IV. Unexpected Things

Igneous Cutwell crawled across the pavement. Delirious with lack of intelligent conversation, he thought the dog that had pissed on his robe could talk†. Then again, this was Ankh-Morpork. He clawed his way up the stairs, gibbering about insane drivers and budget chicken manure.

The doors flung open and a musty smell spilled out into the courtyard. A scrawny bearded man in a battered red robe that had once been fine was framed in the doorway. "Igneous Cutwell!" he said, obviously in a good mood. "Welcome back!"

"Whimmimmiha," is perhaps the most eloquent way of expressing Cutwell's greeting. Rincewind sighed and supported Cutwell inside.

They entered a conference room, where Cutwell was dropped into a padded seat. Slowly, the young wizard regained his senses and was soon uncomfortably aware of a few things. He reeked of canine urine, was wearing a frayed brown linen tunic, and (worst of all) was sitting smack in the middle of the clever, nasty and (of old) juvenile boys who'd teased the 17- year-old Cutwell about his weight.

And they were all wearing high-end robes and royal emblems. He'd never be recognised asa Royal Recogniser.

†Though in Ankh-Morpork, you never know.
Despite Keli's firm but polite protestations, Ysabell and Mort chose to dine in their chambers that night, leaving Keli alone with this 'Edwin Nova Vetinari'.

"So..." said Keli. "You're the Patrician's nephew."

"Yes, milady," said Edwin Nova Vetinari in a voice soft and smooth as room-temperature butter. "Well, adoptive nephew. Havelock has no siblings."

Keli looked confused. "Then might I ask how...?"

"In truth I am the son of his Uncle Hagett's daughter-in-law's cousin," clarified Edwin with a half-smile. "But the Patrician dislikes complication, and calls me his nephew."

"Oh." This man was so utterly different from Cutwell, she thought. Somehow, she had not imagined that eligible bachelors could be quite like this Edwin. A little Cutwell-shaped conscience appeared in the top corner of her mind.

'He's related to Vetinari!' it warned. 'The man's only been in office six months and he's had SIXTEEN mimes 'disappear'!'

Then the curly blonde hair straightened out, darkened and withdrew into the head. The rosy cheeks paled; the eyes became smaller and sparked. 'I hate mimes,' said the little Edwin.

Keli grinned.

"Wonder how they're getting on," said Ysabell, folding a corset into the armoire.

"Who?" said Mort. Ysabell gave him an exasperated look.

"Keli and Vetinari!"

"Oh, them," said Mort.

"Yes, them!" Ysabell flopped down on the bed and stared wistfully out the window. Mort sighed impatiently and turned away. "It'll be good for her to get that wizard out of her head."

"Mmm."

"She says he's changed a lot," said Ysabell conversationally. "Lost weight and all that. Still not doing a lot of magic."

"Must be hard for him," grinned Mort. "All those bedroom councils..."

"No," said Ysabell, biting her lip. "I don't think it's like that. I think-" her eyes glazed over "-that he likes Keli!"

Far from looking shocked, Mort looked at his wife and slowly began to clap.

"Oh, shut up!" she snapped. "I've known all along, but I've only just realised what that MEANS! If Keli takes to one of her courtiers, Cutwell will be crushed - but if those two get together, then Cutwell will probably lose his magic altogether!"

"Seriously, though," added Mort. "If Cutwell gets married, the UU will revoke his DM and he won't be allowed to do any magic."

Ysabell thought about it and her heart sank. She had spent years imagining romantically tragic situations, but most of them ended in either suicide or happiness. In her fantasies, there was never any such thing as forever-unrequited love. Because that was just being evil to her characters.

"Poor Cutwell," she sighed.

"Poor Cutwell," agreed Mort, putting an arm around his wife.

"You know, in all my favourite stories, there's loads of dark passion and anguish. But this is real life, and it's a lot more painful, somehow."

"That's because it's real, darling," soothed Mort. "I have to say-"

DINNER, said someone at the door.

"About t-" Ysabell began. Then she realised that she only knew one person who could speak without the need for vocal chords. Or ears. Flinging open the door, she squealed and almost upset a massive silver tray held by a robed figure. "Father!"

I JUST FINISHED THE DUTY said Death AND I REMEMBERED THAT YOU TWO WERE COMING HERE FOR THE WEEKEND. I HAVE TO BE IN AWAY IN AN HOUR, SO LET'S MAKE THIS QUICK.

"Who is it?" asked Ysabell.

SOME STUPID EPHEBIAN TOURISTS WERE MESSING ABOUT IN DJELIBEYBI. ONE IDIOT PUSHED HIS FRIEND INTO THE DJEL. VERY MESSY.

After two years of normality, it never even occurred to Mort that this was odd: eating a roast beef dinner in the palace at Sto Lat with the Grim Reaper and his daughter. In fact, it felt more normal than anything else had since leaving Death's house.

SO, HOW IS SUSAN GETTING ON?

"Oh, she's fine," chatted Ysabell. "Terrible diarrhoea. Keli said that Cutwell said she's teething, which I suppose makes sense. But it doesn't change the fact that her crap is -"

"Bella," pleaded Mort, "we're eating."

"Oh. Right. Sorry."