Chapter 7: Hats, Chains and Staffs with Knobs on
Truth be told, the Patrician's world had been a relatively small one. As supreme ruler of Ankh-Morpork, the majority of his 18-hour work days were spent in one of three places: in the Oblong Office (with his paperwork), in a chair at the steps of the throne room (with his paperwork), or in a chair in the Palace garden (with his paperwork, weather permitting).
Sometimes he sat through endless dinners at a university function or guild event. Sometimes he made an official visit to the city's entrepreneurs, as he did when he stopped in at the offices of the Times to see the new printing press. As for vacations, his secret mission to Klatch during the Leshp crisis had been the closest thing he'd had to a holiday in 20 years.
These days, the Patrician even curbed his old habit of slipping out of the Palace and roaming the streets in disguise to check up on his agents and maintain a feel for the city. There was always so much to do in his office, so many appointments, so much paper. And his clerks grew nervous if they didn't know where he was.
Thus, the abject panic on the face of Rufus Drumknott.
His Lordship had been missing for four hours. Four hours. Drumknott had worked at the palace for seven years and he couldn't recall the Patrician being gone longer than an hour or two without at least a warning to him. Ever.
"Drumknott," the Patrician had said before his journey to Klatch, "I'll be unavailable for…oh…the next several days. I don't want to alarm the staff so I'd appreciate if you could rumple the bed clothes in my room a bit at night. The new chambermaid gets upset if there's nothing for her to do. And of course, suffer no speculation on my whereabouts. Is that clear?"
It had been clear because Drumknott had risen to the post of private secretary by fulfilling his master's wishes to the letter, and even anticipating them. He prided himself on the talent.
So where was he?
When Drumknott had looked in on the parlour after Ridcully and the Librarian had left, he'd searched for a sensible reason for his Lordship's absence. Maybe they'd just missed each other in the halls. Maybe the Patrician really did slip out for a little nap; gods knew he didn't sleep much at night. It was unlikely, granted, but possible. Drumknott was also the first to admit he didn't know much about the secret passageways that littered the old Palace. Perhaps the Patrician had chosen to move about behind the scenes.
But the minutes had turned to hours. With reluctance, Drumknott had canceled appointment after appointment in the Patrician's schedule. The secretary to the Istanzian ambassador and the already imprisoned representatives of the fledgling Guild of Street Entertainers had been immensely relieved.
Drumknott returned to the Patrician's parlour for one more look. It was the act of a desperate man at the end of his resources. The parlour was empty. Wuffles hadn't even entered again after the…disappearance. Drumknott sank onto the sofa. There was nothing for it. He'd have to call in Vimes. He hoped the man was capable of a quiet investigation.
A commotion in the hallway sparked a small hope in the rather neglected heart of the clerk. He got eagerly to his feet just as the parlour door burst open.
"Ah, there you are!"
Mustrum Ridcully bounded inside, followed by the senior faculty of Unseen University, staffs in hand. Drumknott stared at the Librarian, who held two very large, very deadly looking crossbows.
"What is this all about?" he demanded.
The wizards spread out. The Dean began poking around in a lacquer cabinet, the Lecturer in Recent Runes tried the drawers of a side table and the Chair of Indefinite Studies helped himself to a bowl of candied chestnuts. The Senior Wrangler tapped the walls for secret passages and Ponder Stibbons closely examined the Ponce Featherhew Day chess board. The Bursar had caught up with them and now stretched out on the couch. Wherever they were, wizards always made themselves at home.
Ridcully put an arm around Drumknott's shoulders and steered him in the direction of Ponder.
"We've got a few questions to ask, Mister…er…"
"Drumknott," said Drumknott with a glare.
"Yes, good man," said Ridcully. "You've worked for the Patrician awhile, have you?"
"Don't touch that!" Drumknott rushed to the Dean and pulled the Patrician's crystal pyramidal paperweight out of his hand.
"I was just looking," said the Dean irritably. "No need to get short." As soon as Drumknott had replaced the paperweight in a cabinet drawer, the Dean continued his search for Anything Interesting.
"Fascinating chess pieces, Archchancellor," Ponder said as he held one up to the light of the window. "Real bone of the Howandaland Sloth. It's been extinct for 200 years, you know."
"Very interesting, Mr. Stibbons. But shouldn't we be…What's that Drumknott fellow doing now?"
The clerk had sprinted over to the Lecturer in Recent Runes and snatched away a stack of papers the wizard had found in a table drawer.
"These are the Patrician's private things," Drumknott said, shoving the papers back in the drawer and slamming it closed. He took a deep breath in preparation for a general announcement. "From now on, no one is to touch anything!"
The wizards paused.
"That's not very hospitable of you, young man," said the Senior Wrangler.
Drumknott had had a trying few hours. Savelli's Prelude and Fugue (original version) could have been played on his nerves. He remembered Wu Zang's Way of the Mongoose, which he practised in secret at night. He closed his eyes, took several deep, long breaths and concentrated on pushing his anxiety down to his knees and out through the floor.
The wizards watched this meditation in silence for a few moments. The Chair of Indefinite Studies took the opportunity to fill his pockets with candied chestnuts. They were rather good, and Mrs. Whitlow might like them.
Drumknott opened his eyes. The wizards were still there. Damn.
"Would someone please tell me what you are doing here?" he said.
"I was trying to get to that," said Ridcully. "Mister Stibbons, would you like to conduct the interview?"
Ponder looked on Drumknott with some pity. They were close to the same age and worked for much older men who were difficult to deal with even on good days.
"We know what's happened to the Patrician," Ponder said.
"I assumed that already. Something magical, I suppose?"
"An accident," Ponder said. "We've come to set it all straight but we need your help."
Drumknott nodded. "If His Lordship is gone much longer, I'll have to call in the Watch."
"That would not be…aha…much help," Ridcully said smugly. Ponder's scorching glance erased the look on the Archchancellor's face. Ridcully cleared his throat. "Right. No need for the Watch. The Patrician will be back in a jiffy. Mister Stibbons?"
"Yes. Er. We need a bit of information," said Ponder. "We need to know…how do I explain this…if there's anything around here particularly…patricianesque."
"I don't get your meaning," said Drumknott.
"Anything that has a close association with the Patrician," said Ponder. "Like a…municipal seal that only he can use."
"Or one of those gold chains made out of coins the guild presidents wear in the parades," said the Senior Wrangler.
"Does he have a staff?" asked the Chair of Indefinite Studies. "There's no symbol of power better than a good, thick, long staff. Preferably with a knob on the end."
The other wizards mentally thanked the gods that it was unheard of to touch the staff of another wizard. At the moment, they weren't all that happy about touching their own.
Drumknott shrugged. "His Lordship doesn't bother with symbols of office."
"There has to be something," said Ponder. "Maybe something all of the Patricians have had. A special sword?"
"No," said Drumknott.
"A pointy hat?" said the Dean.
"No."
"Ook?" suggested the Librarian.
"I don't know what he just said," said Drumknott.
"I think he asked if the Patrician has a cloak of finest vermine," said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. The Librarian grinned and nodded.
"Certainly not," said Drumknott.
Ponder looked around the room helplessly. The Patrician had to have something. Symbols were…they were part of every public office. A wizard would rather be seen naked than without his pointy hat. He didn't know much about witches, but assumed – incorrectly as it turns out – that they felt roughly the same way. Kings had crowns and cloaks and, for some mysterious reason, orbs. Priests had special robes and wore symbols dangling from their necks.
When it came right down to it, how did people know that Vetinari was the Patrician?
"How do they know?" Ponder repeated out loud.
"How does who know what?" asked Drumknott.
"How do people know that Lord Vetinari is the Patrician?"
Drumknott regarded Ponder as if the wizard had shown up wearing a duck on his head. "He just looks at them, of course."
Ponder stared at Drumknott, a smile slowly blossoming on his face.
"Archchancellor," he said, "I think I have the solution. If you could get the others ready for the spell, I'll go with Mr. Drumknott to fetch the… item."