Epilogue
In Which Vetinari Plays Out a Long-Time Fantasy
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Notes/Disclaimer: The Discworld and all its characters are the sole property of Terry Pratchett. If I could worship him as a God, I would, but I'm not quite sure how he'd take that. At any rate, no money is being made off of this.
Warning: Little bit of Greebo/Vimes, little bit of Greebo/Vetinari.
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"You can go in now." Vetinari's secretary gestured absently to the door. Vimes nodded and stopped his pacing, placed his hand on the doorknob, and went in.
The two witches were already in the room, seated on a bench against the far wall. One of them appeared to be napping. Vetinari's chair was turned away from the room, facing the window. The back was high enough that it blocked Vimes's view of the man entirely, but he knew Vetinari was there.
Vimes stood as patiently as he could in front of the desk. "Sir?" he asked.
"Ah, yes. Commander Vimes." Vetinari's chair slowly turned (it appeared to be on some sort of mechanism – when had he gotten that installed?) to reveal the man sitting back leisurely, legs crossed. In the sling of one arm was the most hideous cat Vimes had ever seen. One of its eyes was scarred over and milky white, and it looked like the sort of cat that could take on an alley Tom from the Shades and not only live to tell about it, but actually win the fight(1). Vetinari was stroking it with his free hand. The creature purred with a sound like a troll falling down a hill.
"Sir," said Vimes again. He stared at the cat. It seemed to be grinning smugly at him. Vetinari scratched its chin.
"I was hoping you would pardon these fine ladies whom you arrested, so that they could be on their way home. They are merely tourists, and must be going on their way."
As if I don't want to get the hell out of here ten times as badly as you do, Vimes thought with a mental snort, but he said, "Of course Sir. Didn't realize I hadn't, Sir."
"Very good then." Vetinari smiled coldly. "And thank you for your prompt handling of the… Situation you encountered yesterday. Now of course, I wouldn't want to take up any more of your time."
"Sir." Vimes reigned in almost all of the sarcasm, although a few drops of it still leaked past his guard as he saluted. He turned to the witches. "Ma'ams," he said. "Have a safe trip home."
Granny Weatherwax, the one still awake, nodded to him.
When Vimes had left, Vetinari somewhat reluctantly lowered Greebo to the floor. The cat continued to purr, and rubbed strongly against his leg. Vetinari reached down and scratched the cat's arched back. It mrowled and then trotted back towards Nanny Ogg, jumping up onto the sleeping woman's lap.
"You know," said Granny Weatherwax, giving Vetinari a rather piercing look, "when cats do that, rub up against you like that? It's not really out of affection. It's 'cause they've got these glands, see, next to their mouth, that release scent. It's how they show that you belong to them."
"I am aware of the feline biology, yes," said Vetinari.
Granny Weatherwax nodded once, then shoved at her companion's shoulder. Nanny Ogg woke with a sudden snort.
"Wotcher?" she said. "Wha's happening?"
"It's time to go, Gytha," said Granny, standing.
Nanny nodded and stood, scooping Greebo up absently into her arms.
"If you're ever in the area again, Ladies," Vetinari said as they were about to walk out the door, "do stop by."
"And we'll bring your top, too!" Nanny Ogg said with a wink and a cackle.
Vetinari's face was completely expressionless. "Indeed," he said.
THE END
(1) This is really saying something, considering that most humans (and other bipedal individuals, minus trolls(2)) don't survive an attack from those cats. And humans are reportedly smarter, or at least they like to think so.
(2) Cats don't attack rocks unless they're feeling really antsy and have nothing better to do.