20. Confession
The next morning, Lord Vetinari was especially polite to Vimes during the Watch meeting. He even invited the commander to the Palace later for drinks (non-alcoholic, of course) and a social chat.
The Patrician chose as a stage for the evening the sitting room where the passage to the Rimward Tower began. It seemed appropriate now for any conversation relating to Isabella. Water, lemonade and tea were on the side board. An envelope was on the small game table between the chairs he and Isabella had sat in when they took the truth potion.
Vimes arrived on time, not in his armour but still decked out as a watchman with short breeches and sandals and a not-quite clean shirt. It was a signal; he wasn't there as a knight or a duke and he wasn't exactly there as a watchman. He was something in between. Isabella had been found at his home and that was personal, but Lord Vetinari's cover up of the circumstances around her accident touched his professional side.
The Patrician chose to sit on the sofa. Vimes picked a chair near the fireplace, a convenient ash tray. He lit up a cigar. The Patrician raised his eyebrows in disapproval. Vimes inhaled deeply and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling.
"I have to warn you, sir," he said. "I've got my bull detector on today. If you say anything that smells unpleasant I'm going to have to call you on it."
"I will be sure to keep my words fragrant, Sir Samuel."
There was a sharp knock on the door and Isabella came in looking worried. "The wizards want to try it tomorrow," she said.
After much bickering, the wizards had finally decided there was no alternative but to contact Death. This did not sit well with Isabella. She had the feeling he was going to say some things she didn't want to know.
"Have courage," said the Patrician. He waved for her to sit beside him. "Now that we are all together, we may begin this little journey into the past. I am curious, Sir Samuel, to hear what theory you've come up with after your investigation."
"I want to hear it from you, sir."
"Please humour me."
Vimes smoked for a meditative moment and sorted through what he'd got from various quarters in the past few weeks.
"Right. Fifteen years ago, you and Miss Capelli met at the Merchants Guild. She must have mentioned her habit of drawing buildings around the city because she sent you some drawings afterward that got you interested in her talent. You started meeting regularly at your house. In secret. She told her parents she was doing Art School work. The instructors didn't say anything because she was paying so that was all right. Did you pay the extra tuition?"
"Please continue, Sir Samuel. You're doing very well."
"She did some kind of drawings for you out in the city, buildings and bridges and things at your request. She visited you often enough for the servants to get to know her but…you must have been discreet about things, even with them. I don't know that Mrs. Figgers lied. You might have encouraged her to think you were smitten all along." Vimes leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "This is where things get muddy. What you told me about a marriage proposal had sob story written all over it, but it looks like the cozy little working relationship really did get cozy after all. Enough for Miss Capelli to stay overnight at your house a few times a week. Am I right?"
Lord Vetinari smiled briefly but said nothing.
"Then something happened that made you want her out of the city fast. I'm inclined to think it was political, maybe something to do with her father's opposition to Snapcase. Maybe someone at the Palace found out about your secret meetings with Marco Capelli's daughter and concluded it was part of some plot. Maybe someone threatened a scandal, though I doubt that; most lords do worse than carry on a secret romance with a young lady." Vimes tapped the ash of his cigar into the fireplace. "If it was a romance. Whatever it was, you needed her gone and so you offered her parents a nice deal: you'll keep secret the financial problems the family was having and you'll pay for Miss Capelli to go to school in Pseudopolis as long as they keep their mouths shut about your patronage."
The Patrician continued to listen with an air of intense interest.
"I'm missing a big piece here," said Vimes. "I don't know what went wrong. When Miss Capelli and her father left the city they were pursued by somebody who thought it a good idea to shoot at them with crossbows."
Isabella glanced at the Patrician. His face was impassive.
"Whoever it was, they tidied up the scene and maybe the driver helped them or he ran off before the rest of us got there. You showed up at the funeral grieving, according to Mrs. Capelli and Mrs. Figgers, who at least agree on something. It makes me think you had something to grieve about. You might've been acting, granted. But if you weren't, I reckon you either felt responsible for the deaths or you were grieving the loss of Miss Capelli. Or both."
He smoked a bit, thinking, scouring his mind for any other pieces that he'd left out.
"Mrs. Capelli's had her pension supplemented for years. You're either paying for her silence or trying to ease your guilt. Or both." Vimes sat back in his chair. "I think that's all I've got."
The Patrician nodded, his hands folded calmly in his lap. "A very thorough job, Sir Samuel." He looked at Isabella. "Does any of this sound familiar?"
She shook her head. "It's nothing like how things were with me. There was no secrecy at all. Until you became Patrician, I hardly ever visited you without my Aunt Gertrude as chaperone. I certainly never stayed with you overnight until we got married."
"I never asked you to look at the bridges and the old treacle mines under the Shades?"
There was a transformation on Isabella's face, as if she finally heard something she could latch onto, something that supported her memories. She leaned toward the Patrician.
"He didn't really try it, did he?"
Vetinari nodded, which wasn't enough of a response to get Vimes on the ball.
"Who's he and what's it?"
"How far along did it get according to your memory?" Vetinari asked.
"He was having surveys done when he choked to death on that cherry pit," she said. "We didn't know what he was planning until we looked through his files."
"Right," said Vimes, holding his hands up. "Back up. He is…"
"Lord Snapcase."
"And it was…"
"His plan to…renovate the Shades."
"What do you mean, renovate?"
"You do recall, Sir Samuel, that Lord Snapcase became quite mad later in his term," said the Patrician.
"Crazy as a frog on a grill," said Vimes. "I thought it was all that snuff."
"He was also, as we shouldn't forget, a man who loved his brocade breaches and velvet waistcoats. When I moved into the Palace I had to find a charitable way to dispose of his 200 wigs, 400 pairs of shoes and nearly 1,000 pairs of silk stockings. His appetite for the finer trappings of life left the treasury empty. It had to be replenished if he wished to continue to live in the matter to which he was accustomed. As a young man, I was of course not privy to all of the happenings at the Palace but I had my sources and I was informed of some puzzling activity on the part of Snapcase's agents in certain parts of the Shades. Surveys of certain buildings and streets, particularly along Treacle Mine Road and Elm, and detailed examinations of the Ankh Bridge and the Pearl Dock. My informants were not able to tell me why this was happening. I had to investigate myself."
Lord Vetinari turned to Isabella.
"I needed the help of someone with an eye for structural detail, someone who could interpret the landscape, examine what Snapcase's agents had and produce theories as to what he planned. An independent, preferably non-guild architect. I failed to find someone with the proper skill, imagination and discretion until I first saw your drawings. After a few meetings, it was clear that you were perfect for the job. It was only a matter of convincing you to do it."
Vimes tossed his stub of a cigar into the fireplace and lit a new one.
"A bit of bribery, a bit of seduction, eh?" he said.
"You'd be amazed, Vimes." The Patrician smiled thinly. "It was useful to have the servants think it was an affair of the heart, which was to be the explanation for our activities if anyone else discovered the link between us. Which I doubted anyone would; I took quite a few precautions to prevent that. We worked for months before we hit on what Snapcase was really planning. It took us that long to realize it because it was a few steps too mad for us to contemplate."
"What?" asked Vimes, leaning forward in his chair.
"He wanted to expand the docks," said Isabella. "Snapcase could double the capacity for docking ships inside the city if he re-routed the Ankh so that a new arm of it flowed through the Shades as a kind of deep water canal. The buildings along the route would have to be torn down and the layers of old building foundations and mines underground would have to be dug up to accommodate the freighters. He wanted to get rid of the Ankh Bridge completely to allow larger ships to travel up almost to the Misbegot and then widdershins onto the new canal. It would wrap around roughly to the Pearl Dock."
Vimes had the Shades imprinted in his mind. He'd grown up there.
"He was just going to cut a river through the Shades, through my home, without asking anybody if they wanted to live under fifty feet of water?"
"There may be conditions under which such a thing is necessary, Vimes," said the Patrician.
"There is not one bloody good reason to--"
"But this was not one of them. Not only was it an unnecessarily destructive plan, it was also a foolish one. It couldn't work. The mines and cellars that interconnect throughout the Shades would have flooded, leaving most of our more picturesque alleys and byways under water permanently. Snapcase knew that, but he was just mad and certainly greedy enough to approve the destruction anyway. Dock fees are quite lucrative, especially in winter, and more imports would bring in more tax. The project would have paid for itself in a few years and the profits afterward would have been immense."
"Why didn't anybody know about this?" asked Vimes.
"Someone did." The Patrician sighed and relaxed a little against the sofa, his gaze on Isabella. "I took every possible precaution to keep you from being discovered," he said. "Alas, someone was clever enough to see the pattern in your activities. Snapcase's agents acted quickly. The next time they found you on the outskirts of the Shades, they arranged a bit of a mugging. You turned out to be surprisingly handy with a drawing pad swung in fear and anger, and believe it or not, a few good citizens came to your aid. Chivalry was not dead in Ankh-Morpork."
"How did you know it wasn't just a mugging?" asked Vimes. "The Thieves didn't control that sort of thing back then."
"The gentlemen were thorough. They addressed her first by name. It was, of course, clear that you should leave the city for your own safety, Miss Capelli. It was imperative to get you out before Snapcase discovered why he couldn't get the Assassins Guild to put a contract on you. My quiet influence in the matter was not going to be sufficient for long. After a good deal of negotiation we agreed on the architecture school in Pseudopolis. Your father wished to go with you to help you settle in your new home."
He paused.
"I thought it prudent to go along myself to be sure you arrived safely."
"Aaaaaah," said Vimes, his cigar bobbing in his mouth. "You were driving the carriage."
"I'm quite unrecognizable in an oversized muffler and a cloak with a cowl. It must be remembered that it was February, and this particular February was one of the worst in some years. The week before it had snowed every day but by the day, the temperatures had dropped. An ice sheet covered the city. There was, however, no question of postponing the journey. I arrived at your house quite early and helped load the luggage as a driver was expected to do, and I helped you into the carriage."
"I didn't recognize you?"
"You were quite distracted. I believe you hoped that I would come to see you off and instead of looking at the man in front of you, you searched the streets for my carriage. But we'd said our good byes several days before and I had told you I wouldn't come."
The Patrician laced his fingers together in his lap.
"We were already at the edge of the city and turning onto the Pseudopolis Road when the carriage belonging to the opposition swung around behind us. Though I had advised the Capellis to prepare for the journey quietly, they told everyone how proud they were that their daughter was to attend such a prestigious school. They told anyone who would listen. Parents of an only child are like that, I've been told. Alas, the consequence was that anyone who wanted to know the particulars of the journey could get them easily despite the bits of disinformation I circulated as a counter measure. The moment the black carriage came up behind us, I saw no alternative but to get out onto the open road in hopes of two things: that Snapcase's men would be content with you leaving the city and, if not, that we could outrun them. The horses I had hired were champion thoroughbreds, by the way.
"We passed through the turnwise suburbs. The horses found the open road less trouble than the city cobbles so I quickened the pace. The pursuers did as well. At the half mile mark, the first crossbow bolt came. There was nothing to do now but call the horses to a run. The black carriage was drawn by two rather impressive white Klatchian Desert horses, adapted apparently to winter conditions. They gave chase. Your father leaned out the window and he very nearly caught a bolt for his foolishness. I attempted to halt the opposition by throwing knives at their horses, but to no avail."
He shifted position, facing Isabella, an elbow on the back of the sofa.
"We were over the mile marker and moving fast over the snow. Our horses handled themselves beautifully but the pursuers gained ground. At the mile and a half there is a gentle curve turnwise in the road. A particularly zealous marksman among the pursuers chose that moment to shoot a bolt at the exposed left rear wheel of our carriage. The back axle collapsed. The horses panicked. They dragged us toward the curve near the ravine that slopes off at the two-mile mark from the road. They lost their footing when they tried to take the curve. Both went down. The carriage still had velocity, of course. It swung full into one of the lindens that lined the road. I was thrown over the side of the ravine and tumbled to a snow drift below."
Vimes' cigar smouldered but he wasn't smoking it anymore. Isabella hugged a sofa cushion against her chest.
"I was stunned for a short time," the Patrician continued. "The snow of the past week saved my life; I have no illusions that a tumble down the ravine in any other season would have left me in a far worse condition than I was. By the time I'd climbed the ravine and could look out over the scene from behind the safety of a tree, I saw the carriage collapsed, crushed completely. The horses were both on the ground. Snapcase's men were going about their business in a quiet and efficient way. Marco Capelli had been transferred to their carriage already. They were carrying..."
His voice changed, softer. "It was clear that there was no helping you," he said to Isabella. "If you were still alive, you wouldn't survive long. All I could do was watch them carry you into--"
"You didn't do anything?" cried Vimes. "You just sat there and let--"
"There was no point, Sir Samuel."
"If there was even the chance they were still alive maybe something could've been done."
"I could have killed Snapcase's men. Quite easily, actually. I could have stolen their carriage and driven it to the Physicians Guild, which if the Capellis weren't already dead, would have certainly finished the job. Option two, I could have driven to the Capelli House to deposit the corpses of Mrs. Capelli's husband and daughter with my apologies. Third option: I could have remained in the road hoping a passerby would come soon enough to help without asking how the throats of Snapcase's men had been cut. Option four, in my weakened condition I could have slung the mangled body of Miss Capelli over my shoulder and walked two miles back to the city and hoped she lived through the ordeal long enough to die in the hands of a doctor."
"It would've been something."
"I have no doubt you would have acted differently, Vimes."
They both looked at Isabella as if she could give the verdict in the argument. She was studying the Patrician's face, trying to look back at the scene he was seeing in his mind. She couldn't remember it. She did know that perhaps a Vimes would have rushed Snapcase's men out of rage and desperation, but a Vetinari would assess the situation and act only if it served a purpose.
"If you say I was dead or dying, I believe you," she said. "It sounds like there's nothing you could have done."
Vimes grumbled to himself.
The Patrician left the sofa and began pacing slowly, his hands clasped behind his back.
"It was useless to continue to freeze in my place. As Miss Capelli correctly concluded, there was nothing to be done. I climbed along the ravine as far as I could go and made my way back up onto the road and then home. By the time I was back in the city and could hail a cab I was in something of a state. Frozen to be sure. Perhaps there was some shock. It didn't help that it was necessary for appearances sake for me to climb into my own second floor bedroom window. The servants never knew I was out."
"Mrs. Figgers and Mrs. Capelli both said you were ill," said Vimes.
"A cold that turned into a flu of some sort, the worst of my life. I could attend the funeral only after consuming large amounts of whiskey and tea. But I owed it to Mrs. Capelli. My secret contributions to her pension over the years were small attempts to make up for what I'd done. The deaths of her husband and daughter were my responsibility."
The Patrician straightened as if he was shaking himself out of a dream.
"And so you see why I wished to keep this episode quiet. It was not my intention to sacrifice a talented young woman, especially when her work was a great service to the public good." He sat beside Isabella again. "Which it was. I was able to prevent the destruction of the Shades while assuring that Snapcase saw justice for his role in the tragedy."
Within a few months of the accident, Lord Vetinari became the only person in history ever to assassinate two Patricians in a row by natural causes. Lord Winder died of a heart attack at the sight of a teenage Vetinari poised to inhume him. Lord Snapcase died of jumping out a Palace window. Vetinari hadn't so much as touched him. No weapons had been involved. It had been an opportunity for the young man to practice the type of persuasion that would serve him well in his reign. Officially, Snapcase's suicide was chalked up to his madness. That was practically natural causes.
Vetinari didn't tell them this. They drew their own conclusions.
"Assuming you're finally telling the truth," Vimes squinted suspiciously at the Patrician, "it's all explained. Except for that envelope there." He nodded at the table in front of them.
"I believe that's a matter for Miss Capelli and I," said the Patrician. "As delightful as it has been to include you in this evening's reminiscences, perhaps we could continue without you, Sir Samuel."
"You could just say 'Get out, Vimes,'" he said, getting to his feet. "It's more efficient."
"But not as polite." The Patrician smiled politely. "Good night."
"Goodbye, commander," said Isabella.
Vimes left wondering vaguely why she'd said good bye instead of good night.
