting to his habit of not looking the Patrician in the eye.

"Vimes. You don't have to tell me-"

"Yes. I do. You haven't met him, Sir. You haven't dealt with that mad gleam and that super intellect. Haven't watched him throw a bottle of something and kill a close friend."

Vetinari fell silent, but he removed his boots from the table and brought his chair closer, fingers steepling and he himself leaning forward to show his attentiveness.

"Alright then, tell me Vimes."

The Commander looked somehow forlorn, and Vetinari found himself wanting to prompt the man before he was rewarded with quiet words.

"I was not even twenty yet. My sergeant at the time, a Sergeant Peeler, we were on patrol. We'd been told some wizard was out, and so we were where we thought he wouldn't be. Like Fred always does now. Well...he thought that way too. We ran into him, and when we stopped to ask him questions, he just grinned, answering us calmly. And then Peeler, he asked what the loud noises from his basket were. I would have sworn it wasn't there before that, but there it was...And then he'd opened it, and my sergeant was dead, and that man was legging it up an alley. He was far thinner then any wizard I ever knew, looked almost sickly, but he was muscular enough...Peeler was covered in cuts, and I had some note paper. But no ink. So...I made do. Keel taught me to make do. Peeler was already dead, so I just used his blood. Obviously it worked," Vimes whispered, voice gruff and gravelly.

The Patrician nodded, but the man beneath that job sighed and stood, laying a hand on Vimes' shoulder as he stood beside him, feeling now the gentle tremors he had seen faintly.

"Vimes...Thank you. Such men are more dangerous even then Carcer. And, as I'm sure you have plans to do, should be brought to justice. Come, I think some of your officers can do this. I have other pressing matters and a few other things to do right now. Do get your paperwork done, though, Vimes, I cease to tire of wondering how many impossible things you request."

"You grant them Sir."

"I have no idea why, either."

Vimes grinned, and Vetinari flashed a smile before he limped a few steps, pausing and pressing a hand to his leg. Vimes moved forward, looking concerned.

"No...no, it just hurts, Vimes. Nothing too serious..."

"Sir, you're an idiot. Come on, take my hand." Vimes proffered his hand, the calloused fingers nearly straight as he offered his support. Almost hesitantly, Vetinari accepted, his own calloused fingers taking the hand and then his light, tall frame leaning on the shorter man as he limped along, the limp more pronounced then was normal.

As they approached the Oblong Office, the Patrician changed positions, and nearly fell onto the floor. An arm caught him easily, and hauled him back up, and a heavy sigh came from the vicinity around his shoulder height.

"Sir, are you going to be alright?"

"Perhaps, Sir Samuel, perhaps. Still, thank you. The Office, if you please, I do not have the luxury of days off for being sick or injured. Except when I'm poisoned or shot, apparently."

Vimes rolled his eyes at the man's dry smile, and helped him into the Oblong Office by a side door very few people noticed.

The empty office seemed to radiate it's user's traits, though this was only partially true. Vetinari the man had some important differences from his political and official personality.

As the taller man sat heavily (or as close as he came) in the chair, leg trembling underneath him, Vimes pulled up a chair from a corner, looking at his 'master' with unconcealed disappointment.

"Go on Sir Samuel...I'm sure you have things to do, other files to check, some criminal to deal with..."

"No Sir. Been pretty quiet recently, and the Clacks I sent to Commander Fortuna in Genua is going to take some time to get there. I have some time to kill, Sir."

"Commander Fortuna?"

Vimes shrugged and leaned back, lighting a cigar before he put it out again at Vetinari's sharp look. "She dealt with Moriarty in the old days too, Sir. A bit of a stubborn woman, but very much a good cop."

"Ah, yes. I believe I know who you are referring to. Miss Edana Fortuna, yes? The Head of the Genuan Watch, I believe. And your Clacks to 71-Hour Ahmed last night, I trust, also has had no answer yet?"

Vimes shrugged, considering lighting his cigar again. Vetinari's informants often reported to him the doings of Vimes, and Vimes himself understood that Vetinari's brain utilized that information as quickly as possible. The thing was, though, that as friends they both understood the other had their quirks, and Vetinari's memory for detail of any sort often was an annoyance to Vimes that he put up with. Just as Vimes's tendency to challenge his orders or insult nobles often made Vetinari a bit angry with him.

"Not as yet. But I have no definite proof it's even reached him yet, Sir. The man is a wanted criminal over there," Vimes reminded the Patrician with a shrug.

"Ah yes, I was forgetting that minor incident. Still, worthy of respect," Lord Vetinari intoned, looking tired and pained, but only faintly. Vimes had learned the signs of such things only recently, but to him they were now quite obvious. But maybe that was because he'd been allowed In.

Of course, Vetinari had always been good at looking harassed, because that seemed to be his basic state of being, outside of amused, annoyed, or really angry.

Vimes started for the door, watching in the sheen of his helmet as the Patrician stiffly stood and walked to the window. He spent so much time there, it was hard to imagine he got any work done. But there were always piles of papers with corrections neatly printed in Vetinari's spidery, flowing, easily-read script. And often, Vimes found, in red ink.

"Sir Samuel?"

Sam turned his head and looked at the man, who's eyes were focused out on something in the sea.

"Sir?"

Vetinari looked almost pensive as he half-turned.

"Sir Samuel, there are two men who have been loitering by the Palace doors for some time. They look like hired muscle. Perhaps Moriarty's calling card? Do be careful stepping out."

Vimes nodded. "Yes Sir."

"Do enjoy your day, Sir Samuel."

"I'll try, Sir. No Guarantees." Then, without a further word of farewell, Vimes stepped out of the office, and nearly into Lord Rust.

"Get out of the way, Vimes! I demand to see Vetinari at once!"

Vimes felt the anger boil in his skin, and when he saw Drumknott, a red mark on his face shaped like a hand, the anger frothed.

"Lord Rust, did you strike his Lordship's secretary?" Vimes ground out, teeth grinding together. He could hear, in the Office, Vetinari standing and moving slowly over. He doubted anyone else could hear it, as the adrenaline and other hormones must have been sharpening his senses.

Is this the day I get to arrest that swine of a 'gentleman?'

"Ah, Lord Rust. Please, come inside. It's alright Vimes. You can take your hand off your sword."

Vimes glanced down when Rust had inched to the side and was looking at Vetinari. His knuckles were white on the sword, grasping it angrily. But that look on Lord Rust's face...it would warm him on cold nights, or cheer him on bad days.

"Drumknott, you alright?"

The clerk pulled himself up from the floor, looking flustered and shocked, but otherwise alright.

"Er...yes, I believe so, Sir Samuel."

"If it stings too much, get some ice from somewhere and press it to it. It might cause welts, so if it does, ice is required for the swelling."

Drumknott looked mildly surprised. 'Er...thank you, Sir Samuel. Really, I'm sure his Lordship will punish Lord Rust enough. You didn't have to risk your status for me."

"What kind of policeman only protects who he wants to defend?" Vimes snapped, and Drumknott shrugged.

"Many of your predecessors," he pointed out, before he scuttled into the maze of filing cabinets, looking nervous and intelligent as always.