It has happened, Commander Samuel Vimes, Duke of Ankh-Morpork thought to
himself. The city is now officially chaos.
It had happened so quickly, he reflected. One minute Vetinari had been Patrician and then all of a sudden he was exiled and Lord Rust was sitting in the Oblong Office with not a clue as to what was going on.
Nevertheless, Vimes had kept his job through the ordeal. Rust had somehow been persuaded to allow Vimes to continue commanding the Watch - Vimes had suspected Vetinari had had a little something to say to Lord Rust before he took the final step out of the city gates.
And somehow, because of all this, Sir Samuel Vimes was on his way to Lancre the week before Hogswatch on some fool diplomatic trip. Sybil had stayed home with young Sam, and Vimes had promised he'd be home by Hogswatch Eve. Knowing the way things worked out for Sir Samuel Vimes, this would probably be untrue.
Vimes stared out the window of the coach and scowled. It was cold, and a light snow was falling on the ground. He watched the fallow cabbage fields roll past and thought longingly of the awful Sour Cabbage Soup that Sybil made at Hogswatch. It was terrible, but it reminded him of home and Sam and Sybil, which was better than staring at cabbage fields.
A slight change in the landscape ahead caught the Commander's eye. It was a tree sales-lot, where some poor soul was standing out in the cold trying to sell off the last of the scrawniest Hogswatch trees. Whether out of pity or boredom, Vimes instructed the coach to stop.
He would buy a tree and have it sent home to Sam and Sybil.
The snow crunched under his boots as he exited the coach. The Hogswatch tree lot was, as far as he could see, empty. But he knew better. This close to Ankh-Morpork, there would be someone there, waiting to sucker someone for all they were worth.
He walked to the back of the lot, glancing in and out of the trees. He was almost ready to admit that there wasn't anyone there. Almost.
"Can I help you?" Someone drawled from amongst the trees. Vimes turned in the direction of the voice, but luckily for him a green-clad man emerged from a cluster to his left.
"I want a tree," Vimes growled. The man's condescending drawl had not put him in the Commander's good graces.
"Imagine that."
"Listen, you little sod," Vimes growled, and strode angrily towards the other man, who was hunched inside his overcoat. "I come in here to give you business, and if you're going to be insolent . . ."
The man looked up at Vimes, a small grin on his face. His face was very familiar, and he had very familiar blue eyes.
"Oh," Vimes said. "Your Lordship."
"Not anymore," Vetinari drawled. "I believe you wanted a tree?"
"Why are you selling trees?" Vimes asked, impervious to Vetinari's hint that he was cold and probably had better things to be doing.
"I'm between things," Vetinari said, waving a hand. "About the whole tree thing --"
"Couldn't you write a book or something?" Vimes asked, perplexed as to why the former Patrician would be selling trees. "Must you be selling trees?"
"Do you want a tree or not, Vimes?"
"Yes?"
"Good." Vetinari stalked off through the mass of greenery while Vimes followed in his wake. The Commander was excessively confused, and therefore becoming angry.
"You don't have to get short with me, you know."
Vetinari very wisely said nothing, but merely pointed at a tree.
Vimes scrutinized the evergreen. "Will the needles fall off?"
"Would I sell you something that needles fell off of?"
"Probably."
Vetinari paused. "Well I might, yes. But no needles'll fall off at all."
"None?"
"No," Vetinari said solemnly. "But it might spontaneously combust."
Vimes kicked the tree. Vetinari scowled. "I'll take it," the Commander said, after observing minimal needle loss.
"Five dollars," Vetinari said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his overcoat.
"Five dollars?" Vimes asked. "I'm not paying five dollars for that."
"Why not? It's a damn fine tree."
"I did not just hear you say that. And I'm not paying five dollars."
"I'll throw in a watch, free of charge," Vetinari said. He opened his overcoat to reveal the mass of watches hanging from the inside.
"You have sunk to new depths, Vetinari. Even Dibbler would not aspire to this."
"My shamelessness no longer knows any bounds, Vimes." He quirked an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to pass on the tree and the watch? For five dollars?"
"Fine." Vimes thrust a bill at the man, who took it with a smug grin. He passed over a watch and looked at the tree.
"I suppose you'll be wanting that shipped?"
"Yes. To my house."
"Three dollars for shipping and handling."
Vimes nearly growled. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to offer me the insurance package on the damn thing?"
"I could if you'd like me to," Vetinari said brightly.
Vimes thrust three dollars at the grinning former Patrician with a small growl. "I assume you still know my address."
"Certainly." He pocketed the money. "Have a nice day."
Vimes began to stalk off. At the entrance to the lot, he turned and faced the green-clad man. "I wish you luck in all future enterprises," he said formally.
"You're talking to a former politician who's selling trees and watches, Vimes," Vetinari drawled, his arms crossed.
"Right, sorry." He climbed into his coach, and with one last look at the lot ordered the driver on.
When Vimes arrived home on Hogswatch Eve, he would walk into the Mildly Sickening Puce Room, where his wife and son were. He would behold the stick displayed proudly in the place where the tree ought to have been. He would be bewildered as his wife began laughing hysterically and thrust a note at him. And he could only help but smile when he read the note.
"You should have bought the insurance package.
--H.V."
It had happened so quickly, he reflected. One minute Vetinari had been Patrician and then all of a sudden he was exiled and Lord Rust was sitting in the Oblong Office with not a clue as to what was going on.
Nevertheless, Vimes had kept his job through the ordeal. Rust had somehow been persuaded to allow Vimes to continue commanding the Watch - Vimes had suspected Vetinari had had a little something to say to Lord Rust before he took the final step out of the city gates.
And somehow, because of all this, Sir Samuel Vimes was on his way to Lancre the week before Hogswatch on some fool diplomatic trip. Sybil had stayed home with young Sam, and Vimes had promised he'd be home by Hogswatch Eve. Knowing the way things worked out for Sir Samuel Vimes, this would probably be untrue.
Vimes stared out the window of the coach and scowled. It was cold, and a light snow was falling on the ground. He watched the fallow cabbage fields roll past and thought longingly of the awful Sour Cabbage Soup that Sybil made at Hogswatch. It was terrible, but it reminded him of home and Sam and Sybil, which was better than staring at cabbage fields.
A slight change in the landscape ahead caught the Commander's eye. It was a tree sales-lot, where some poor soul was standing out in the cold trying to sell off the last of the scrawniest Hogswatch trees. Whether out of pity or boredom, Vimes instructed the coach to stop.
He would buy a tree and have it sent home to Sam and Sybil.
The snow crunched under his boots as he exited the coach. The Hogswatch tree lot was, as far as he could see, empty. But he knew better. This close to Ankh-Morpork, there would be someone there, waiting to sucker someone for all they were worth.
He walked to the back of the lot, glancing in and out of the trees. He was almost ready to admit that there wasn't anyone there. Almost.
"Can I help you?" Someone drawled from amongst the trees. Vimes turned in the direction of the voice, but luckily for him a green-clad man emerged from a cluster to his left.
"I want a tree," Vimes growled. The man's condescending drawl had not put him in the Commander's good graces.
"Imagine that."
"Listen, you little sod," Vimes growled, and strode angrily towards the other man, who was hunched inside his overcoat. "I come in here to give you business, and if you're going to be insolent . . ."
The man looked up at Vimes, a small grin on his face. His face was very familiar, and he had very familiar blue eyes.
"Oh," Vimes said. "Your Lordship."
"Not anymore," Vetinari drawled. "I believe you wanted a tree?"
"Why are you selling trees?" Vimes asked, impervious to Vetinari's hint that he was cold and probably had better things to be doing.
"I'm between things," Vetinari said, waving a hand. "About the whole tree thing --"
"Couldn't you write a book or something?" Vimes asked, perplexed as to why the former Patrician would be selling trees. "Must you be selling trees?"
"Do you want a tree or not, Vimes?"
"Yes?"
"Good." Vetinari stalked off through the mass of greenery while Vimes followed in his wake. The Commander was excessively confused, and therefore becoming angry.
"You don't have to get short with me, you know."
Vetinari very wisely said nothing, but merely pointed at a tree.
Vimes scrutinized the evergreen. "Will the needles fall off?"
"Would I sell you something that needles fell off of?"
"Probably."
Vetinari paused. "Well I might, yes. But no needles'll fall off at all."
"None?"
"No," Vetinari said solemnly. "But it might spontaneously combust."
Vimes kicked the tree. Vetinari scowled. "I'll take it," the Commander said, after observing minimal needle loss.
"Five dollars," Vetinari said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his overcoat.
"Five dollars?" Vimes asked. "I'm not paying five dollars for that."
"Why not? It's a damn fine tree."
"I did not just hear you say that. And I'm not paying five dollars."
"I'll throw in a watch, free of charge," Vetinari said. He opened his overcoat to reveal the mass of watches hanging from the inside.
"You have sunk to new depths, Vetinari. Even Dibbler would not aspire to this."
"My shamelessness no longer knows any bounds, Vimes." He quirked an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to pass on the tree and the watch? For five dollars?"
"Fine." Vimes thrust a bill at the man, who took it with a smug grin. He passed over a watch and looked at the tree.
"I suppose you'll be wanting that shipped?"
"Yes. To my house."
"Three dollars for shipping and handling."
Vimes nearly growled. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to offer me the insurance package on the damn thing?"
"I could if you'd like me to," Vetinari said brightly.
Vimes thrust three dollars at the grinning former Patrician with a small growl. "I assume you still know my address."
"Certainly." He pocketed the money. "Have a nice day."
Vimes began to stalk off. At the entrance to the lot, he turned and faced the green-clad man. "I wish you luck in all future enterprises," he said formally.
"You're talking to a former politician who's selling trees and watches, Vimes," Vetinari drawled, his arms crossed.
"Right, sorry." He climbed into his coach, and with one last look at the lot ordered the driver on.
When Vimes arrived home on Hogswatch Eve, he would walk into the Mildly Sickening Puce Room, where his wife and son were. He would behold the stick displayed proudly in the place where the tree ought to have been. He would be bewildered as his wife began laughing hysterically and thrust a note at him. And he could only help but smile when he read the note.
"You should have bought the insurance package.
--H.V."