It started off — like most things in Ankh-Morpork — with a bang.

Not a particularly loud one, nor a particularly unnervingly quiet one. It was a perfectly average and mediocre explosion — which in hindsight, really should've been the first clue that something was wrong. It had all the cues of an ordinary detonation, secure and hidden beneath layers upon layers of normality.

In Ankh-Morpork, explosions like these were two pence stamp a dozen. But this one was so explicitly conventional, so abstractly routine, so utterly unexceptional, that for the first time in Lord Havelock Vetinari's existence, he wasn't ready.

There was no dramatic fanfare — no time to plan, connive, or think. Probability had found itself twisted into a knot, tied to a banana, then thrown into a deep dark pit where it promptly scratched its head* and decided to leave the mess to someone else.

[ *Or would've, probably, had probability had a head to scratch. Or fingers to scratch with ]

The Patrician of Ankh-Morpork went from sitting at his desk in the Oblong Office to hurtling through a walnut shaped rift in space before he could even finish his conversation with the profusely sweating Archchancellor Ridcully.

An instant later, the fissure in reality collapsed, leaving one Havelock Vetinari stranded in a field just outside a large city in the dead of night on a planet that he was reasonably sure was not the Discworld.

One did not need to be an astronomer to notice that the shattered moon in the sky was not exactly a normal fixture of the heavens.

He didn't panic. He didn't scream, or shout, or cast blame. He simply turned on his heel and walked towards the open gates of the city before him.

There was much to do. And if there was anything that he'd learned during his long and illustrious career, it was that you didn't waste valuable time thinking about what might have happened, because even when everything was going exactly right, something always went wrong.

You never quite knew how things would work out until they did. So the best thing to do was keep your eyes open, be prepared for every eventuality and, above all, don't get hung up on details. Details only got in the way.

So he strode purposefully across the field towards the gates of Vale. His mind was working furiously, but his feet seemed to know where they were going without being told. The City of Vale lay beyond those gates, and the City of Vale needed him. Not that he knew this yet, nor even that the city he was walking towards was even named the City of Vale. That came later.

His feet carried him towards a structure just past the outskirts of the city.

It was just a building. A tall, solid building with a large door and no windows, but it was the right kind of building, and that was all that mattered. People were moving inside it, and people meant activity. There might be trouble, but there would certainly be action.

And from there, he would figure out what to do next.

He walked through the large door, beyond which seemed to lie a nightclub. There was music playing, and a great deal of shouting. They were obviously having fun, and it looked like they'd been doing so for a while. It made him vaguely nauseous.

Havelock Vetinari looked around him, before his eyes landed upon a muscular figure manning the bar. Interestingly, he found that he could read the nametag: one 'Hei Xiong.' The interesting matter was not that he could read the fine print from across the room (Lord Vetinari was an excellent reader of fine print), but that he could read the language at all. He was very obviously not on the Discworld, as the simple glance at the sky and shattered moon attested to, yet even still the language was perfectly readable.

It was odd, but he took no note of it — there were more pressing matters to attend to. As he approached the bar, people moved out of his way like a herd of frightened animals.

'Good evening,' said Havelock Vetinari, smiling pleasantly. The two other men sitting at the bar promptly decided that they'd had enough to drink, and left.

Hei Xiong gave the Patrician a suspicious look, and said nothing. Hei had seen many strange things in his life, but he could count on one finger the number of times that he'd seen a smile that looked like it would hop right off someone's face, find itself a garrote, and strangle him to death while still maintaining a perfectly pleasant demeanor.

Vetinari smiled wider. He had practiced that smile. It was a good one.

An Assassin's Guild education is among the most excellent of all of Discworld. Many things were taught there, but chief among all was the importance of Style.

Style was a subject that occupied a great deal of time, and required hours of practice. The student was expected to learn how to walk, how to speak, how to stand, how to turn their head, and how to smile. These things were not taught for mere vanity, but rather as a way of communicating a message without needing to utter a word.

The Patrician of Ankh-Morpork was a master of this art, and he stood before the manager of the inventively named 'Club' with a perfectly balanced expression of dignified calm combined with a slight hint of impending violence.

It was a highly effective method of communication.

For a moment, it seemed that Hei Xiong was going to run away. Then he realized that the Patrician was standing in front of him, that he was in a room full of people (and thus, slightly more difficult to make dead), and also that he was in his own bar, surrounded by his gang members.

This put a certain amount of weight behind the decision to stay and talk to the stranger who had just walked in, so Hei Xiong decided to go ahead and do exactly that.

'Who are you, and why are you here?' asked Hei Xiong, carefully.

The Patrician smiled again.

'I am here,' he replied calmly, 'because I have come to help.' It did not matter that the Patrician hadn't the foggiest yet about where he was, what was going on or even precisely what he was supposed to be helping with. What mattered was the tone. The voice. The feeling.

This was the Patrician speaking. This was the Patrician's tone. It was the tone that said, 'I am in charge,' and 'you are not.'

Of course, it was also the tone that said, 'if you try anything, I will kill you, and not a soul will be able to find your body', which was somewhat less subtle, but no less effective.

Havelock Vetinari smiled again.

'How do you like it here?' he asked, with an emphasis on the question that implied that he already knew the answer.

Hei Xiong was a young man. Thirty years old, give or take five years. He was tall and strong, with a beard that had yet to begin to grey, and a nose that had been broken three times, once when he fell over, twice when he tried to pick fights with people bigger than him. He had a number of scars that spoke of a life lived in the midst of violence.

Despite that, Hei Xiong still had that feeling in his gut that none of those scars or any of that violence would help him here, so he merely shrugged and looked thoughtful.

'Well,' he said, finally, 'it's not as bad as some places.'

'Oh?'

'I've been to Atlas,' said Hei Xiong, 'but that place is too full of people. Denser than a pile of bricks.' He paused. 'Of course, the Grimm are a bit less of an issue 'round those parts, on account of the flying city business. The only Grimm that can threaten Atlas are the ones that can fly. Anyways, I much prefer Vale.'

'Ah,' said Vetinari. 'Yes, I'll admit that I haven't spent a lot of time in Vale myself, but from what little I have seen, it seems that you could be right.'

Hei Xiong nodded his agreement.

'You're new to Vale, then?' Hei asked.

'That is correct.'

'What brought you here, if I may ask?'

The Patrician thought about this for a moment.

'Business interests, mostly. Tell me about Atlas.'

Hei Xiong ran his hand through his beard.

'Well, it's a nice enough city, I suppose. Quite big. Most of the people there are merchants, but there's a fair few gangs — the Grimms and the Hacks, mainly. But I've heard tell of some other gangs too.'

'Really?'

'Yeah, there's the Scavengers. They're pretty tough, and they live down in the undercity, but they're not really a problem unless you want to go hunting for them. They mostly do smuggling, if I remember right.'

There was still a small voice in Hei Xiong's brain, one that was desperately telling him to shut up. Then the voice took another look at the man's smile and promptly ceased its complaints.

'And then there's the Vultures,' he continued. 'They're dangerous, but not so much as the others. They usually stay in the suburbs and don't bother anyone, but they still have a reputation for being savage.

'Then there's the Wolves.'

Here, Hei Xiong paused for breath. The Patrician was looking at him expectantly.

'Oh,' said Hei. 'Well, the Wolves are just a bunch of thugs. They hang around outside the shops and clubs, trying to make themselves important by intimidating people.'

'You seem to know quite a bit about the gangs in Atlas, Mr. Xiong.'

Hei Xiong's brain finally caught up with his mouth, and he paled.

'Er... yes?' he said, and then, before the Patrician could reply, he continued hurriedly, 'I mean, I'm a member of the Xiong Family gang. We're in charge of the south side, around the docks. So we get to hear a lot about the other gangs. And how they behave, and so on. It's just a hobby of mine.'

The more Hei spoke, the further the eyebrow of the man in front of him raised.

'Indeed? Well, how very interesting.' Vetinari reached forward to tap the bar with his finger, and Hei felt himself start to sweat.

'Now,' said the Patrician, after a while, 'I've found myself in a bit of a quandary. I'd like to... assist this city, but I suspect that if I simply started taking over people's lives, there might be some kind of... backlash against my authority, which would be very unfortunate. However, if I leave things as they are, then the city will continue its suboptimal functioning. As my place of residence for the nearby future, I find that unacceptable.'

Hei Xiong was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable.

'So you want me to do something about it?' he squeaked, and then added hastily, 'I mean, I'm happy to help.'

'Thank you. Yes, that's exactly what I want you to do. You see, I believe that Vale is capable of becoming a fully functional society*. Once it's up and running, it should be possible to keep it going indefinitely, without any interference from me.'

[ *The Patrician's idea of 'fully functioning,' of course, is a far cry from the concept of 'functioning' that is commonly used by the rest of the Discworld. By 'functional,' he means 'capable of sustaining a stable population for at least four thousand years or until the sun blows out.' ]

'Until then, however,' he went on, 'I believe I will need to take a more active role in maintaining order. In fact, I think it's essential that I start doing so immediately. Therefore, I shall be requiring the services of your gang, and I hope that you will be able to provide them.'

Hei Xiong stared at the Patrician.

'You mean, you're going to make us your... bodyguards?'

'Something like that,' said the Patrician. 'there will certainly be some bodies, and definitely some guarding. Now, I suggest you go and find your men and tell them what's happening.'

Hei Xiong nodded, and then turned to hurry away. A moment later, he stopped.

'I never got your name,' he said.

The Patrician smiled again.

'Call me Vetinari,' he said.

Overall, Lord Vetinari's first hour on Remnant was a fruitful one. He had learned about the planet he was on (including the demonic hellbeasts that hunted humanity down like common cattle); he had met Hei Xiong, his new Drumknott; he had met several members of the Xiong Family gang, who were now his immediate subordinates, and less than three hours after that he had even been invited to dinner.

Or rather, Vetinari had shown up in the dead of night outside the house of one Lennie Simmons — the leader of a small-time gang that ran a protection racket in the south of Vale — with a contingent of heavily armed gangsters and suggested that it would be very much in Lennie Simmons' best interests to have dinner at a nice and expensive restaurant in two days hence.

Lennie Simmons had found the proposal quite acceptable. And, in fact, much more preferable than the alternative proposals that Lord Vetinari had brought up.

The Patrician sat back in his chair, and sipped his wine. The waiter poured him another glass. The man opposite him attempted to smile, but looked a bit like he was trying to hold in a burp.

It was all working out very nicely indeed.

'Mr. Simmons, may I say how pleased I am that you chose to meet with me? I'm certain that you understand that the situation is delicate and sensitive, and that I would not wish to offer any suggestions for your activities that might in some way be construed as pressure.'

'I guess so, sir.'

'I wonder, Mr. Simmons, if you could explain to me why you are running this particular gang?'

Lennie Simmons coughed.

'Well, sir,' he said, after a while, 'I just sort of inherited it from my father.'

Vetinari nodded sagely.

'I see,' he said. 'And, you see, I'm afraid that I'm quite new to Vale, and I wouldn't want to be seen as interfering with the local customs. If you'd like to continue in the same vein, I'd appreciate it greatly.'

Simmons swallowed hard.

'Uh... yeah, sure. I mean, no problem. Anyway, it's a good little earner, I reckon. Helps pay the bills.'

Vetinari nodded.

'And what about your family? Are they involved?'

'No,' said Simmons, quickly. 'They're not interested in the whole thing. They're not fighters, y'see, so they don't bother with it. That's why I like it. No hassle, just honest work. I mean, I got the job because I was willing to handle the threats, so I suppose you could say that I was born to it.'

Lord Vetinari shook his head.

'You misunderstand me, Mr. Simmons,' he said. 'I'm not asking whether your family are involved in the gang, I'm asking what it is that attracts you to this line of work. What is it that makes you want to risk your life every day?'

'Well, I suppose... I dunno, sir. It's just the way I was brought up. My dad did it, and he taught me how to do it. I always wanted to be a fighter. I mean, there's nothing else I can do, is there?'

A little voice inside Vetinari's head whispered, "Yes. You could get a proper job."

But the voice was drowned out by another, louder, outer voice, which said: 'No, I don't suppose there is.'

Lord Vetinari leaned forward.

'Perhaps there is,' he said slowly. 'Perhaps there's something else that you could do. Something that would give you the satisfaction of fighting but which would also nearly guarantee your safety and allow you to protect your family. Maybe you could be a policeman.'

For a moment, Lennie Simmons' eyes widened.

'What?' he said. 'You want me to be a policeman?'

'Of course I do,' said Vetinari.

'You see, Mr. Simmons, I find myself in the position of needing law enforcement on my side, and I'm willing to pay handsomely for it. It would be a great deal safer for everyone concerned if your gang were officially recognized and sanctioned by the city government. Think of the benefits! Your men will be given weapons, armour and training, and the gang will be paid a handsome salary in addition to the salary provided by the city, all for the betterment of Vale. In return, your gang will be expected to refrain from violence, commit no crimes, and obey the laws of Vale. Is that agreeable?'

'Well, er... yes, sir,' said Simmons slowly. 'I think so, anyway. But what's in it for you?'

'Of course, in addition to obeying the laws of Vale, your gang will directly report to me. I won't interfere with your affairs, and you'll have complete freedom to carry on with your business as you see fit, but I will expect regular reports, and occasionally I shall require an... unfortunate clerical error to be rectified. Am I making myself clear?'

'Yeah,' said Simmons. 'I think so.'

'Excellent. Now, as soon as you have agreed to these terms, I shall send someone round to collect all the relevant documents. I've made it quite simple, so you shouldn't have any trouble filling them in.'

'Paperwork, sir? You're actually going to make us fill in forms?'

'Oh, yes,' said Vetinari. 'I'm afraid so. There's some paperwork involved in everything. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have other business to attend to.'

He rose from his chair, and walked slowly towards the door, where he paused for a moment and gave the waiter a nod. The man stood up hurriedly, bowed, and left the room.

Once he was gone, Vetinari turned back to Simmons.

'One last thing, he said. 'It would be... less than ideal, I must admit, if word of this were to leak out. For obvious reasons, I'd very much prefer that the existence of our relationship not become public knowledge. So, I'm afraid that I'll ask you to keep this meeting a secret, for the time being.'

Simmons nodded.

'I understand, sir. No problem.'

'Good.'

He turned around and strode out of the restaurant, leaving Lennie Simmons staring after him.

'You know,' muttered Simmons, 'I think I've just been played. But for the life of me, I can't work out how.'

In the end, things didn't go quite according to plan.

Vale was proving to be a difficult nut to crack. With luck, it would take at least six months to establish full control of the city. Lord Vetinari had been forced to spend many long hours with the leaders of the various gangs. While there was a certain amount of resentment and annoyance, he found that most of them were only too glad to be rid of their old bosses.

The gangs were not the problem. The problem was the absurdly competent magical paramilitary units known as huntsmen*.

[ *Apparently, these huntsmen didn't use magic. They used something called 'aura,' and while it did just about all the things magic did, it was 'not magic, because magic isn't real — obviously' ]

At first, Lord Vetinari had been surprised when he'd discovered that the huntsmen were not a part of the Valean army, but then it occurred to him that they were hardly likely to be, since they seemed to spend so much time hunting down and killing Grimm.

Vetinari had been even more surprised to find out that Vale didn't even have an army.

The issue with the huntsmen wasn't so much the direct threat that they posed; in fact, they weren't really a threat to anyone. They were rather like a very well-organized police force, but with magic and a tendency towards murderous rampages against Grimm.

Normally, the huntsmen did not involve themselves much with non-Grimm affairs. But normally is not always, and huntsmen were known to occasionally involve themselves directly against the gangs — especially when civilians were involved.

As a result, his original plan of seizing control of the entire Valean underworld, infiltrating the police force with his own men, and then launching a coup de main to seize power had proved somewhat problematic.

There were simply too many huntsmen for him to take on alone — even with the manpower provided by every single gang in the city. In a fight between gangsters and huntsmen, there was no competition. The lack of a standing army made much more sense after he saw footage of a teenage girl bat about a demon the size of an elephant with a shapeshifting broomstick**.

[ **He still wasn't entirely certain what the girl's weapon was supposed to be. It was an absurdly complicated piece of intricate machinery that looked like a very expensive toy. ]

Of course, he hadn't particularly planned to fight his way through the entire population of Vale before taking the city, but he'd now come to realize that this might turn out to be unnecessary — he likely wouldn't even make it past ten huntsmen.

Thus, Lord Vetinari had decided to pivot a bit. While ruling as a despot was temporarily off the table, he still felt that he should maintain a firm grip on the city's central authority. This meant taking over the Mayor's office, and he'd been forced to move swiftly once he'd realized that this was possible.

Bizarrely, the people in this backward city practiced a representative democracy, and they elected their mayor every few years. Normally, it would have been impossible for Vetinari to win an election himself, as the new mayor had only just recently been elected. However, in a truly tragic turn of events, the current mayor had resigned early, citing ill health.

This forced the government to hold a by-election, which was where Vetinari had struck.

Naturally, the elections were rigged.

The votes were cast, the results counted, and the new mayor — one firmly in Vetinari's pocket — was duly appointed. Then, while the populace was distracted, he... convinced several members of the city council into appointing him as the newest member of the council.

It wouldn't do to show his hand just yet, and as enticing as the mayorship was, there was a far higher position that needed occupying. It didn't exist quite yet, but it would. Soon.

He had already begun to make inroads, though, and once he had full control of the Council, he could begin to put his plans into effect.

Unfortunately, there was a bit of an issue.

Two issues, actually, although both of them were somewhat related.

The first was Beacon.

Beacon Academy was the hunter academy of the kingdom of Vale, and as such, it was essentially a quasi-governmental power. Theoretically, the City controlled Beacon via funding. Practically, however, it's extraordinarily difficult to say no to the magical super-soldiers who are the only ones standing between the city and total annihilation.

This gave them enormous power and a — perhaps unsurprisingly— huge amount of influence. As a result, they were an effectively uncontrollable agent in Valean politics. Lord Vetinari was not particularly a fan of the word 'uncontrollable,' but there wasn't much choice in the matter.

The second issue was a man named Ozpin.