Disclaimers: See Part 1.
*****
::London::
I was awakened in the middle of the night by a series of crashes, thuds, and curses emanating
from Holmes' bedroom. I knew how much Holmes valued his privacy, but the voice coming from
the room was an unfamiliar one, and I knew that Holmes would repel any invader if he were able
to do so. What alarmed me about the noises was that I didn't hear Holmes doing any such thing.
I slipped from my own bed, put on my robe and slippers, and lit a lantern. It was starting to
sound as though someone were merely stumbling about haphazardly, unaware or unconcerned
that he might wake others with his clumsiness. Regardless, I quickly located my revolver,
checked that it was loaded, and made my way to Holmes' bedroom.
As I reached the door, the noises ceased abruptly. I heard someone breathing on the other side of
the door. I quailed momentarily at this point - I was about to confront an intruder who was
apparently skilled enough to subdue Holmes, who was no weakling. With an effort, I steeled my
nerves and snatched open the door, shining my lantern into the room in the hopes of momentarily
blinding Holmes' assailant and giving Holmes himself a chance to escape.
My light illuminated a strange man with a lean build, caught in the act of rubbing a bruised shin.
He squinted through the lantern-light at me with keen black eyes above an elegant, aquiline nose.
His black hair was mussed, as though he'd just been awakened from a sound sleep, and he had a
neatly trimmed goatee that might have come from an earlier era of British history. In all he
vaguely resembled a hunting falcon. He straightened up, and I saw then that he was wearing a
nightdress at least a size too long for him - the sleeves nearly came to his fingertips and the hem
reached his feet. He wore a pair of Holmes' slippers, and with a shock I realised that the
nightdress was one of Holmes' as well.
"Who are you?" I demanded of him, emphasizing my question by pointing my revolver at him.
"My name is Lord Havelock Vetinari," he said in a clipped tenor, "And I will thank you to point
that device elsewhere and tell me who *you* are."
"I *live* here!" I snapped, my aim not wavering in the slightest, "What have you done with
Holmes?"
"I'm sure I don't know who you're talking about," he said keenly, "But I do have a theory, unless
you're intent upon killing me."
*****
::Ankh-Morpork::
The man who now occupied the Patrician's bed, awakened by the sensation of movement, knew
within the first five nanoseconds of consciousness that something was horribly wrong. He sat up
abruptly, his hands exploring the bed in the darkness like the whiskers of a cat, noting the silk
bedsheets, the fluffy down pillow with the silk pillow-slip, and the elegantly carved headboard.
His night-dress appeared to have shrunk in the night as well - the sleeves only came to the middle
of his forearms, and the hem... he immediately groped for a robe, swinging his long legs out of the
bed and scooting his feet into slippers that he immediately knew weren't his. He felt an awkward
binding sensation as the underwear he now wore attempted to adjust to a taller man. As he stood
up, the bedsprings squeaked a little more loudly than they really needed to.
He looked up as the bedroom door creaked open. His eyes narrowed as he analysed the
newcomer's silhouette. A guard, he concluded, to judge by the uniform and the pike. On the
other hand, the style and cut on the uniform rather resembled medieval livery, which conveniently
threw a small monkey wrench in most of his current theories.
"Sir?" asked the Palace guard, "Are you all-- who are you?!" He levelled his pike at the stranger,
who looked rather less panicked than would have made the guard comfortable. He looked...
resolved.
"My name is Sherlock Holmes," said the intruder, "And I must insist that you stop this foolishness
at once."
"Foolishness?"
"Yes. You are obviously a guard set to watch me, hired by the person in whose dwelling I now
find myself. The logical conclusion is that I have been kidnapped by a party so far unknown to
me - though it does not explain why I am wearing someone else's nightclothes and why, for that
matter, I awoke in such surroundings."
"I don't know anything about any kidnapping," the guard replied sternly, "but for that matter,
what have you done with the Patrician?"
Holmes only got as far as "I don't kn--" before the guard sounded the alarm and tried to tackle
him.
The operative word, of course, is "tried." Even with tight underwear, some well-aimed baritsu
tended to be very effective against an unsuspecting opponent.
So it was that Holmes, trying as best he could to unbind himself [with limited success, of course],
escaped from the Patrician's bedroom and ran full-force into three more guards just around the
next corner.
*****
::London::
"If I may sit without you shooting at me?" Mr. Vetinari asked, waving a hand vaguely towards
the lone chair in the room.
My aim never wavered from him as he, hands upraised to show he was relatively unarmed,
sidestepped towards the chair, tripped on the hem of Holmes' night-dress, and reached the chair
with rather less grace than he had probably intended. He used the chair to help pull himself back
upright, and I thought I heard him murmur someone's name and the word scorpions as he seated
himself.
"I see you don't believe that I am who I say I am," he observed mildly.
"I don't know that I have any compelling reason to," I replied.
"It probably doesn't help that this Holmes is probably finding out how capable my Palace Guards
are right now."
"So you *have* kidna--"
"I have done no such thing!" he snapped, cutting through my own conclusion like a horsewhip,
"If I had, I sure as hell wouldn't come back to the scene wearing his bedclothes. Now for the
third time, put that thing away before I have to wrestle it away from you. If my own theory is
correct, I'm your surest bet for getting your friend back."
I lowered my revolver, mainly because my arm was getting tired. "So, somebody wishes to trade
you for him?"
"After a fashion. I believe that is what happened tonight - we traded places. There is no other
plausible explanation."
I wasn't at all sure that the explanation he'd offered was plausible, either. "So, what are you
saying?" I asked slowly, "That this happened by... by magic?"
He looked at me in much the same way Holmes generally did when I'd reached the same
conclusion he had. "Precisely," he said, "and I expect we may have some rather... unusual
visitors before this is over."
"But in the meantime," I replied, "Holmes - wherever he is and by whatever means, and I'm not
conceding that he was whisked away by some sorcery--"
"I suppose I can't expect you to," Mr. Vetinari said coolly.
"Holmes," I repeated, "might have a case to attend to, starting at noon tomorrow."
"'Might'?"
"Our client will be giving us the preliminaries then. That's usually when Holmes decides whether
or not he should take a case." In the back of my mind, I was wondering why I was telling him all
this, but right now I was so unhinged from Holmes' unexplained disappearance that I might have
told my life story to Wiggins and paid him for the privilege.
"Well, then, there is only one solution that I can immediately see," Vetinari said, breaking into my
train of thought.
"What's that?"
"I must impersonate your friend, at least until such time as he is returned."
The idea was ludicrous, and I said so. He didn't seem very put off by this.
"Well, then," he said calmly, leaning back in the chair and steepling his fingers, "I believe you
have a bit less than twelve hours in which to find an alternative solution."
There was a long pause in the conversation as I racked my brains for any such thing. As I did, I
looked thoughtfully at the lean man, who was even now stretching out his legs in a hauntingly
familiar pose of rather smug relaxation. Shave the beard, give him some properly-fitting clothing,
add a pipe...
"It might work..." I reluctantly conceded, "But only if our impending guest has never seen
Holmes before. And if you're quite sure you can keep up the ruse."
"I *am* a politician," he said archly, as though that explained everything.
*****
End of Part 2
*****
::London::
I was awakened in the middle of the night by a series of crashes, thuds, and curses emanating
from Holmes' bedroom. I knew how much Holmes valued his privacy, but the voice coming from
the room was an unfamiliar one, and I knew that Holmes would repel any invader if he were able
to do so. What alarmed me about the noises was that I didn't hear Holmes doing any such thing.
I slipped from my own bed, put on my robe and slippers, and lit a lantern. It was starting to
sound as though someone were merely stumbling about haphazardly, unaware or unconcerned
that he might wake others with his clumsiness. Regardless, I quickly located my revolver,
checked that it was loaded, and made my way to Holmes' bedroom.
As I reached the door, the noises ceased abruptly. I heard someone breathing on the other side of
the door. I quailed momentarily at this point - I was about to confront an intruder who was
apparently skilled enough to subdue Holmes, who was no weakling. With an effort, I steeled my
nerves and snatched open the door, shining my lantern into the room in the hopes of momentarily
blinding Holmes' assailant and giving Holmes himself a chance to escape.
My light illuminated a strange man with a lean build, caught in the act of rubbing a bruised shin.
He squinted through the lantern-light at me with keen black eyes above an elegant, aquiline nose.
His black hair was mussed, as though he'd just been awakened from a sound sleep, and he had a
neatly trimmed goatee that might have come from an earlier era of British history. In all he
vaguely resembled a hunting falcon. He straightened up, and I saw then that he was wearing a
nightdress at least a size too long for him - the sleeves nearly came to his fingertips and the hem
reached his feet. He wore a pair of Holmes' slippers, and with a shock I realised that the
nightdress was one of Holmes' as well.
"Who are you?" I demanded of him, emphasizing my question by pointing my revolver at him.
"My name is Lord Havelock Vetinari," he said in a clipped tenor, "And I will thank you to point
that device elsewhere and tell me who *you* are."
"I *live* here!" I snapped, my aim not wavering in the slightest, "What have you done with
Holmes?"
"I'm sure I don't know who you're talking about," he said keenly, "But I do have a theory, unless
you're intent upon killing me."
*****
::Ankh-Morpork::
The man who now occupied the Patrician's bed, awakened by the sensation of movement, knew
within the first five nanoseconds of consciousness that something was horribly wrong. He sat up
abruptly, his hands exploring the bed in the darkness like the whiskers of a cat, noting the silk
bedsheets, the fluffy down pillow with the silk pillow-slip, and the elegantly carved headboard.
His night-dress appeared to have shrunk in the night as well - the sleeves only came to the middle
of his forearms, and the hem... he immediately groped for a robe, swinging his long legs out of the
bed and scooting his feet into slippers that he immediately knew weren't his. He felt an awkward
binding sensation as the underwear he now wore attempted to adjust to a taller man. As he stood
up, the bedsprings squeaked a little more loudly than they really needed to.
He looked up as the bedroom door creaked open. His eyes narrowed as he analysed the
newcomer's silhouette. A guard, he concluded, to judge by the uniform and the pike. On the
other hand, the style and cut on the uniform rather resembled medieval livery, which conveniently
threw a small monkey wrench in most of his current theories.
"Sir?" asked the Palace guard, "Are you all-- who are you?!" He levelled his pike at the stranger,
who looked rather less panicked than would have made the guard comfortable. He looked...
resolved.
"My name is Sherlock Holmes," said the intruder, "And I must insist that you stop this foolishness
at once."
"Foolishness?"
"Yes. You are obviously a guard set to watch me, hired by the person in whose dwelling I now
find myself. The logical conclusion is that I have been kidnapped by a party so far unknown to
me - though it does not explain why I am wearing someone else's nightclothes and why, for that
matter, I awoke in such surroundings."
"I don't know anything about any kidnapping," the guard replied sternly, "but for that matter,
what have you done with the Patrician?"
Holmes only got as far as "I don't kn--" before the guard sounded the alarm and tried to tackle
him.
The operative word, of course, is "tried." Even with tight underwear, some well-aimed baritsu
tended to be very effective against an unsuspecting opponent.
So it was that Holmes, trying as best he could to unbind himself [with limited success, of course],
escaped from the Patrician's bedroom and ran full-force into three more guards just around the
next corner.
*****
::London::
"If I may sit without you shooting at me?" Mr. Vetinari asked, waving a hand vaguely towards
the lone chair in the room.
My aim never wavered from him as he, hands upraised to show he was relatively unarmed,
sidestepped towards the chair, tripped on the hem of Holmes' night-dress, and reached the chair
with rather less grace than he had probably intended. He used the chair to help pull himself back
upright, and I thought I heard him murmur someone's name and the word scorpions as he seated
himself.
"I see you don't believe that I am who I say I am," he observed mildly.
"I don't know that I have any compelling reason to," I replied.
"It probably doesn't help that this Holmes is probably finding out how capable my Palace Guards
are right now."
"So you *have* kidna--"
"I have done no such thing!" he snapped, cutting through my own conclusion like a horsewhip,
"If I had, I sure as hell wouldn't come back to the scene wearing his bedclothes. Now for the
third time, put that thing away before I have to wrestle it away from you. If my own theory is
correct, I'm your surest bet for getting your friend back."
I lowered my revolver, mainly because my arm was getting tired. "So, somebody wishes to trade
you for him?"
"After a fashion. I believe that is what happened tonight - we traded places. There is no other
plausible explanation."
I wasn't at all sure that the explanation he'd offered was plausible, either. "So, what are you
saying?" I asked slowly, "That this happened by... by magic?"
He looked at me in much the same way Holmes generally did when I'd reached the same
conclusion he had. "Precisely," he said, "and I expect we may have some rather... unusual
visitors before this is over."
"But in the meantime," I replied, "Holmes - wherever he is and by whatever means, and I'm not
conceding that he was whisked away by some sorcery--"
"I suppose I can't expect you to," Mr. Vetinari said coolly.
"Holmes," I repeated, "might have a case to attend to, starting at noon tomorrow."
"'Might'?"
"Our client will be giving us the preliminaries then. That's usually when Holmes decides whether
or not he should take a case." In the back of my mind, I was wondering why I was telling him all
this, but right now I was so unhinged from Holmes' unexplained disappearance that I might have
told my life story to Wiggins and paid him for the privilege.
"Well, then, there is only one solution that I can immediately see," Vetinari said, breaking into my
train of thought.
"What's that?"
"I must impersonate your friend, at least until such time as he is returned."
The idea was ludicrous, and I said so. He didn't seem very put off by this.
"Well, then," he said calmly, leaning back in the chair and steepling his fingers, "I believe you
have a bit less than twelve hours in which to find an alternative solution."
There was a long pause in the conversation as I racked my brains for any such thing. As I did, I
looked thoughtfully at the lean man, who was even now stretching out his legs in a hauntingly
familiar pose of rather smug relaxation. Shave the beard, give him some properly-fitting clothing,
add a pipe...
"It might work..." I reluctantly conceded, "But only if our impending guest has never seen
Holmes before. And if you're quite sure you can keep up the ruse."
"I *am* a politician," he said archly, as though that explained everything.
*****
End of Part 2