A/N: I'm terribly, terribly sorry this chapter is so late. It took a couple of things to shock me back into being able to write, and took me a few more weeks to actually manage to steal the computer long enough to be able to jot everything down. First and foremost, I'd just like to say, if you're looking for a PLOT persay, I'm afraid I might disappoint you. The only plot is the romance, and the only objective is to amuse (and convert others to Drumknott/Vetinari, but I digress). With that in mind, I hope you read and enjoy! And review, obviously. Very important, that.
Syntia13: I like terrified!Drumknott too. He should have his own action figure. Looking up Young Sam's vocab was a pain the donkey. Burro. Whichever. Thank you very much for your review!
Twist: Thank you! And as for the stare... I read in one of those women's magazines, about how to intimdiate a co-worker or something along those lines. There was the 'stare for seven seconds' gag, and the desk gag, where you rest your elbows on a wide desk and stare down your opponent, as if, and I quote "I have a place to put my elbows on, and you, you little chipmunk, you have nothing!" Insert maniacal laughter etc. Put it together, transfigure chipmunks into squirrels and there you go. A wonderful excuse to be dragged off into the middle of the night and thrown into the scorpion pit! I consider it all worthwhile to have your lovely review. Thanks again!
Akira Rae: VERY big thank you to you! If you hadn't ask my sister when I was going to write more, I might have gotten even more complacent! And yes, Drumknott is VERY blur, isn't he? I always pictured him as such. I think he's the kind of person who is very good at reading emotions directed to OTHERS (ie: Vetinari) but not to himself, since he's often in the background.
Gestalt: Teehee, yes. I rather thought I'd balance up all the Vetinari-groping that's been going on (not that I'm not an active member but...) Thank you for the review!
Saffron-Starlight: Babies are smarter than you know. Gagagagoo could easily be the theory of relativity, for all we know. Thank you for the review!
Drummers: Vetinari isn't a man to rush in, m'dear. He takes time. He lays out his plans carefully, carefully. He insinuates, he purrs, he sets his ideas into motion and next thing you know, Drumknott's tied to the bed with silk scarves. Thank you for the review!
Inigo: THANK YOU (did I ever mention I love your username? I liked Inigo. I wish he hadn't been inhumed.)
Vaguely-Downwards- Good Omens, I'll bet? Thank you VERY much for your review. It feels good to be able to pull something like this off, because I know a lot of people look at Vetinari/Drumknott askance and wave their nasty little Vimes/Vetinari flags. Hmmph. I'm terribly sorry this new chapter took so long, and I hope it lives up to expectations.
ihadanepihany: Nice to see you around! Thanks for the review and... is mugged by squirrel with uzi What a plot bunny. I mean squirrel. There's something about a gun-toting squirrel that's even funnier...
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"'Mother, mother', said Napunzel," and here, Drumknott attempted a high, falsetto voice that made Vetinari close his eyes momentarily. "'Why art thou so heavy? Hath thou been feasting too much on yon potatoes? Knoweth thou yon root vegetables giveth thee wind.' 'Wicked child!' shrilled the witch digging a comb into Napunzel's long golden hair, Napunzel immediately fell down into a dead swoon, whereupon her hair began to grow and the old crone hastened away by means of Napunzel's long hair for now that the child was asleep, there was none to hold the rope."
He was doing his very, very best to ignore the run-on sentences and even worse, the extra notes at the side. For example, what Napunzel, the herb-loving, hair-growing sleeping beauty said to alert her mother onto the prince's visits had not been a comment on her weight. What she had actually said was, "Mother, mother. Why is mine dresse so tight? And I hath been throwing up mightily."
Apparently, in the original folk-tale Napunzel and her prince had been exchanging love sonnets in the manner of the pen dipping into the ink, hnr, hnr, hnr, nudge nudge wink wink.
Which only confirmed Drumknott's views on the countryside because he was sure, things like these would never happen in Ankh-Morpork. It had to be something about the potatoes. Sunshine Soap Washes Your Clothes White (the book was bound and reprinted in Ankh-Morpork, naturally advertisers saw their chance) had had tawdry adventures with the little dwarves apparently, and the jealous mother had been sanitized into a 'step-mother' instead. An alarming amount of parents had been stuffed into barrels studded with nails, torn apart by wild horses and worse. Sometimes all together. It was increasingly clear to Drumknott that a malcontent adolescent had probably penned the Sternn Happy Tales for Little Folk.
At any rate, Young Sam appeared to calm down remarkably. He sucked his thumb all through the wicked queen been forced to dance to death in red hot shoes and at the climax of burning flesh, he settled down into his pillow and fell asleep.
Drumknott let the book fall from his nerveless grasp, and lifted a blanket gently over the chubby body.
"He does look rather more fetching in his sleep," said Vetinari's voice from behind him.
Drumknott squeaked. If Vetinari hadn't been Vetinari; and Drumknott hadn't been Drumknott, the secretary would have squealed, "Jeez! Stop doing that already!"
It is, perhaps, exactly because of this remarkable capacity to refrain from such remarks that Vetinari hired Drumknott instead of some lovely, young, nubile Seamstress with a mysterious past and a bad attitude that the Patrician will oddly put up with. She has a fiery temper, and a hard outer-covering, yet has a soft, sweet core inside that will manifest itself. She goes by many names, but is known to her victims – I'm sorry, I mean discerning readers – as Mariana (Maryana) – Susanna (Zuzana). Or just plain, Mary Sue.
But I digress. Let us go on with the sexual tension.
"I believe it has something to do with the fact that his mouth is closed and that he's quite still," continued the Patrician. Drumknott's heart was beating double quick. Over the course of time, he had gotten used to his master's workaholic insomniac ways. But really, the appearing out of thin air thing never stopped giving him the 'heebie jeebies'. So to speak.
A hand landed on his shoulder, almost caressing. Looking down, Drumknott fancied he could feel his heart slamming against his ribs, fruitlessly screaming, "Lemme out! Lemme outta here! He's coming closer!"
"Well done, Drumknott," said his lordship's voice, very near his ear this time. "We've survived one day."
This is the time to hit him for a raise, said a little voice inside him. Or just hit on him.
Drumknott really hoped that Vetinari couldn't read minds. "When you say 'we'," wavered Drumknott, "I suppose you mean…" Me. The word withered on his tongue while Vetinari's hands were gently stroking his shoulder. "… um. We will be continuing to look after Young Sam, er, together?"
"Just the same as today till Commander Vimes returns," said Vetinari. He leaned in. Drumknott gulped, feeling warm breath by his ear. "I'm sure that we can handle it, Drumknott. And… there might be something in it at the end for you."
Drumknott swallowed again. "Erm, I know Lady Sybil is very generous," he said weakly. "Her ladyship will appreciate… our effort. But I'm sure I'd do just a good enough job anyway without having to be tipped."
There was a mildly stunned silence from behind him. Drumknott sounded remarkably sincere. Vetinari straightened up. "Very good indeed, Drumknott," he said oddly. "I leave you to some rest. Be up in a few hours, I think I'll need the Klatch correspondence ready by tomorrow."
"Yes sir." Drumknott nodded fastidiously, opening the door for Vetinari and bowing as his master swept out.
Drumknott studied Vetinari's back, blushing. (Well. His behind really.) The Patrician sounded like he'd had a frog in his throat. Perhaps that explained the husky voice and why Vetinari had had to stand so close to make himself heard. Drumknott made a mental note to order him some tea and honey. The Patrician really worked too hard.
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Vetinari was prone to saying that he didn't hire fools. Most of the time anyway. Until now, he had never placed Drumknott among the category of the 'slow' ones. He was tempted to rethink that opinion tonight. Either the man was hopelessly innocent, or he was really, really stupid.
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Drumknott nibbled on the end of his quill as he paused in his writing.
…and today Lord V. asked me all sorts of odd questions, like whether or not Mama had dropped me on my head as a baby. Said no sir, being that mama hadn't lived long enough to do so and my stepmother was a kindly woman, sir, not prone to dropping babies on heads even if they deserved it. Think self heard him mutter that 'if there ever was a baby then he was looking at it. 'My Lord was looking over at Sammy as he said this, but self is sure he didn't mean anything. Sammy was just sucking his toes, and doing it quite adorably, self thought. Maybe Lord Vetinari thought that it was the equivalent to sucking his teeth – or staring into space and saying, "Yes sir, whatever you say, sir." He had been doing it all the time Lord V. was talking to self about more personal things. Sucking his toes, I mean, not saying 'yes sir, whatever you say, sir' since Sammy can't talk. He was staring at the little mobile I'd put up too, not into space, I'm sure.
Think that his lordship believes that Sammy takes after his father more than strictly necessary. Also objected to putting up of little mobile (v. adorable. Ducks and chickens and planets). Said he wasn't one to complain but he rather felt it lowered tone of office.
Lord. V. has many other intimidating stuff in Oblong Office, don't see what one little mobile will do in 'lowering tone'. In fact, when called Postmaster Lipwig in, he stared at the mobile all through the interview and agreed quite vaguely to reserving special bag and rider all for government work. After that, Lord V. raised no more objections.
Glad he has realized that Sammy's education must not falter even when Lady Vimes isn't around.
Lord V's cold is better, not sniffling at all. Gave me funny look when offered him tea and honey, but drank it anyway.
Said that there was a limit though, and that scarf was it.
But he smiled when he said it. You know the kind of smile he gets sometimes when he watches Wuffles make his way towards someone's ankles…
Drumknott's nibbling intensified, as a blush spread over his face and the butterflies in his stomach trailed sparkling, crackling fairy dust.
You know the kind of smile that always makes me feel…
The pen splintered in his mouth. Drumknott yelped, spitting the pieces out and reflecting that he wouldn't think of Vetinari while writing again. He had already lost four pens that way, and thrown away one. (He had been sucking that one while thinking, and when he came to his self, as it were, he was quite mortified).
Young Sam was taking his afternoon nap. The morning had passed quite peacefully. Young Sam had pulled Wuffles's tail, overturned a bottle of ink onto the Borogvian letters, and competed with Wuffles for the honor of biting several visitors ("No, no Sammy! Don't put that in your mouth, you don't know where it's been!" The streets of Ankh-Morpork, actually. Not that it was particularly reassuring to know). Then they had gone out into the garden to work. Young Sam had fallen onto the single carp that swam in the lake.
All in all, it could have been worse.
They were having fried carp for dinner. Drumknott hoped it wasn't the same one.
There came a knock on the door, and it was swung open by one of the palace maids, a quiet, Agatean looking girl with eyes that seemed to be constantly thinking about what was for dinner. Dreamy, contemplative eyes. She had a small pimple on the end of her nose, and pins constantly fell out of hair. "Your lunch and the milk, sir," she said, staring past him at a pile of steaming parsnips only she could see. "And some paperwork that his lordship gave me for you." There was something in her voice that implied this was the singular most meaningful moment in her life, except maybe mashed potatoes.
"Yes, thank you," said Drumknott, taking the tray, and the files from her. He wondered how many of the maids in the palace worked in permanent hope of seeing the Patrician. Mrs. Palm had on occasion said something along the lines of throwing up her highly profitable trade for a pinafore if she could be assured of getting one glimpse of Vetinari's legs.
Not that she didn't wear a pinafore some days; for certain gentlemen with Tastes, but you knew what she meant.
Drumknott checked his watch. 0.8457 of a minute to wait before Young Sam was supposed to wake up for his feed. Drumknott waited conscientiously, and then, right on the dot, gently joggled the baby awake and fed him. He did the paperwork meticulously, and then set to his own lunch which by then, had become dinner.
Vetinari dined on dry bread, a little carp, and another cup of hot tea and honey that the stuttering maid said Rufus Drumknott had ordered for him.
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They arrived at the castle with no trouble, driving up the narrow, winding path towards the craggy, black citadel. It was, as Sally said with a sniff, ostentatiously gothic. The wolves had just begun to howl as they entered, the gates clanging shut, puncturing a wheel so the coach was out of commission.
The Count apologized most civilly, saying that old habits died hard. Dinner would be ready soon of course, he had already eaten.
Vimes did not ask where the body was. But only just.
The rest of the watchme—women—people—species unpacked in their own rooms. All but one.
Ping sat at the edge of his bed, head in his hands. He was shaking every once so often. The problem with Ping was that he didn't have an imagination, and precious little had disturbed the oyster of his mind. Thus, when a bit of dust landed, the mollusk that was his mind began coating it, with the assistance of The Adventures of Molly Strumpet.
Every once so often, Cheery came over and tried to rouse him. She walked over, her armor clanking, and gently touched his arm. "Come along, Ping," she said kindly. "It's dinner time. All of us are going down, and I'm sure you're hungry."
"Commander Vimes too?" he said, lifting his haunted face.
Cheery shifted from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. "Er, well, no," she said, hating to spoil the hope that blossomed on Ping's features. "They aren't. They're having dinner in their own room. They wanted to be alone. To eat. Erm."
Ping's head dropped back into his hands and the shaking intensified. Every once so often, he whimpered.
Angua put a hand on Cheery's shoulders and steered the dwarf away. "Poor Ping," she said, shaking her head. "I expect he thinks that there should be some sort of law against it when you're over the age of forty. They could just be eating, I expect," she added, helpfully. "Just a nice, homey meal, I'm sure. And hot chocolate and whipped cream."
"Whipped!" squeaked Ping. "Cream!"
Carrot, who had been looking back and forth in confusion, even Carrot. His ears turned red.
Angua gave them both a long, scornful look. "Men!" was all she said, but she said it well. "You'd think that Lord Vetinari had just started dating Rufus Drumknott!"
"He is?" gasped Ping, through his protective fingers. The world was suddenly much, much… weirder. He didn't think he could take much more of this.
Angua threw her hands into the air. "Honestly! Who knows? Have your cardiac arrest in peace, all of you." Tutting, she and Cheery left the room.