The Civilian Assistant, Chapter Eleven

The long-awaited continuation of a much-loved tale, requested over and again by fans. Thank you. You're welcome. Sorry it took so long.

"Anything new, Carrot?" Vimes asked, when he eventually returned to the Yard. He still felt a little bit battered after winning his case in Council and the consequent private interview with Vetinari, which as always had carried a very barbed and pointed sting in the tail.

He also felt he'd been fleeced, twice over: once after Lord Downey had trapped him into an elegant and perfectly lawful gouge at his financial resources, which he really should have seen coming. The skills of Assassination could be applied to more than just merely inhuming somebody, after all.

And a second time when Vetinari had…

Vimes shuddered and put the memory away, so that it could ambush him in a back alley of its own choosing, ie just as he was dropping off to sleep.

Captain Carrot looked up from the report digests prepared by Pessimal, with the assistance of Miss Maccalariat, and smiled.

"Good day at the Palace, sir?" he asked, passing over the digest.

"Yes and no." Vimes replied, pleased with what he'd achieved but not wanting to dwell on the price Vetinari had eventually exacted. He distracted himself by reading the report on the latest incidents and crimes around the city. Or at least the ones Pessimal thought worthy of bringing to his personal attention.

"I see we have a brand new way of attempting suicide, Carrot." Vimes remarked. "Just when you think they can't get more inventive…"

"It would seem that way, sir." Carrot agreed. "Mr. Snetterton-Lewis is said to be recovering well in the prison hospital."

Vince Snetterton-Lewis had been a notorious enforcer for a crime syndicate led by the Krayfish Twins, Ronnie and Reggie. Even Chrysophrase was said to be wary of the twins, and sought to stay on friendly business relations with them.

"The one they called the Baby Crusher." remarked Vimes, reading on.

"Not literally, sir. That was just a name(1). Or Doctor Bellamy wouldn't have let him live."

Vimes nodded. Snetterton-Lewis was also known, in crime circles, as a bit of an idiot. He'd once displeased Reggie Krayfish, who had ordered his head nailed to a small occasional coffee table as punishment for some slight or other.

Now serving time at the Patrician's pleasure in the Tanty, he had responded to some slight loss of prison privileges by looking principal warder Peter Bellamy full in the eye and mouthing the famous last words "People I know, know where your family lives." Other, lesser, prison guards might have felt a little intimidated at words like this from a well-connected prisoner. Bellamy had merely grinned, confirmed his home address was 14 Spa Lane, Lower Tump – would you like to borrow a pencil and write that down? - and promised to pass on his good wishes to Mrs Bellamy when he got home that evening.

The next day, a bouquet of flowers, large, ornate, with no expense spared, had arrived at the Snetterton-Lewis family home. They were delivered personally by a black-clad student Assassin, a pleasant and personable young boy, who smiled winningly at Mrs Snetterton-Lewis and said "My mum wants you to have these. They're a free gift!"

Puzzled, Mrs Snetterton-Lewis accepted them, noting the card read "Bellamy's the Florist, Pelicool Steps", and that the message was It must be hard with a husband in prison. Please accept this gift as a token that you are well thought of.

Mrs Snetterton-Lewis had accepted the flowers, found vases for them, and put them around the house, feeling puzzled but thinking nothing more of it. She did mention it to her husband the next time she visited. She was alarmed that he went white, then green, and started mumbling "Oh, shit…" quietly to himself.

"People I know, know where your family live." Vimes repeated to himself. "It cuts both ways." He paused, and grinned.

"Carrot, did we impound the flowers? If she's up to her old tricks again, this time we've got her!"

Doctor Davinia Bellamy was indeed a florist. Some years personally she'd come to Assassins' Guild and Watch notice for her talent for Saying It With Flowers. The fact the flowers invariably said "Drop Dead!" had provoked her arrest. It still irked Vimes that Vetinari had offered her one of his bloody Angels and sent her to the Assassins, who had signed her up as Guild School Botany Mistress. She still taught her particular skills to Assassins and had indeed forged a lucrative new career(2).

"The flowers were perfectly normal ones, sir. Nothing lethal or poisonous this time. No Howondalandian Death Lilies nor Cyanide Tulips in that bouquet. And giving somebody a bunch of flowers is not an arrestable offence."

"And she sent her son. The student Assassin. To deliver at the door. There's threatening behaviours and there's threatening behaviour, Carrot."

"Yes sir, but this is the sort we can't arrest her for, sir. Although I believe Mr Snetterton-Lewis is recovering well in the Tanty infirmary."

"Did she send him flowers too?" asked Vimes, hopefully.

"No, sir. Mrs Snetterton-Lewis was incensed he'd put her in harm's way from the Killer Florist and hit him with a chair. It took three warders to drag her off."

Vimes smiled.

"And how did Ronnie and Reggie take it when they heard?"

"They went round to see Mrs Bellamy and apologise, sir. They don't want the Guild of Assassins on their case, and anyway they've got their own honour code. Apparently they got on like a house on fire and went away with an armload of flowers each. They appreciated that!"

Vimes nodded. The twins Veronica and Regina Krayfish might be ruthless and near-homicidal crime overlords – overladies - but they had their own code of conduct. And as Thieves' Guild alumni, they and the Assassins would show each other a certain respect and mutual understanding. And they were feminine enough to appreciate very good floristry.

"Chalk it up to attempted suicide and Being Bloody Stupid, then". Vimes decided. He read on.

"Clacks crime? Carrot, what the Hells is a code Four-One-Nine?"

Carrot cleared his throat, nervously.

"It's a new type of fraud, sir. Randomly selected persons receive a detailed clacks message purporting to have been smuggled out of Howondaland. You've got a sample version there…"

Vimes read it. In fractured Morporkian, it purported to be an appeal for help from a trustee for a disgraced Paramount Prince of Matabeleland, who had formerly had responsibility for the Paramount King's finances. Fortunately, while assisting the Paramount with setting up secret numbered Überwaldean bank accounts against the day when he might be deposed by disloyal elements within the kingdom, he had been able to salt away a little something for himself. Following the unfortunate Finance Prince's ceremonial dismembering by wild hungry lions, the friend trusted with disposing of his effects had discovered title to $AM1,000,000, currently held in the form of rand, the universal Howondaland currency. This could not be legally removed from Matabeleland, and the friend required your help, for you are surely and certainly a man of probity and proven integrity who he was sure would not try to cheat him.

"In order to get this money out of Matabeleland, I require only your account details at the Royal Bank of Ankh-Morpork so that I can pay the cash in. When I get to Ankh-Morpork myself, I will allow you to keep ten percent, $AM100,000, as token of thanks, and I will collect the rest.

As this is illegal under Matabele and Ank-Morporkian law, tell nobody. Please reply by return Clacks with your bank details.

Yours truly,

Joseph N'Tegreti,

Former finance Officer"

Vimes frowned.

"And let me guess. His local associate then cleans out the account and has it away on his toes. Carrot, how many people have fallen for this? Nowhere in Howondaland has the bloody Clacks, I know that for a fact!"

Carrot smiled. "I took this to Mr Von Lipwig at the Bank, sir. I knew he'd be professionally interested!"

"I'll bet. And just how did Albert Spangler help us in our inquiries?" Vimes inquired.

"He laughed and said it was a classic idea updated for the clacks age, and he wished he'd thought of it himself. Then he suggested ways we can out-think and outwit them. I think we can expect a few arrests very soon, sir."

"I'm not making him a Special Constable, Carrot."

"I thought you'd say that, sir. That's why I signed him on as a Fraud Advisor to the Particulars. He was keen to help."

Vimes gave Carrot a long hard look.

"How is it, Carrot, that people or ethnicities or occupational groups I expressly say should not belong to the Watch always end up here? At the last count, we had a Vampire, two witches, and an Assassin.."

"You did reconsider about magic users, sir, and you made the reflective judgement that since witches seem to have their heads screwed on, people tend to do what a witch tells them, and they come with their own broomsticks, which is a great saving, we could do worse than recruit two for the Air Police(3)3. And it also allowed you to make Buggy up to Sergeant."

Vimes gave up. It was hard to argue with Carrot.

"Where's our Maccalariat up to with the filing?" he asked, praying it was pretty near finished.

"I believe she's started on the "K'"'s, sir" Carrot said, helpfully. "But she's doing a wonderful job. I've never seen the files looking neater and we can see the colour of some of the desk-tops now!"

Vimes sighed.

Another few weeks of Fluorine Maccalariat, then. How typical of Vetinari to find a way of thanking the Watch that was also a punishment.

Which took Vimes' mind back to…


Earlier on that day, Vetinari had patiently listened to, then summarily disposed of, the City lords' objections to Vimes' New Deal for Ankh-Morpork.

He had ruled that Samuel Vimes, as Duke of Ankh-Morpork, was perfectly entitled to make such radical changes in the de facto legal relationship between landlord and tenants as he saw fit. That was his right. Vetinari saw nothing in the proposed new scheme that would threaten the security of the city. The other Lords were of course free to carry on with their own pre-existing arrangements, as in a laissez-faire economic order requiring only the balance of established market forces to self-regulate and balance the system, that was their right. He, Vetinari, would be consulting with His Grace the Duke and monitoring what sounded like an audaciously exciting new way, to see if it worked and whether or not it was worth expanding in due course. That was all, gentlemen, there will be nothing else, and do not let me detain you. Sir Samuel, please remain.

The lords had filed out sullenly, apart from Lord De Worde, who was smiling quietly to himself. Vimes noted his reaching into a pocket, and hear a faint muffled clonk! and a tiny Ow! Vetinari heard it too, and smiled a quiet smile.

"I will be with my Regiment!" Lord Rust said, tersely.

"I'll put my Golems on standby!" Vimes countered.

Rust left, under a withering glare from Vetinari.

"That rather sounded like a threat, sir!" Vimes observed.

Vetinari shrugged.

"Ronald is given to making such remarks. He has only followed through on them once, during the Leshp emergency, when he came to me in this office and suggested I stand down for the duration. As you remember. Which is an issue I hope to raise with you and Lady Sybil, when she arrives. Her presence has been requested."

"You've asked Sybil here?" Vimes said, suddenly sitting up straight.

"Indeed, Sir Samuel. She is intelligent and forthright and her counsel is at least as good as that of any other City noble. As I know you will not make any great gesture with what was, prior to marriage, her money, without asking her first, I would rather like her to be here, to hear her opinion of an idea or two I have had myself."

Vimes and Vetinari made small talk for a while whilst waiting for Sybil. Vimes was still wondering what the real reason was for Vetinari to have invited Sybil over.

"This idea of a new model town, Sir Samuel. Have you given any great consideration as to a location? I believe you suggested the name of Ankh New Town."

"Yes, sir." Said Vimes. "That would take advantage of there being an appreciable amount of spare building land on the Turnwise side of the city, out towards the new Zoo site. The advantage is that there's now a good road and public omnibus links out towards the Zoo, and for the Zoo site to work it needed ample supplies of water, so new wells and boreholes had to be sunk. George Pony estimates there's more and to spare there, enough to support a human population as well."

Vetinari nodded.

"According to the Guild of Historians, there was a human hamlet there many hundreds of years ago. Skell Moor, it was called. The Zoo occupies a slight valley slope leading down towards a tributary river of the Ankh. Skell Moor's Dale, of old."

Vetinari paused, reflectively. "A little further along, Dwarfs of old had a trading post. The Dwarf chief was called D'G'Hn, and established his hamlet there, at the Eel Ford of the river. Which offers you D'G'nham, or Eelford, as alternate names."

Vimes turned the names over in his head. Of course a new district of the City should have a better name than AnkhNewTown. He found himself almost appreciating Vetinari's skill with words.

"And should you build on the widdershins side of the city, towards Quirm, I would suggest you look at the villages of Milletoun and Queines and the land surrounding them as an ideal nucleus for a new town." he heard Vetinari say. "The advantage is that this land is already owned by the Ramkins, and would be an ideal base to expand from. I might even suggest ribbon development back down the Quirm Road, until it becomes the Ruddyroy Road and part of the city proper, at the Rimwards Gate and Edgeway Road."

Vimes nodded; Carrot had once mentioned to him that where Edgeway Raod passes the city wall at the Rimwards Gate, continuing ultimately to Quirm, the derivation of "Ruddyroy Road" in New Ankh was a corruption of the Quirmian "Rue des Rois" - Road of Kings.

More bloody kings, he thought, "They're every bloody where.

But Milletoun Queines sounded like the perfect name for a new town….no doubt the Morporkians would bastardise the Quirmian into something even more fitting. (4)

And then Sybil arrived.

"Hello, Sam." she said, thrusting Young Sam at Drumknott.

"Entertain him, please, Rufus. He likes coloured pencils and paper to draw on." she said, in a voice commanding obedience.

Vetinari raised an eyebrow. Sybil said

"Havelock, you do tend to ask for me when it's inconvenient. It's the nanny's day off, and I wasn't going to leave him with the kennel maids. They'd let him eat the coal, or something, and I'm not having that!"

She sat, and fixed the Patrician with a steely eye.

"So what's so important? I heard Sam got his way at Council, and if you ask me, I'm all behind him, always have been! When I saw some of the slums my tenants live in, I could have died!"

Vetinari nodded.

"What I have to say to Sir Samuel now is also something you should hear, Lady Sybil, as I understand you set great store on making joint financial decisions." he said.

"To begin with, I am wholly in support of Sir Samuel's ideas. Most far-sighted and most commendable. For some years now I have been exploring ways of bringing about a similar goal, but I have never had what might be termed sufficient leverage to get it past the coalition of Old Lords, who have always argued against it, as prejudicial to their interests. Until now. Now a crack has appeared in their formerly solid ranks and one of the Lords of the City has broken away from the common consensus, others will follow. I can move more surely in speeding this end, and I thank you both. "

Vimes nodded. Not even Vetinari could have hoped to stand against all the lords, united in wanting to remove a Patrician who was wantonly going against their interests. Now, he had given the Patrician a couple of aces to play.

However." He added, and the change in tone was noticeable,

"I note that in a well-publicised Times article, you were quoted as saying you could put three million dollars into your Great Work of renewing and updating Ramkin property investments and encouraging new growth and investment. I am aware that is a straw figure you plucked from the air without paying the precise details of the costing too much thought.

"Regrettably, however, you failed to consider that I am on record as saying my Undertaking to repair and improve the city's infrastructure will require investment of five hundred thousand dollars.

"Sir Samuel, it is scarcely supportive of you, as Duke of Ankh and the perceived second most powerful man in this City, for you to undermine your Patrician by saying you can afford to pay out at least six times more than he can raise. Even if the money is going to a related worthy end."

Vimes went icy cold as the implication hit him. He'd upstaged Vetinari. In public. Ye Gods, does he think I'm making a bid for the Patricianate? Wouldn't know where to start!

Sybil squeezed his hand reassuringly. In the background was the scritting of coloured pencils on paper as Drumknott conscientiously sought to be a good child-minder.

Then Vetinari spoke again, with less ice in his voice.

"Happily, Sir Samuel, since you have money to spare, some of it can be used for the good of the wider city. A private donation, made altruistically by a very wealthy benefactor. Let me suggest, three million dollars?"

Sybil looked across at Sam and nodded.

"Sir Samuel, you were astute enough to perceive an un-subtle threat in Lord Rust's words to me as he left the room. It occurs to me that one of the duties of a gentleman is to raise regiments. After all, Lady Sybil, your grandfather was one of this city's greatest – and best – generals. Uniquely, Field-Marshal Sir Joshua Ramkin won his battles. Look at the Zulu War, for instance, and the way he turned a Rust and Eorle joint disaster at Isandlhwana and the desperate defence of Lawkes' Drain into final victory.(5)

"Your father disbanded the last of the family regiments, enabling the seven million a year your family receives in revenues to pile up in a high-deposit bank account and miscellaneous investments. For nearly fifty years. A simple calculation makes that between three hundred and three hundred and fifty million dollars. Even before compound interest is taken into account."

Vetinari smiled benignly.

"So three million dollars is a drop in the ocean. And a return to the family tradition of sponsoring Regiments is surely something which the shade of your grandfather would look upon with approval. I require an insurance policy against Ronald Rust seizing the Patricianate by armed force. You, Sir Samuel, will sponsor it."

"Sir, who commands?" Sam Vimes said, his head spinning. "I'm hardly trained.."

"I propose a new Army." Vetinari said. "A new model Army, loyal only to the Palace and the City. I have suitable officers lined up. Colonels Wrangle and Mountjoy-Standfast. Men who rose through merit and not patronage, who know their job, who are competent and able. And there is no shortage of skilled sergeants in places like Llamedos."

Vetinari outlined his plan: one regiment of Foot Palace guards to replace the current rag-tag of not very bright men, who had anyway been ineffectual in preventing Rust from usurping the Oval Office. One of Guards Cavalry, in the fullness. And one of…

"Barking Dogs?" Vimes exploded. "Those lethal Agatean fireworks?"

"The Guild of Artificiers have been conducting experiments, Sir Samuel." Vetinari said, smoothly. "With sufficient investment, I am persuaded we can have excellent artillery far in advance of anything else on the Disc. Perhaps pointing out over the Estuary, where the Klatchians intended to anchor their invasion fleet and disembark their Army. Periodically, we can hold demonstrations for the information of foreign military attachées"

"But, sir, is this not dangerously near to gonnes?" Vimes asked, desperately. Vetinari's gaze flickered, for an instant.

"I can see why you think that way" he replied, after some thought. "But the Dogs of War are large, cumbersome, things requiring a team of horses to pull them. They are not and will not be made man-portable. It will take fabulous amounts of money to perfect the idea, Sir Samuel. Money not available to the majority of men. It will require our best and brightest artificers and alchemists to make he idea work. Better their skills are occupied working for the City on a specified goal to be used, ultimately, for the common good. Therefore only governments, or rather this government, will hold the weapons. They will be for too expensive for others. Cost and technological difficulty will regulate ownership."

Vimes held his peace. Sybil said, loudly and clearly

"It is a family duty, Havelock. I accept."

"Spoken like a true descendent of Sir Joshua." Vetinari said, approvingly. "I have not given much thought to the new regiments'' names. Perhaps The Duchess of Ankh's Guards Infantry?"

Vimes knew at that moment he was going to cough up the money for a new Army with good grace. The look on Sybil's face said so.

But blimey… three hundred million in the bank? And I thought seven mill a year was embarrassing… at least it will serve to keep Rust out of the Palace. And the Barbican's a crumbling old wreck, just over the road. Suggest to Vetinari we knock it down, clear the site, and have a barracks strategically located there, where it's needed?

Vimes thought a bit more.

And I remember Wrangle and Mountjoy-Standfast from the Glorious Revolution, when they were much more junior. They seemed like brighter than usual Ruperts.(6) Either would run rings around Rust or Eorle.

"And maybe in the fullness of time some sort of Navy." Vetinari was thinking aloud. "The rag-tag of ships we sent to Klatch was frankly an embarrassment."

Take it on the chin, Sam… it's arguably in a far better cause.


(1) yes, I am drawing from the Monty Python sketch here, about the Pirhana Brothers.

(2) see my story ''Murder most 'Orrible''

(3) see my stories How André Got His Badge Back, and Bad Hair Day.

(4) OK, some readers don't like excessive footnotes, especially ones that make the cardinal error of explaining the pune or play on words… IF YOU ARE BRITISH, YOU ALEADY KNOW AND MAY SKIP THIS. GO BACK TO THE TEXT. SHOO.

For non-British people: after WW2, surplus population, internal refugees from bomb-devastated cities, were offered the chance to start anew on New Towns, new cities built from scratch in Greenfield sites, or on the nucleus of what previously had been tiny villages. Skelmersdale in Lancashire is such a New Town. As is the city of Milton Keynes, near London. (see famous footnote in Good Omens implying the demon Crowley had a hand in its design) Ilford and Dagenham are districts on the very edge of London, which expanded massively to accept an overspill population bombed out of the big city during WW2.

(5) See my story A Ripping Yarn

(6) see TerryPratchett's Night Watch, where these two army officers are characters.