Chapter 3
Usual disclaimers: None of its mine.
The patrician looked up, to see a smiling Vimes come through the door, a rare event indeed. It looked like his commander wanted to play. Far be it for me to disoblige, Vetinari thought and promptly smiled back. The sort of raw determination that so defined his commander swiftly followed a look of terror. There was no possible chance of Vimes winning this little game, but Vetinari always liked to encourage him anyway.
"I'm just glad to see you are happy sir, why only last week Sybil was worried that you were lonely, up here all alone." Vimes trailed off.
Vetinari merely raised an eyebrow, mildly annoyed at such impertinence. His commander somehow managed to squirm without moving a muscle; he looked like a man who had stepped off a cliff in the mistaken belief that he could fly. Inwardly Vetinari smiled.
"Indeed commander?" he questioned.
"Sir." Vimes fell back onto emergency measures, smile forgotten. Vetinari didn't look upset, but looks could be deceiving.
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Vimes trudged through the rain, he was cold and wet and all he really wanted was to go home. His whole day had been a nightmare; tonight would be the icing on the cake, Vetinari had decreed his presence vital at a diplomatic function. Vimes wasn't sure if he was being punished again or if Vetinari really expected trouble. He had the niggling suspicion that it might be the latter. He hadn't even seen Vetinari since two nights ago when his latest attempt to annoy the bastard had failed. He wasn't ready to give up on the idea though; he just needed to practice a bit more, which was why he had spent the last couple of days being extra nice to his subordinates. The only watch person currently not waiting for the other shoe to drop was Carrot, who hadn't appeared to notice any difference. Vetinari wouldn't know what had hit him; Vimes was going to win this little battle, for he had a secret weapon - Sybil.
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He was rethinking his plan, if he had to smile at one more bloody ambassador he would scream, or bite them. Nothing was worth this, not even getting one over on Vetinari, who didn't appear the least bit fazed by his ongoing campaign, the bastard. In fact he had the sneaking suspicion that Vetinari was amused by him, particularly when a young man called Ronald latched onto Vimes like a limpet, every time he was about to yell at him to go away he caught sight of Vetinari lurking about, looking smug. Somehow, without his realizing it, the game had changed and his master was winning. If only he could find Sybil.
Next thing he knew, some demanding old crone and the limpet had manoeuvred Vimes into a corner. From what he could tell, the two were related; he did not want to know how. Casually he glanced around the room, Sybil was still missing and the only other person in the room he knew and didn't despise was Vetinari. He wasn't that desperate for help though, or at least he wasn't till the crone actually tried to sell her grandson, or whatever he was, to Vimes in a way that would have been prostitution in any other social class. She seemed to be under the impression that a duke would do very nicely for her little Ronnikins, even a married one. Vimes was under the opposite impression.