Chapter 9: Something Patricianesque
"Are you all right, your Lordship?" Ponder asked. He was rather sorry about the group tackle.
Lord Vetinari staggered to his feet. He stared in speechless fury and confusion at the place where the dimensional window had been.
When the wizards had straightened their robes and patted down their beards, Ridcully applauded.
"Jolly good show, gentlemen! One for the record books, eh?"
The wizards shook hands and congratulated one another. They had reversed Croggly's Sub-dimensional Discombobulator. It would go down in wizarding history and be told and retold over countless university dinners. The Dean even had the fleeting urge to hold a lecture on the subject.
Only Ponder looked uneasy.
"Why the long face, Mister Stibbons?" said Ridcully. "It worked!"
"Not completely, Archchancellor…"
The wizards seemed to remember that the Patrician was in the room, and that it was they, or at least one of them, who had started the multi-dimensional antics to begin with. They peered over at the Librarian, who wasn't taking his crossbow duties very seriously. He'd selected the silver tipped bolt but hadn't winded it yet.
Lord Vetinari turned on the wizards.
"Send me back at once," he said.
"Your Lordship, maybe we should explain what's happened to you—" Ponder began.
"No." Lord Vetinari pointed to where the dimensional window had been. "Open the…whatever that was…and send me back. Immediately."
"But your Lordship—"
"I order you."
"But—"
"I said that was an order!" Lord Vetinari reached to his left side and was surprised when his hand came up with nothing. There was no sword.
He noticed then that he wasn't wearing armour, and certainly not the green and red suit. Only a simple black robe of good material.
The wizards kept a respectful distance from him. After some thought, Lord Vetinari decided they looked familiar, especially the thick-chested one with the fishing tackle hanging from his hat.
He pointed at Ridcully. "You…" He wavered. A memory drifted in, one that Lord Vetinari was sure he wouldn't be pleased about, but it was all too hazy for details. "I've seen you before," he said. He glared at the others. "I've seen all of you…"
"You've been through a sub-dimensional discombobulation, your Lordship," said Ponder. "You're a little confused right now but you should get your memory back fairly quickly."
The wizards stood aside as Lord Vetinari began pacing around the room. He was clearly no longer in the barn. It was someone's parlour, obviously. It had the typical parlour things: red paisley curtains, lamps with stained glass shades, a couch containing an inanely grinning man in the same robes as the others, a few tables, a lacquered cabinet, the armchair where he read sometimes in the morning, the candied chestnuts he kept out for the maids, and… He stopped before the little dog bed in the corner. It smelled…familiar.
Vetinari strode over to the wizards. They took a collective step backward.
"I don't remember anything here," he said. The lie shot a bolt of pain through his head. He ignored it. "This game has gone on long enough. Return me to the valley."
"Senior Wrangler, now!" Ponder hissed.
The Senior Wrangler had set the item Drumknott had given them aside during the spell. He inched his way toward it, but Lord Vetinari was quicker on the uptake. He swooped down and lifted it up.
"Some other magic?" he said, glaring at the wizards.
"Er…your Lordship…" Ponder began.
Lord Vetinari whipped the cloth away.
He stared…at himself.
Ponder had at first thought that a mirror would do the trick. If people knew the Patrician by that special look Vetinari had perfected, then he could give himself some of his own medicine, so to speak. But it had occurred to Ponder that a Vetinari that didn't remember he was the Patrician probably wouldn't have the look anymore. It was a Patrician look after all, and it was likely lost along with the Patrician's memories.
And so, he'd found this.
The painting had been done in the first years after Vetinari took power. He held Wuffles in all of his portraits, and in this one, the terrier looked at the end of the prime of his malevolent life. Not so his master. Vetinari in the painting was not yet middle aged. His hair line was less peaked, his face less thin, his skin less creased with wear. But the intensity of his eyes, peering out from under the black devil's arches of his eyebrows, had not changed.
Lord Vetinari sat heavily in a chair and stared at the painting. He touched his beard. He ran a finger along one eye brow and made the same motion on the canvas. From a safe distance, the wizards watched an invisible but significant transformation. Calm descended on Vetinari. The anger and uncertainty dissolved, replaced by… Ponder would have called it Something Patricianesque.
Vetinari slowly stood up. "Where's my stick?" he asked.
The Librarian lumbered up holding an ebony cane with a silver top. Lord Vetinari took it and eyed the crossbow in the Librarian's other hand.
"A weapon in my parlour… Librarian?" He raised an eyebrow and the Librarian shrugged his shoulders, giving the Patrician a sheepish grin. He set the crossbow aside.
The Patrician went back to stand before the assembled wizardry. Their names, or at least titles, tumbled back into his memory. He turned his cool gaze on Ridcully.
"You…Archchancellor," he said, "have much to answer for."
"It was just a bit of mischief, your Lordship," said Ridcully.
"Mischief? Or a practical joke, perhaps? Aha aha."
Ridcully looked to the other wizards for support. They had suddenly become very interested in their fingernails.
The Patrician stared at Ridcully a moment longer than was comfortable, and then turned to Ponder.
"What is this… sub-dimensional discom--"
"—discombobulator, yes your Lordship," said Ponder. "You were sent to another dimension and took on the identity of someone else. A knight, I would guess." He held up one of the Ponce Featherhew Day chess pieces.
"Correct, Mister…Stibbons. I am…was…a knight. I seem to remember quite a lot about it."
"The memories will go away rather quickly, your Lordship. They're not really yours but the knight's. When the effects of the discombobulation wear off, you probably won't remember the other dimension at all."
The Patrician studied Ponder's face. "I'll forget everything?"
"I think so. Maybe you'll have peculiar dreams every once in awhile. But on the whole, yes."
The Patrician nodded and the wizards watched with some concern as he stood completely still and closed his eyes. In his mind he held two sets of memories: those of the Patrician, which flooded back as if a dam had broken, and those of the knight, which had begun to dissolve and scatter like dust. He remembered the kingdom and its coldness, the noise of the festival, the whirl of dancers, the taste of scumble, but all of these were already losing their sharpness. His clearest memories had distilled into a single image…
He opened his eyes.
"I'm inclined to overlook your bit of mischief, Archchancellor," he said.
"You are?"
"This once."
"I can assure you, your Lordship, it'll never happen again."
"Never is an extreme word, Archchancellor," said the Patrician. "I never say never. It can lead to embarrassment when never comes. And now, gentlemen, I would like you all to leave my Palace."
The wizards didn't move for a moment. They'd thought they wouldn't get out without some kind of a fight. Ridcully cleared his throat.
"I'm glad you didn't take it so hard, your Lordship," he said.
The Patrician stared at him and said nothing. After a moment, Ridcully motioned for the wizards to follow him out. The Librarian fetched the Bursar, who waved cheerfully at the Patrician and helped the orang-utan carry out the crossbows.
Lord Vetinari lifted the painting onto a table and leaned it against the wall. He was gazing at it when a soft knock came to the door.
Drumknott appeared, his face awash with relief.
"Ah, Drumknott," the Patrician said. "Please do send my apologies to the secretary of the Istanzian ambassador and reschedule our meeting for…" he thought a moment. "…first thing tomorrow morning. Have the street entertainers been enjoying their accommodations?"
"No, sir."
"Capitol. I'll see them later tonight."
"Sir, may I ask a question?"
"Of course."
"What happened, exactly?"
The Patrician smiled a smile that made Drumknott's nerves twang with alarm. It wasn't his kind of smile. It was full of honest warmth and even…fun.
"Think of it as a short but highly instructive holiday," said the Patrician. "Civic leaders of every stripe deserve a vacation sometime."
"Do they?"
The Patrician sighed. His smile faded and Drumknott relaxed a little.
"Will you punish the wizards?" he asked.
Lord Vetinari didn't answer at first. He looked as if something had just occurred to him.
"Hm? Ah…no," he said. "Magical accidents do happen and I certainly can't go around punishing everyone who makes a little mistake. Drumknott, you appear to be standing there with your mouth open. Something wrong?"
"I just thought you'd be—"
"Angry? No. You've surely heard that old saying 'You catch more flies with honey,' hm?"
"Well yes, but—"
"I plan to be especially sweet to the wizards. At least for the time being."
The Patrician smiled, and it was the type of smile Drumknott knew. It was a smile that said, don't read my lips, read my mind. If you can. The clerk felt his blood pressure drop to a safe level. If the Patrician started actually saying what he meant, what would the world come to?
Drumknott looked at the painting.
"I found that for the wizards," he said. "They wanted something that symbolized you for the spell."
"It certainly does jog the memory, Drumknott," said the Patrician. "I remember the day it was painted…" His mind seemed to drift off again. Drumknott watched him with concern, until the faraway look faded from Lord Vetinari's eyes.
"That reminds me," said the Patrician. "I don't want to be disturbed for the next few hours, is that clear?"
"Yes, sir."
Once Drumknott had left, the Patrician walked quickly to the Oblong Office. He locked the door behind him, took a key out of a drawer of his desk and touched a certain piece of the wall, which swung open. Lord Vetinari stepped into the secret passage.
He sped up as he passed through old corridors and up dusty stairwells. Every once in a while he hop-scotched on certain floor tiles or touched certain parts of the wall. He reached a door, which he unlocked. He pushed it open carefully.