Power Play: Chapter 2: Of Kidnapping and Clerks
By Tinselcat (yo!)
Rating: PG Disclaimer: Vimes, Vetinari, Drumknott, Carrot, Angua, Unseen University Ankh-Morpork and Discworld are creations and property of the amazing Terry Pratchett *bows*, and no profit is being made from the use of the copyrighted material (if there was, I wouldn't have to worry about paying off my student loans, dammit!!).
Author's Note: Okay, people, I want you to PUT those damn pitchforks down RIGHT NOW! I posted another chapter, SEEEE! Now you have no reason to kill me and- hey! You! I see that tazer! Put it down! PUT it DOWN! Thank you. Sheesh.
One thoughtful reviewer mentioned that they wanted to see more humor in this chapter. The first part of this story probably won't have much in the way of humor, but it will make a return in phase two, I promise.
Don't kill me.
****************
"I told the palace guards everything I know. Perhaps you should consult them. . ." Drumknott pushed his spectacles up his nose and raised and eyebrow.
Vimes recognized the famous Vetinari-brand-cynical-sarcastic-eyebrow and had to tightly clasp his hands behind his back to keep from grabbing the clerk's face and yanking the damn thing back into place. "Let's pretend," he gritted through his teeth, "that the palace guards have a silly little problem with the Nightwatch. Let's also pretend they don't want to talk to me. Getting into the game yet?"
Drumknott sighed as if an unbelievable burden had been loaded upon his shoulders. He leaned back in his chair. "Lord Vetinari was taking his dinner in his office. I saw the maid enter and leave. I heard a scuffle in the hallway outside the anteroom, and went to investigate. Someone grabbed me from behind and put a foul-smelling rag to my mouth. The next thing I remember is being woken up by the guards. That was this morning."
"Right." Said Vimes. He looked at Drumknott from the corner of his eye. The clerk's hands were clasped, white-knuckled, in his lap. Perhaps he wasn't as detached as he seemed. During his bad days when he was determined to think ill of everyone, including Constable Carrot, who was the least ill person he knew of (extremely healthy, in fact), he would speculate that that "insidious snake" Vetinari took advantage of Drumknott in his blatant nerdiness. When Vimes was feeling more realistic, however, he realized that the latter thought just didn't seem the patrician's style. Why take advantage of someone when you could twist their minds so severely that they would go rushing off to all corners of the disc (figuratively speaking, of course) at a flick of a long, thin finger resulting in severe head trauma due to several serious impacts with the nearest convenient wall per day. Vimes cut of this line of thinking before he got carried away. More-so.
"Commander?"
Vimes turned sharply about and tried as hard as he could to imply that he was not thinking about Vetinari's sexual tendencies. Vetinari. Sex, Eeeeeew. . . That was just not something he wanted to think about. What kind of underwear does a man like that wear anyway? Black, just like the rest of his clothing, or did he have some unknown wild side that could only be expressed where it couldn't be seen?
"Commander!"
"Sorry. Just thinking." Snorted Vimes. He took out his notebook and glanced at what he had so far. Next to nothing. "Another question, if it wouldn't be too much trouble."
Drumknott's athletic eyebrows implied that it was, but he simply replied, "None at all."
"Have any of the staff gone missing since last night? Like the maid, for instance."
"No. No one is missing. All staff are accounted for."
"And you've been able to determine that all the staff with access to the various parts of the palace are present within a precious few hours?"
"Yes."
"Ah. Yes." Vimes paused. After years of dealing with deceit, he'd been able to pick up an uncanny ability to spot bullshit from a mile away (figuratively speaking). The kid was good. Something had to rub off on him after all the time he spent with one of the most scheming, twisted and conniving mind on the disc. However, he wasn't quite there yet.
"Look," growled Vimes, "do you want to find Vetinari or not?"
Drumknott gave him a narrowed-eye look that would have been scathing if his hair wasn't sticking up on one side. Vimes figured he hadn't seen a mirror since his rude awakening that morning.
"Look," said Vimes, "the Nightwatch is probably the best chance you have of finding your boss. In all honesty, I can't blame you if you want to leave the job to the palace guards who couldn't find their asses with a map, but if any kind of thorough investigation is going to happen, you're going to have to be up front. Got it? Now, tell me, is any of Vetinari's staff missing?"
"One man." Replied Drumknott, his eyes straying to the nearby window, "His name is Clark. He's our insider in the Henchmen's Guild. He hasn't been seen since last night. I already sent someone to the guild to look for him. There's been no sign of him for days."
"Right. Thank you."
"Will that be all, Commander?" Drumknott was drumming his fingers on his desk.
"Yes. That's all."
Carrot fell in step beside him outside in the hall. "What's our course of action?"
Vimes tried to stall by working some unidentifiable smidge of food from between two molars. Eventually Carrot began to give him an odd look, and the jig was up, "Haven't the faintest. Never happened before. Big, big, big problem."
"I'll inform Detritus, sir-"
"No, not that kind of big." He meandered back and forth across the hall, his eyes picking out anything that may be unusual. So far, he'd found a piece of lint, some gum and an annoyed-looking guard.
Vimes heaved a growling sigh as he and carrot exited the palace and strode into the street. "Luck." He muttered.
"Pardon?"
"That's all there is to solving a case, or saving the day. Luck. That's the only real tool a watchman has on his side is a series of lucky breaks and the brains to figure out what they mean."
Carrot's brow furrowed. You know, I never thought of things breaking as being very lucky. . ."
"No, I suppose you don't." mumbled Vimes.
"So, what do we do now?"
"W e make use of the Nightwatch's resident werewolf."
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Drumknott's eyes followed Vimes until he was out of site of the palace. Which was a distance of about fifteen feet. He frowned. He didn't like to depend on Sam Vimes to find Vetinari, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Someone on the inside had betrayed them. That meant he should question the loyalty of anyone, although it seemed unlikely that anyone else from the palace was involved.
Drumknott knew it was up to him to keep things organized until Vetinari's return. He couldn't help but feel a nagging doubt about that point though. Vetinari: captured. It was surreal. It hadn't even occurred to him that such a thing was possible. He drummed his fingers on the windowsill. He had a reputation to maintain. Also a city to maintain. It was essential that he not let it show that he was compelled to begin screeching like a banshee and waving his arms in hopeless desperation. No, that would definitely be a bad idea. He permitted himself a scowl. That sick feeling of perpetual chronic worry had settled in his stomach like a slightly acidic lead weight. And it wasn't going anywhere. Not while Vetinari was still at large (or rather, at thin and tall). He had picked up more than a few of the Patrician's frosty and sarcastic mannerisms, which made it hard to make friends. This, however, had never been too much of a concern for him. Why spend time with people who would tell you your hair looked nice just because you're having a bad day when you could spend it with someone who would tell you up-front that you looked a wreck and sent you off to do something about it. He didn't really consider Vetinari a friend. . . a man such as that didn't really have them, perhaps with the exception of Leonord Da Quirm, who would be your friend whether you wanted him to or not. But Vetinari's clerk still held his boss in a sort of regard that most clerks don't have for their bosses. For instance, he'd never wanted to stomp on Vetinari's head until it was a bloody pulp on his shoes. He'd never had any severe bad feelings toward him. Drumknott realized that, while he wasn't so presumptuous as to call himself Vetinari's friend, he knew that if anything happened to the man, he would feel awful about it. Perhaps for the rest of his life.
He sighed and left the window. He sat at his desk and pulled out two blank sheets of paper. Two people. Out of all of Vetinari's subjects, all of his acquaintances, all of his political connections, even his family, Drumknott could only think of two people, besides commander Vimes, of course, who would want to know about recent events. He certainly didn't feel as if he, personally, owed either person anything, but he knew he would feel more comfortable not being the only non-friend knowing about this. Wisely, he was trying to keep the news from the general public. He wrote a short, concise letter on each page. He then entered Vetinari's office and crouched behind the desk. Somehow, it didn't seem right to use the Patrician's chair, as if using it would ensure that its original owner would no longer need it.
He tapped on the underside of the desk, releasing a shallow hidden drawer. His hand found the cold metal of Vetinari's seal and the stick of wax. He folded the letters and sealed them both, the specially created wax fading from red to black where the cold metal touched it. It took on a slight iridescence as it cooled. Thus, it was easy for the palace guards to recognize someone bearing the official seal, since the wax was nearly impossible to reproduce, except for Leonard.
He sent for a messenger, who he gave one letter, and sent to the Unseen University.
The other he took outside with him to the garden. His eyes scanned the flora-oriented aspect of the famous works by Bloody Stupid Johnson. Finally, sticking two fingers in the corners of his mouth, he gave a shrill whistle. Presently, a small cat-sized dragon came flapping awkwardly from the deep ditch that had claimed so many gardeners in the past. It settled on Drumknott's extended arm, flicking its tongue out at him several times. Drumknott held the letter out to it. It took it in its small claws, holding it securely against it's scaled belly. Drumknott thrust his arm in the air and the animal took off, flapping in several loops first, before seeming to decide which direction it was going in and flying off. It passed overhead three more times before finally sticking to a direction. Drumknott made a mental note that it was headed hubwards. He entered the palace again and returned to his desk where he sat quietly by himself.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Vetinari awoke in darkness. He felt cold stone beneath him. He lay there for several moments, collecting his thoughts. Kidnapped. Someone had kidnapped him. Shit. He would have cursed himself for any kind of laziness or idleness that had caused his guard to slip, but that would have been a waste of time. Already his mind was working at full capacity, the wheels and cogs of his brain spinning and working with efficiency. He slowly sat up. His hands were free. This was a plus. It seemed one of his ankles was manacled to the wall. This was a minus. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he noticed a very small barred window in what had to be a door. Plus. He shivered with cold and realized that his only garments were the somewhat shredded remains of his black robes, wrapped about his waste. This meant no hidden weapons. Definitely a minus. He stood up and tried to approach the door. His leg chain only allowed him to get halfway there. He stood as still as he could, closing his eyes. Eventually he was aware of soft breathing coming from outside the door. A guard. He took a breath in order to address his captor when light flooded the cell from outside the window. It was the flickering, guttural light of a torch getting closer. Low, indistinct voices followed. A face peered through the bars.
"Greetings, Lord Vetinari." Said an amiable voice, "It has been quite a while since our last meeting, hasn't it? I feel that we left on a bad note last time, and I would sincerely like to make it up to you." The man grinned and began to laugh. It was a chilling, true laugh that came from a cold heart truly amused with something.
Minus. Definitely a minus.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Okay, so that chapter was short. Sorry bout that. Oh, and my interpretation of Drumknott is based on mostly assumptions on my part. I finished Men at Arms only recently, so I've only really known Drumknott for one book. Anyway, I hope it's not too off the mark. The way I see it, he's the kind of character that people can interpret pretty freely anyway. I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up, but I'm on summer vacation now, so I've got some free time. On a negative note, I've also got work. I'll try to update this pretty regularly, though. Anyhoo, hope y'all like the story so far.
Rating: PG Disclaimer: Vimes, Vetinari, Drumknott, Carrot, Angua, Unseen University Ankh-Morpork and Discworld are creations and property of the amazing Terry Pratchett *bows*, and no profit is being made from the use of the copyrighted material (if there was, I wouldn't have to worry about paying off my student loans, dammit!!).
Author's Note: Okay, people, I want you to PUT those damn pitchforks down RIGHT NOW! I posted another chapter, SEEEE! Now you have no reason to kill me and- hey! You! I see that tazer! Put it down! PUT it DOWN! Thank you. Sheesh.
One thoughtful reviewer mentioned that they wanted to see more humor in this chapter. The first part of this story probably won't have much in the way of humor, but it will make a return in phase two, I promise.
Don't kill me.
****************
"I told the palace guards everything I know. Perhaps you should consult them. . ." Drumknott pushed his spectacles up his nose and raised and eyebrow.
Vimes recognized the famous Vetinari-brand-cynical-sarcastic-eyebrow and had to tightly clasp his hands behind his back to keep from grabbing the clerk's face and yanking the damn thing back into place. "Let's pretend," he gritted through his teeth, "that the palace guards have a silly little problem with the Nightwatch. Let's also pretend they don't want to talk to me. Getting into the game yet?"
Drumknott sighed as if an unbelievable burden had been loaded upon his shoulders. He leaned back in his chair. "Lord Vetinari was taking his dinner in his office. I saw the maid enter and leave. I heard a scuffle in the hallway outside the anteroom, and went to investigate. Someone grabbed me from behind and put a foul-smelling rag to my mouth. The next thing I remember is being woken up by the guards. That was this morning."
"Right." Said Vimes. He looked at Drumknott from the corner of his eye. The clerk's hands were clasped, white-knuckled, in his lap. Perhaps he wasn't as detached as he seemed. During his bad days when he was determined to think ill of everyone, including Constable Carrot, who was the least ill person he knew of (extremely healthy, in fact), he would speculate that that "insidious snake" Vetinari took advantage of Drumknott in his blatant nerdiness. When Vimes was feeling more realistic, however, he realized that the latter thought just didn't seem the patrician's style. Why take advantage of someone when you could twist their minds so severely that they would go rushing off to all corners of the disc (figuratively speaking, of course) at a flick of a long, thin finger resulting in severe head trauma due to several serious impacts with the nearest convenient wall per day. Vimes cut of this line of thinking before he got carried away. More-so.
"Commander?"
Vimes turned sharply about and tried as hard as he could to imply that he was not thinking about Vetinari's sexual tendencies. Vetinari. Sex, Eeeeeew. . . That was just not something he wanted to think about. What kind of underwear does a man like that wear anyway? Black, just like the rest of his clothing, or did he have some unknown wild side that could only be expressed where it couldn't be seen?
"Commander!"
"Sorry. Just thinking." Snorted Vimes. He took out his notebook and glanced at what he had so far. Next to nothing. "Another question, if it wouldn't be too much trouble."
Drumknott's athletic eyebrows implied that it was, but he simply replied, "None at all."
"Have any of the staff gone missing since last night? Like the maid, for instance."
"No. No one is missing. All staff are accounted for."
"And you've been able to determine that all the staff with access to the various parts of the palace are present within a precious few hours?"
"Yes."
"Ah. Yes." Vimes paused. After years of dealing with deceit, he'd been able to pick up an uncanny ability to spot bullshit from a mile away (figuratively speaking). The kid was good. Something had to rub off on him after all the time he spent with one of the most scheming, twisted and conniving mind on the disc. However, he wasn't quite there yet.
"Look," growled Vimes, "do you want to find Vetinari or not?"
Drumknott gave him a narrowed-eye look that would have been scathing if his hair wasn't sticking up on one side. Vimes figured he hadn't seen a mirror since his rude awakening that morning.
"Look," said Vimes, "the Nightwatch is probably the best chance you have of finding your boss. In all honesty, I can't blame you if you want to leave the job to the palace guards who couldn't find their asses with a map, but if any kind of thorough investigation is going to happen, you're going to have to be up front. Got it? Now, tell me, is any of Vetinari's staff missing?"
"One man." Replied Drumknott, his eyes straying to the nearby window, "His name is Clark. He's our insider in the Henchmen's Guild. He hasn't been seen since last night. I already sent someone to the guild to look for him. There's been no sign of him for days."
"Right. Thank you."
"Will that be all, Commander?" Drumknott was drumming his fingers on his desk.
"Yes. That's all."
Carrot fell in step beside him outside in the hall. "What's our course of action?"
Vimes tried to stall by working some unidentifiable smidge of food from between two molars. Eventually Carrot began to give him an odd look, and the jig was up, "Haven't the faintest. Never happened before. Big, big, big problem."
"I'll inform Detritus, sir-"
"No, not that kind of big." He meandered back and forth across the hall, his eyes picking out anything that may be unusual. So far, he'd found a piece of lint, some gum and an annoyed-looking guard.
Vimes heaved a growling sigh as he and carrot exited the palace and strode into the street. "Luck." He muttered.
"Pardon?"
"That's all there is to solving a case, or saving the day. Luck. That's the only real tool a watchman has on his side is a series of lucky breaks and the brains to figure out what they mean."
Carrot's brow furrowed. You know, I never thought of things breaking as being very lucky. . ."
"No, I suppose you don't." mumbled Vimes.
"So, what do we do now?"
"W e make use of the Nightwatch's resident werewolf."
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Drumknott's eyes followed Vimes until he was out of site of the palace. Which was a distance of about fifteen feet. He frowned. He didn't like to depend on Sam Vimes to find Vetinari, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Someone on the inside had betrayed them. That meant he should question the loyalty of anyone, although it seemed unlikely that anyone else from the palace was involved.
Drumknott knew it was up to him to keep things organized until Vetinari's return. He couldn't help but feel a nagging doubt about that point though. Vetinari: captured. It was surreal. It hadn't even occurred to him that such a thing was possible. He drummed his fingers on the windowsill. He had a reputation to maintain. Also a city to maintain. It was essential that he not let it show that he was compelled to begin screeching like a banshee and waving his arms in hopeless desperation. No, that would definitely be a bad idea. He permitted himself a scowl. That sick feeling of perpetual chronic worry had settled in his stomach like a slightly acidic lead weight. And it wasn't going anywhere. Not while Vetinari was still at large (or rather, at thin and tall). He had picked up more than a few of the Patrician's frosty and sarcastic mannerisms, which made it hard to make friends. This, however, had never been too much of a concern for him. Why spend time with people who would tell you your hair looked nice just because you're having a bad day when you could spend it with someone who would tell you up-front that you looked a wreck and sent you off to do something about it. He didn't really consider Vetinari a friend. . . a man such as that didn't really have them, perhaps with the exception of Leonord Da Quirm, who would be your friend whether you wanted him to or not. But Vetinari's clerk still held his boss in a sort of regard that most clerks don't have for their bosses. For instance, he'd never wanted to stomp on Vetinari's head until it was a bloody pulp on his shoes. He'd never had any severe bad feelings toward him. Drumknott realized that, while he wasn't so presumptuous as to call himself Vetinari's friend, he knew that if anything happened to the man, he would feel awful about it. Perhaps for the rest of his life.
He sighed and left the window. He sat at his desk and pulled out two blank sheets of paper. Two people. Out of all of Vetinari's subjects, all of his acquaintances, all of his political connections, even his family, Drumknott could only think of two people, besides commander Vimes, of course, who would want to know about recent events. He certainly didn't feel as if he, personally, owed either person anything, but he knew he would feel more comfortable not being the only non-friend knowing about this. Wisely, he was trying to keep the news from the general public. He wrote a short, concise letter on each page. He then entered Vetinari's office and crouched behind the desk. Somehow, it didn't seem right to use the Patrician's chair, as if using it would ensure that its original owner would no longer need it.
He tapped on the underside of the desk, releasing a shallow hidden drawer. His hand found the cold metal of Vetinari's seal and the stick of wax. He folded the letters and sealed them both, the specially created wax fading from red to black where the cold metal touched it. It took on a slight iridescence as it cooled. Thus, it was easy for the palace guards to recognize someone bearing the official seal, since the wax was nearly impossible to reproduce, except for Leonard.
He sent for a messenger, who he gave one letter, and sent to the Unseen University.
The other he took outside with him to the garden. His eyes scanned the flora-oriented aspect of the famous works by Bloody Stupid Johnson. Finally, sticking two fingers in the corners of his mouth, he gave a shrill whistle. Presently, a small cat-sized dragon came flapping awkwardly from the deep ditch that had claimed so many gardeners in the past. It settled on Drumknott's extended arm, flicking its tongue out at him several times. Drumknott held the letter out to it. It took it in its small claws, holding it securely against it's scaled belly. Drumknott thrust his arm in the air and the animal took off, flapping in several loops first, before seeming to decide which direction it was going in and flying off. It passed overhead three more times before finally sticking to a direction. Drumknott made a mental note that it was headed hubwards. He entered the palace again and returned to his desk where he sat quietly by himself.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Vetinari awoke in darkness. He felt cold stone beneath him. He lay there for several moments, collecting his thoughts. Kidnapped. Someone had kidnapped him. Shit. He would have cursed himself for any kind of laziness or idleness that had caused his guard to slip, but that would have been a waste of time. Already his mind was working at full capacity, the wheels and cogs of his brain spinning and working with efficiency. He slowly sat up. His hands were free. This was a plus. It seemed one of his ankles was manacled to the wall. This was a minus. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he noticed a very small barred window in what had to be a door. Plus. He shivered with cold and realized that his only garments were the somewhat shredded remains of his black robes, wrapped about his waste. This meant no hidden weapons. Definitely a minus. He stood up and tried to approach the door. His leg chain only allowed him to get halfway there. He stood as still as he could, closing his eyes. Eventually he was aware of soft breathing coming from outside the door. A guard. He took a breath in order to address his captor when light flooded the cell from outside the window. It was the flickering, guttural light of a torch getting closer. Low, indistinct voices followed. A face peered through the bars.
"Greetings, Lord Vetinari." Said an amiable voice, "It has been quite a while since our last meeting, hasn't it? I feel that we left on a bad note last time, and I would sincerely like to make it up to you." The man grinned and began to laugh. It was a chilling, true laugh that came from a cold heart truly amused with something.
Minus. Definitely a minus.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Okay, so that chapter was short. Sorry bout that. Oh, and my interpretation of Drumknott is based on mostly assumptions on my part. I finished Men at Arms only recently, so I've only really known Drumknott for one book. Anyway, I hope it's not too off the mark. The way I see it, he's the kind of character that people can interpret pretty freely anyway. I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up, but I'm on summer vacation now, so I've got some free time. On a negative note, I've also got work. I'll try to update this pretty regularly, though. Anyhoo, hope y'all like the story so far.