A/N Well, there's been generally a positive response to the story, so I've been writing the plot for quite some time and now know what I'm actually doing. So after this long hiatus the story is officially going to continue! It'll be a long ride though, so buckle yourself in, hold on tight and pray to [insert deity of choice].

Chronologically, this chapter begins just before the events of Colour of Magic and during the first little section of CoM. Elle is at this time 15. Vetinari is roughly 27

Disclaimer: Regrettably, I do not own the Discworld, except in my wildest dreams. I do own any spelling mistakes though, aren't I just the luckiest?

20 years ago

When Elle returned the next day to the library, there was no sign of the mysterious Vetinari from yesterday. She contented herself with putting the money she had brought with her to pay him back to good use by buying a soft blue dress from an overpriced shop in the maul, as well as buying a pair of shoes that weren't solely designed to keep mud and grime off of her. It was simultaneously exciting and terrifying to own feminine clothes instead of the trousers, dungarees and general miss-matched clothes that she'd inherited from the last gardeners assistant, who had been a lot less wide than her at the hips. And also the chest area.

Later, when looking at her purchases in the privacy of the cupboard-like room she slept in, Elle found herself laughing softly at her own stupidity. She could never wear something like this. When would she have the opportunity? When would she have the courage to go out dressed like this? I'm almost permanently covered in dirt, or worse manure from fertilising the roses. I don't even possess a hair brush. I spent the entire day in a library just on the off chance that a certain Havelock Vetinari would show up. Well, his note said "next time we meet", but that's probably just him being courteous. Once again, she smiled at the new word that had slipped into her thoughts.

It was strange really how the words she had read in the dictionary today and yesterday had stuck in her mind. Like a few drops of ink falling into water, the words had spread out within her mind and settled there ready for use. She'd had to teach Tim new signs for the words she'd learnt. He'd said that she was turning into quite the intelligent young lady and she'd smiled and inwardly thought that he was wrong; she knew a few new words, not anything of use. Also, she wasn't a lady. Twurps peerage had certainly taught her that.

Elle settled on the edge of her bed and drew her legs up underneath her. The thought that had been battering away at the edges of her mind finally broke through with full force. Who am I? According to the peerage, breeding was everything. Some people had an entire chapter devoted only to them; like a pedigree dog, it seemed that to the upper classes who you were related to was everything. She'd been sorry to learn that Vetinari had only one relative, but at least he knew who his deceased relatives had been. He and others of his class had grown up with the certainty of money and influence behind them, knowing who their ancestors had been and who they were expected to become. She did not know who her mother was. She certainly didn't know who her father was. The only thing she had was a necklace and a distant memory of her mother's face and voice. Her name wasn't even Elle. Tim had named her that after the label the night watch had given her when she was first found. They'd filed her under lost property, using the unblinkingly stupid logic of the watch (1). So, she had become L#3465 and when no name had been discovered, Tim couldn't bring himself to call her by a number, so in a moment of inspiration Tim had decided to call her "Elle" like the letter 'L' from her label.

The box under her bed called to her. It was an old flower crate, the type that the new seedlings arrived in every year from somewhere in the country. The Ankh-Morpork weather, Tim said, was bad for flowers in general however the current patrician Lord Snapcase and his predecessors had both been of the opinion that that was a challenge that would go away in time if they persevered long enough (2). It never had. The city was too polluted, too wet and too cold. Why the nobs kept making them replant the flowers every spring time, even when every year the flowers all died due to the climate, was beyond Elle's understanding. Still, if the buggers ever woke up and realised that it was impossible to grow most things around here, the palace gardeners would soon be out of a job.

Within the box, the red coat waited for her. It was still as vibrant as she remembered. Beneath it lay a small flower printed dress, tights and tiny shoes. Her possessions that night. Within the coat pocket, she knew, there was still half a packet full of crumbling, aged mints. Elle shoved the box roughly back under the bed and the thought from her head.

(1) The logic followed thus; this is a lost child. It must have a parent due to the A) fact that the child was clearly cared for, B) the biological necessity of said parents existing. Children are fed by and sheltered by their parents. Therefore the parents own them in the same way a person owns a pet. Therefore the child is a lost possession.

(2) This mentality is not only exclusive to the noble classes but IS exclusive to the type of person who think that because they want something to occur in a certain way, it shall naturally do so despite all evidence to the contrary. In other words, most of the members of the noble class.

It was on another excursion outside the palace, some weeks later, that Elle first met Rincewind. Simon had invited the other gardeners and some of the staff out to the pub and, after being prompted by Tim, had been forced to include Elle in the invite. For her part, she was reluctant to go. No doubt Simon would be obnoxious and rude as ever to her face because he thought she didn't know. But Jonathan, the footman had encouraged her into going.

So here she was inside the dingy Broken Drum, having scrubbed her hands and face almost raw with soap and run her fingers repeatedly through her hair in an attempt to tame it somewhat. All just in case there was a nice young man at the Drum who might look her way. She really needn't have bothered.

The drum's interior was smoky and smelled of the stench that gathers in any room where many men to whom hygiene is an optional myth convalesce. It was, nevertheless, an interesting place (3) to spend an evening in quiet reflection. Simon had disappeared as the hours grew later with an odd woman who wore altogether too little clothing. She had signed the question of why the woman was wearing such little clothing to Tim, who had promptly turned bright red and gulped down altogether too much beer before excusing himself. Elle had brushed the issue off and decided to leave it for another day.

Jonathan had sat besides her all evening, up at the bar. He threw sideways glances at her every now and then, as if to check that she was not totally horrified by her surroundings. When a barbarian had approached them at one point and asked to buy her a drink, Jon had quickly replied that she was deaf and couldn't hear. This had seemed to delight the barbarian, who had commented.

"Makes it easy. Not good wiv words. Dunt need 'em wiv wummen" The man had then grinned, showing a set of six smashed up teeth and Jon had scowled at him until the man bought her a drink before quickly moving on when he realised that to talk to her, he'd have to embark upon the perilous quest of writing words down.

What was that about? Why did he buy me a drink? She wrote, sliding the paper across the beer stained counter to Jon who picked up the pen she handed him and wrote slowly.

Because, Elle, he wanted to buy you a drink, have a brief talk and well... You know what he'd want.

No, what?

Well, to take you home and have his way with you.

Have his way?

Jonathan looked up at her after reading the sentence she'd put and groaned. "You've got to be kidding me." He muttered, before twisting around to look around for Tim. Glancing back at Elle, he held up his hands and pointed down to the ground. "Stay here one minute. I'll be back." He smiled reassuringly and trotted off, much to her confusion.

With Jon gone, Elle found herself ever so slightly more nervous. A small, raggedy man shuffled his way into the seat on the other side of her and gave her a weak smile. His robes proclaimed him to be a wizard, but his hat said-

Wizzard? She pushed the note towards him, tilting her head onto one side. He surveyed the paper for a second as if expecting it to leap up and bite him before nodding briskly. She sighed and pulled the paper back to write a clearer question but was interrupted by the arrival of Tim, who patted her on the shoulder.

I need to talk to you about something I should have taught you about years ago.

Oh, what's that then?

Well, it's about the birds and the bees, so to speak.

Yes, I've always wondered about that. Why is it that birds live in the beehives at the palace? In the rest of the world they live in trees, so why are they in a beehive-

Bloody Stupid Johnson made the hives remember? They're big enough to house a thousand bees so we keep birds in there instead. But that's not what I meant

What did you mean then?

I need to talk to you about-

"Why are you making abstract gestures at each other" The wizard interjected and Tim stopped signing gratefully.

"She's deaf, we have a sort of language where we talk with our hands-"

"Interesting. I'm rather good with languages, do you think she could teach me?"

"It's very complicated" Tim said reluctantly, scuffing his shoes. Elle could see that he just didn't want to share their way of communicating with another person.

What is he saying Tim?

He wants to be taught what our signs mean.

Well, I could always try. But he probably won't understand it anyway. Some things are stuff only we would understand.

Yes, he wouldn't understand the connection between the word and the sign we used, would he?

No, we understand each other. He never could hope to understand me like you.

She hesitated, knowing that she was pushing the boundaries a little tonight. Her conservative nature told her to stop there, that that was more than enough of a hint to Tim, who by nature wasn't the type to air his emotions publicly. The beer within her cheered and pushed her hands into action.

I know you don't want to share this with anyone else, because it's our thing. But I need to talk to other people or I'll go mad. You've always been more than-

Damn. We don't have a sign for it. It's so clearly taboo that it's never been necessary...Elle rolled her eyes and held up a finger to indicate he should wait, whilst scrawling a brief note onto the last bit of paper she had, the pencil denting the paper when it fell into the rough crevices carved and dented onto the counter she was leaning against.

You have and always will be a father to me, but I need to be able to talk to other people.

Tim stared at the scrap of paper between his fingers for a moment before tucking it into his uppermost pocket, giving her a soft-eyed nod and leaving her with the wizard, who had been busy drinking his beer and pretending not to be watching the exchange. Seeing that she was now not busy, he turned to her quickly, covering a stain on his sleeve casually with one hand. She smiled and pointed towards his glass of beer before signing the appropriate word; he soon caught on to what she was teaching him. Funny how he was eager to know the word for that particular substance...

In the half an hour she stayed with the wizard, she managed to teach him Beer, glass, man, woman chair, wizard and a selection of other random words, relying on their presence in the bar so that she could point to them then make the sign. As such, the range of things she could teach him was limited by their current surroundings. He also seemed to have no interest whatsoever in learning the signs for the various weapons dangling off of the nearby bar patrons, or how to say death, pain, punch or stab, which were only some of the things she witnessed during their time together their. When Tim approached them again to take her home, she quickly pulled out her pen and hurriedly pulled the wizards hand over (ignoring the grubby feel of it – Her hands were often much worse) and scrawling what's your name? Upon the palm. He hastily scribbled Rincewind, who are you? On her arm before Tim coughed politely to indicate that they were leaving immediately. Elle complied, sauntering over to the door where Jon stood waiting with his arms folded. He looked disapprovingly at Elle's arm before placing a hand on her shoulder and guiding her through the door frame, scoffing when she turned to wave at the wizard as she departed. As she passed through the door, a strange man with little glass orbs over his eyes walked through beside her, tailed by a man of questionable character (4). The stranger smiled around at the pub's inside as if it was the Rhoxie and not the fetid dump that it really was, before approaching the bar.

Tim signalled for her to hurry up, so she let go of the door, listening keenly as it swung shut.

"I wish for an accommodation, a room, lodgings-"

The door blocked out anything else he was going to say. Elle shrugged. Foreigners.

(3) The Broken Drum was interesting in the way that a dragon or leopard is interesting; Dangerously to the point of being possibly terminally interesting.

(4) Although with Blind Hugh the beggar it was more questionable identity, since the man had enough boils and blemishes to make even Nobby nobbs look twice.

Fate plays many games. Most of which, he wins. The Lady watched closely as her adversary watched the board passively, gazing at the two small figures that had just met and parted. Chance shrugged sulkily, having just lost her place in the game.

"Don't look at me. I had nothing to do with it." The minor deity tossed her hair and got up, leaving the group.

"Which of you?" Blind Io began, looking at fate and the Lady, the latter of which smiled with bland innocence.

"Coincidence, nothing more. She doesn't matter in this game."

Fate said nothing. There were no coincidences. Only him. The Lady meddled, oh how she meddled. But this girl was not involved; not in this game. That she was totally correct upon. A much bigger game was intended for that little girl. Much bigger. Astoria would be delighted when they began that game. But that was for the future. Right now...He returned his attention to the board. He had a certain wizzard to deal with.

Elle fully expected never to see Rincewind again, so when he was thrown head-first out of the palace door into her the next day, she was more than a little surprised. The scrawny man levered himself upright and set off at a quick pace, muttering an apology without looking to see who the guards had thrown him into.

He was conscious of someone approaching him from behind and struck out wildly as they tapped him on the shoulder. The whistled 'oomph' of air was all he heard before he was off running towards the gates of the palace gardens.

Elle's eyes watered as she clutched her chest where he'd struck her, admittedly quite weakly, but in exactly the wrong place. Why is he trying to run away from me? I'm not that terrifying, surely?

To Rincewind, it seemed that when Twoflower had said he wanted to take images of 'typical activities' he had meant everything in sight. Street beggars, buildings and street merchants all fell beneath the gaze of the little black box, money changing hands and falling into bemused pockets. By noon, the wizard was beginning to become slightly edgy of the small crowd that followed them, recognising that 'small crowd' and 'mob' were words that could be interchanged so easily.

The whore pits and temples had been visited and as Rincewind led the small man over the brass bridge (pausing for a 'scenic picture' of the river), he was desperately trying to think of a way to lose the people following them.

"Rincewind? Is that the palace of the famous Ankh-Morpork Patrician? Can we get a iconograph? Will they mind?"

"Sure, sure go ahead."

The man hurried off to the gates, snapping hurried pictures of the guards who were leaning nonchalantly against the wall beside the closed gate, smoking surreptitiously. Twoflower seemed oblivious, leaning against the bars of the gate with a rapt expression.

"Wouldn't it be wonderful to see it closer up?" The tourist mused aloud.

A thought raised it's hand and jumped up and down in the back of Rincewind's mind. The palace girl...Tour of the grounds...shake off the mob...retain all body parts. To his mind, the plan sounded just great.

"Twoflower, I think you'd like to meet a friend of mine..." Rincewind said, a worryingly intense smile on his face. "Let's go around to the back gate, shall we?"

Havelock Vetinari strode through Sator square in search of answers. To his understanding, there was a newcomer to the city, a certain tour-iced. The rumour was that this tour iced man was rich, easy with his money and being shown the wonders of the city under the orders of the Patrician.

Naturally, anything that Lord Snapcase found important was of importance to him and so Havelock found himself in Sator square on the look out for the wizard Rincewind. The marketplace that was set up in front of the university gates was in full swing, with traders haggling him as he passed, and for a few coins telling him they 'didn't know nothing about no wizard, nossir.' Still, he persisted in his search doggedly, scouring the crowd for any glimpse or overheard remark about the man. Instead, he found himself face to face with the girl from a few weeks ago, who promptly dropped the books she was carrying onto his feet.

Gritting his teeth, he flicked his foot so that the books flew off of it and she picked them up, avoiding his gaze. Her note book was dragged out and pressed into his hands before he could move onwards. One line was clearly pre-written.

I never got to thank you before, you needn't have done anything, but I'm grateful that you did.

Then underneath, scrawled unevenly and clearly a new addition was; Sorry if I hurt your foot. I'm Elle by the way.

Havelock sighed and held out his hand like he had been taught to so that she could shake it. He shook the warm hand she offered firmly when something caught his eye. As she retracted her hand, he noticed the name Rincewind written faintly upon it, as if she'd been scrubbing at the name with soap to remove it. She had already turned to carry on her way to the library entrance at the other end of the square when he stopped her by stepping around and in front of her.

"Wait, do you know- ah, wait." He snatched the note book from her hand and wrote Rincewind?

What of him?

Do you know him? Have you seen him today?

The young man was watching her intently and she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. He had one arm on her arm and the look he was giving her reminded her uncomfortably of a ravenous eagle about to pounce. The knowledge that he was an Assassin drifted to the forefront of her mind and suddenly she wasn't too keen to be giving him information. I know him, but no I haven't seen him today. He's usually in the library though. She lied on the spur of the moment, her mind suggesting that maybe he was out to assassinate Rincewind. But that would be ridiculous; someone who couldn't even spell 'wizard' was hardly a threat to society. Yet he seemed undeterred and took the book back from her to write in it again.

That's a shame. How do you know him? Have you heard about a tour-iced?

I don't hear much of anything, Lord Vetinari. She wrote back, trying to put as much of a cold tone into the written words as possible. Why you are interested in someone like Rincewind I can only speculate, but you will have to ask someone else. I barely even know the man.

Elle turned and left, nose high in the air, gloating mentally about being able to lie to him without detection AND on making such a wonderful exit, when suddenly the world ground to a halt. Ah.

Turning and striding back to the silent Vetinari, she snatched back the notebook she'd just given him to read and walked back in the direction she'd originally stormed off in. Can't ever make a dramatic exit when you have to wait for people to finish reading your rants before you storm off. She sighed in her head, pulling her coat tighter around herself. It's lucky that I left Rincewind and Twoflower at the plaza of Broken Moons instead of letting them help me carry my books here like Twoflower wanted. He seemed nice, in an unusual way.

The library welcomed her back into it's dusty silence. Something had been nagging at here for weeks and she had decided to research it. Slamming her hand onto the desk, Elle thrust the note at the librarian, who promptly choked on his tea. I want to learn about the birds and the bees. Can you help me?

A/N ahh, poor librarian. Elle didn't realise what she was saying, thanks to Tim finding it too embarrassing to talk about certain 'facts of life'. The next chapter will be up within the next few days, I'm aiming to get through the section where Vetinari isn't patrician as quickly as possible.