Esme Weatherwax looked around the grand foyer of the Opera House and watched as Walter Plinge navigated the crowd carrying a tray of drinks. It was interesting, she thought, how the crowd itself appeared not to see him; he moved through them almost invisibly. In comparison, the two funny-looking…men?...who were pretending not to be members of the watch were the topic of several conversations amongst the attendees. Lord Gribeau, standing beside her, was another. At least he was proving a useful distraction while Granny scrutinised the audience.

Currently, Granny's sixth, seventh and eighth senses were telling her that, whilst almost everyone else in the room was watching the man-shaped cat with horrified fascination as he lapped milk from a glass with his tongue, someone else in the vicinity was watching her.

She turned carefully. A tall, thin man was standing by a pillar, leaning slightly on a cane and observing her from the only empty space in the otherwise crowded room. He was dressed in a black robe that was heading towards the shabby end of serviceable, and appeared to be accompanied by a shorter, nervous looking man who was sipping a glass of wine nearby and wincing.

Why does he look familiar?

The tall man caught her gaze and raised an eyebrow. Curiosity begrudgingly piqued, she gave Greebo a sharp nudge and warned him to behave, then wandered over to meet the stranger.

"Ah. Good evening. Lady Esmerelda, wasn't it?"

Granny eyeballed the man. "Yes. And who might you and your…companion…be, sir?"

The tall man looked amused. "Lord Havelock Vetinari, ma'am. And that is Drumknott, my secretary." The two watched Drumknott as he sniffed a canapé suspiciously.

Granny knew very well who Havelock Vetinari was, but she certainly wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing she knew.

"Get out much, does he?" she asked instead.

Vetinari tilted his head to the side as they watched the man pull a face and return the canapé to a passing tray. "No. He insisted on accompanying me tonight, however."

"And why might he do that?"

Vetinari smiled slightly. "He was…concerned for my safety. They tell me people are dropping like flies from the flies, recently. I'm given to understand there is a murderous ghost on the loose."

Granny frowned at the little man. "And what's a secretary going to do about that? Give it a nasty papercut? Write it a pointed note?"

"You jest, ma'am, but he is a dab hand with a letter-opener."

Drumknott had drifted away into the orbit of Señor Basilica, which was not unexpected given the man's evident gravitational pull. The secretary was watching with something akin to awe as the tenor demolished a stack of shrimp.

"So, if it's so dangerous, what's a man like yourself doing here tonight…" she asked, then as an afterthought added, "…your lordship?"

Vetinari was holding a glass of wine by the stem, and now he brought it to his lips and took a sip. A suspicion arose in her mind, and she watched the movement from the corner of her eye; the glass returned to its position with the level of liquid unchanged.

Ha! There's a man who doesn't like to lose control.

"Curiosity, my lady. That is all."

"Really? Seems like that might be pretty reckless to me. You know what they says about curiosity and cats." There was a slight sneer to her tone; Granny put little stock in folk sayings, other than treating them as further evidence that most folk were idiots.

Vetinari threw a glance at Lord Gribeau. "Cats are also infamous for landing on their feet, I believe." He paused pointedly as Greebo used his tongue to lick a droplet of milk from the back of his hand, then continued, "Some, perhaps, more so than others."

She followed his gaze. He knows, she thought. I don't know how, but he does.

How much does he know, though…?

She hadn't replied, and so Vetinari continued. "And yourself, Lady Esmerelda? Were you not concerned about the danger?"

"I don't frighten easy."

"No?"

"No. Ghosts don't scare me. They're just another sort of people."

"Ah. A very pragmatic approach. And you strike me as the type of person who…understands people."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "And what would you know about that?"

Vetinari sighed, and brought his gaze back round to look at her. "I would be a very poor tyrant, ma'am, if two women of such esteemed notoriety were to visit my city without my becoming aware of it."

Granny scowled slightly as she tried to decide whether the term esteemed notoriety was a compliment, and then decided just to ask. "Are you trying to flatter me, sir?"

"No, madam. I'm given to understand that doesn't work on witches."

"Ha! Known many witches, have you?"

"One or two, over the years." There was another pause; more significant this time, then he continued slowly. "My aunt spent many years in Genua. I had occasion to visit her there, once. It was an…enlightening trip."

Granny froze, as an icy chill crept swiftly up her spine.

Vetinari didn't seem to notice; he was staring at Greebo again, now. "I met their ruler - the Duc - at a diplomatic function. My aunt had tried to prepare me for it. However, I have to admit, she was…unsuccessful." A faint look of distaste flashed across his face and then was gone in an instant, but Granny had been watching for it and it seared a line across her heart. Vetinari had carried on, however. "He was an abomination…an affront to nature. But at heart, well; he was simply a creature, tortured for the pursuit of power. But you know this. You met him, didn't you?"

She didn't reply, so Vetinari continued. "Of course, it was evident where the real power lay. I met her, too. Lady Lilith."

Granny was giving him the kind of look that could hew stone, but the man seemed oblivious to it. She clenched her hands tight and thought light thoughts as the anger tried to find an outlet. Across the room, several buckets of ice melted away to water in an instant.

The Patrician went on. "I must say, the physical resemblance is quite striking. It is my understanding that you weren't particularly close, however?"

"If you're half as clever as you think you are, Mister Vetinari, you'll stop right there."

He finally pulled his eyes away from Greebo and looked back at her, inclining his head. "Ah. Of course. In any event, please accept my condolences for your loss, Mistress Weatherwax."

In the distance the melted ice began to bubble and roil. A confused waiter attempted to pick up one of the buckets and pulled his hands away sharply as the metal scorched his palms. There was a rustle of commotion as the people in the vicinity gathered round to enjoy the show.

The pair ignored the mounting ruckus. Granny set her jaw. "You don't know a damned thing about me, sir. Or about her. So don't give me none of that, because I don't need it. I did what needed to be done and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. You understand? A heartbeat."

Vetinari swilled the wine around in his glass and watched it for a moment, ignoring the woman virtually vibrating next to him.

"Indeed. But I also understand people, my lady. And I, too - on occasion – have done what was needed. And so, from that perspective, I say again; my condolences."

He took a sip from the glass, and this time she watched him swallow.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You weren't bein' entirely honest, earlier, were you, sir? About why you were here?"

"On the contrary, madam; I did not lie. It most certainly was curiosity that brought me here tonight."

"Right, but it was me you wanted to see. Not the opera, and not the ghost. Me."

He moved one shoulder in what may have been a shrug. "I'm sure you can appreciate why I wanted to meet you. Your sister enslaved a city, madam. And now you are here, visiting mine."

"You wanted to see if I was a threat to you?"

He smiled humourlessly. "Partly. But also, I confess, I wanted to meet the woman who was powerful enough to best her."

More flattery. What's beneath it? Granny set her mind to wandering slightly, but Vetinari's head was like a steel trap. Not a single thought or impression escaped it.

She could force it, she knew; she could see where a push here and here would open the man up to her. And he might resist, and she did enjoy a challenge...but. There was a chance - a decent chance - that it would break him, turn him into one of those men who dribbled into his soup and needed to eat his meat with a spoon.

And the good one would never do that, would she?

After a minute she grudgingly withdrew. "Strong, ain't you?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Merely well practised. I spent a rather educational summer with a vampire, in my younger days."

"Sounds like you've learned a lot."

"One must learn or die, madam, in my position. I suspect that is something else we have in common."

They stared across the room to where another, brighter waiter had wrapped a couple of towels around a steaming bucket and was carrying it away to the kitchen like a man handling a rabid animal. Finally, Granny said, "Tell me, Mister Vetinari; if your palace was on fire, what would you take out first?"

Vetinari looked at her with interest. "Is this the kind of thing witches usually ask people?"

"No. It's the kind of question I ask. Are you going to answer, or are you worried you might tell me more than you'd want me to know?"

Vetinari thought, and she watched the cogs turning in his head. From within the crowd she could hear Nanny pushing her way through towards the pair; it was the sound of ribs being bruised.

Vetinari placed his glass of wine carefully on a passing tray, then said, "Nothing, madam. If I were ever to allow the palace to burn, you can be assured that it would already be empty."

She opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by Nanny, who had reached them and was looking at her with vague concern.

"Everything okay, Esme? Only all the corks in that fizzy wine just popped and there's a man in the kitchen whose juggling days are over."

"I'm fine, Gytha. I was just chatting to his lordship, here."

Nanny eyed the Patrician with open suspicion. "Oh, yes?"

Vetinari inclined his head. "Good evening, Ms Ogg."

"Lord Vetinari is the Patrician, Gytha. That means he's in charge."

At this, Nanny grinned. "Ah, right. Wotcha, your lordship. Good party, isn't it? Grub's a bit small but at least you can get plenty to a knicker-leg."

"Indeed, madam. I understand you are somewhat of a culinary expert yourself?" He registered her blank look and then recalibrated. "A chef, madam. Your book."

Nanny peered at him. "How do you know about that then, your Patricianship?"

Vetinari looked slightly pained. "The palace cook is something of a fan of yours, madam."

Nanny grinned and nudged the other woman. "Hear that, Esme? My recipes are getting served up at the palace!"

Granny scowled at her.

Vetinari cleared his throat carefully. "I'm afraid that after she presented your Carrot and Oyster pie to the Klatchian delegation, we have had to ask her to return to more… traditional fayre, for fear of causing another diplomatic incident."

Nanny cackled.

Granny looked at Vetinari. "Did you have any?"

"Madam, we all had some." The pained expression returned. Nanny was wheezing now.

Vetinari continued. "I've had requests from multiple civic groups to have the book itself destroyed."

"What? Never. Why?!" Nanny went from laughter to indignation with the speed of a cobra.

"The churches are adamant that it inspires ungodly thoughts, and the alchemists believe it may constitute a form of biological warfare. Those are two of…many."

Granny looked at him flatly. "And? Will you be destroyin' it?"

Vetinari raised his eyebrows. "No, madam. It is proving an interesting distraction from the myriad of petty grievances such groups otherwise tend to contact me about. In any event, we have a Librarian who gets rather irate at the prospect of books being destroyed and I have no desire to wake one morning to find him attempting to unscrew my head from my neck."

From somewhere above there was a chiming sound, and Drumknott materialised at Vetinari's side.

"Excuse me, sir. That means we should take our seats."

"Ah. Very well. Thank you, Drumknott." Vetinari turned back to the two women. "Ladies; it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Please do be careful tonight."

Walter Plinge had reappeared and was now trying to herd the throng towards the auditorium, with all the apparent success of a man attempting to empty the sea with his shoe.

Granny raised an eyebrow as they started to shuffle along slowly. "I'd say the same to you, sir, but I reckon you don't need any advice in that department, do you?"

Vetinari smiled. "Indeed not. Good evening, madam; I hope you enjoy the show, and your stay in the city." He threw a last glance at Lord Gribeau, who appeared to be trying to climb into the lap of a terrified looking man who had made the mistake of sitting down for a moment on a nearby chair. She waited, expecting Vetinari to pass comment, but he seemed to catch the look in her eye and evidently reconsidered. Instead he merely inclined his head in a farewell, and then she must have blinked, because when she looked again he had disappeared into the crowd, along with his little secretary.

"'Ere, where did he go?" Nanny looked around, frowning. "Moves like a bloody cat, that one. Bad trait in a ruler, that. You want to be able to hear 'em coming."

Granny grunted a vague agreement. "You spotted Mrs Plinge, yet?"

Nanny nodded. "Don't worry, Esme. I'll get to it. I just had to distract a couple of policemen first. They've got a habit of gettin' underfoot otherwise."

"Right. Right." She gave her head a mental shake; Vetinari had got under her skin, and she didn't have time for that right now. She pulled herself together.

"Let's sort this mess out so's we can go home, Gytha. If Agnes wants to stay here, more fool her. I can't be doing with cities at my age."

Nanny reached out and grabbed Greebo by the collar as they passed and dragged him into the throng alongside them. "Come on, my lad. Leave the nice man alone." She looked back at Granny. "Righto, Esme. Still, I might pop up to the palace and have a chat with the cook before we go."

"Why's that, then?"

Nanny grinned. "Oh, I want to know how many oysters she used. Just so's I can picture it proper, you know."

Granny snorted in an unladylike fashion. "You should give her the recipe for that thing with the pommy-granites you've been working on. I'd hang around to see his lordship's face after a few swigs of that."

Nanny looked at her friend slyly. "He's wound you right up, hasn't he?"

"Don't you worry about me, Gytha Ogg. You just go and find Mrs Plinge." Scowling, she grabbed Greebo's arm and stalked off, dragging the man alongside her as the crowd parted miraculously before her.

Nanny rolled her eyes, then elbowed a passing waiter and caught the bottle of wine he was carrying as he dropped it. "Cheers, sonny."

She uncorked it with her teeth, and wandered off into the corridors to catch a ghost.