Chapter Text
The next morning found them up and about, although in vastly different states of wakefulness. Vimes was barely able to keep his eyes open and was silently cursing every single decision he’d ever made that had let him to be here. Vetinari on the other hand, was as unruffled and alert as ever and was calmly sifting through a stack of papers one of his accompanying clerks had handed him.
Vimes drained his third cup of coffee, watching suspiciously as the patrician sorted the documents into three separate stacks and started marking them with little slips of coloured paper.
It was eight in the morning, Vetinari had had nothing more than a cup of weirdly herbal smelling tea, and the system he used to organise his paperwork looked complicated.
Not for the first time, Vimes wondered whether the man in front of him hadn’t made a deal with some devil or other that would allow him to function at this time of day without even a trace of caffeine in his body. Surely this wasn't natural.
He also wondered whether the deliberately careful way the patrician drank his weedy concoction was supposed to be some sort of provocation. Vimes certainly considered it to be one.
The commander glared at his own empty mug and then thunked it back onto the table with just a bit too much force. Vetinari —pointedly not looking at him — took another dainty sip from his teacup and stuck another scrap to what looked like a dinner invitation. Vimes narrowed his eyes at him. No reaction. Sip.
He really really hated the man.
Eventually, Vetinari seemed to have decided that it was time to break up whatever weird sort of confrontation they’d fallen into this time.
“You know, I really do miss Drumknott. Once you’ve got used to his filing system, nothing else will do. It’s quite vexing,” he said, tutting disapprovingly at whatever he’d seen on the page in front of him.
Vimes gave in. “Why didn’t you bring him along then?”
“Well, we couldn’t leave the city entirely defenceless now, could we?”
“What happened to weaning the puppy?”
The patrician huffed out a breath. “My dear commander, there is a difference between teaching a child to swim and simply throwing it into a lake.”
Vimes considered this. “I thought that was actually an… accepted method?”
Vetinari scrunched his face in obvious distaste. “Yes, it is. And doesn’t that tell us a lot about pedagogy in this day and age.” He shifted his attention back to his stack of documents.
“Ah, here it is.”
Vimes leaned over the table and tried to read the document upside down. “What is?”
“The list of events scheduled for today. I asked the clerks to compile them for us. For efficiencies’ sake.”
Vimes grunted, already dreading what would come next. “What does it say then? Meet insincere well-wishers at three, squabble over tariffs at six, poncy dinner party at eight?”
The patrician decided to ignored that last part. “Well, first of all, there’s breakfast with the mayor of Frankensteinfurt. A very amiable man, I’m given to understand. I’m sure you’ll get on like Igors and lightning.”
“What species is he?” Vimes asked, thoroughly unreassured by the patricians choice of metaphor.
“I do believe most of his parts are human.”
Vimes spluttered. “What do you mean most parts?”
Once again, he was ignored. Vetinari went on.
“After that there’s the assembly of foreign dignitaries —which includes us, of course— a quick communal lunch and, in the afternoon, I’ve been asked to attend a meeting with the dwarfish delegation from Schmalzberg. To brush up on some trade agreements.”
“Please tell me I don’t have to be present for all of this?” Vimes couldn’t help the whine in his voice. He could practically taste the staleness of the hours stretching before him, filled with nothing but mind-numbing chatter and diplomatic gibberish.
“Not at all, commander.” Vetinari put down the papers and steepled his fingers in front of him.
Oh no. That was never a good sign.
“Actually, I’d hoped that you could be convinced to join Fürst von Flederhausen’s hunting party today.”
And there it was. Hunting? With a bunch of Überwaldians? The man had to be joking.
Vimes scoffed. “And by “could be convinced“ you actually mean?”
“That I have taken the liberty to accept the count’s invitation on your behalf,” Vetinari admitted, without even a trace of contrition.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Vimes growled.
“Why, Sir Samuel. I thought you’d appreciate a bout of fresh air away from all the pomp?”
The commander scowled. “Not with a bunch of nobs, I wouldn’t. And especially not if it’s going to end with a bunch of dead critters hanging from someone's shoulders.”
“Now, I do believe that you are not in fact a vegetarian?”
“Well, no, but-”
“Then I’d ask you not to commit the hypocrisy of-”
Vimes interrupted the patrician with a pointed finger, raising his voice. “Now see here. This isn’t what this is about! I do like bacon, fair enough, but I don’t like the idea of making a damn game out of it! Slaughterhouses is one thing, getting a kick out of chasing some terrified animal half across a bloody forest is another!”
Vimes shuddered. Images of a snow-encrusted forest and blood-soaked fur flitted briefly across his mind. He quietened down again. “Believe me, sir. I’d know.”
Vetinari’s gaze softened. An observer to the scene might even have called his expression sympathetic. Not that Vimes noticed, busy as he was with staring at the tabletop and wallowing in unpleasant memories.
Carefully, the patrician got to his feet and walked over to Vimes side of the table.
“I dare say you do.” His voice was uncharacteristically gentle as he came to stand in front of Vimes. “I apologise. Still, I have to ask you to attend.“
Vimes made to protest, but Vetinari silenced him with a shake of his head. “There are quite a few lucrative trade routes that go right through the provinces the count in question has control over. And he is an old acquaintance of mine, back from the days of my Grand Sneer.“
Seeing that Vimes was still unconvinced, he added: “I would be rather foolish to spurn such an advantageous connection. As distasteful as they might be, these sorts of events are an integral part of the diplomatic process, and I myself are no longer in any condition to go running through the undergrowth.”
Vimes gaze flitted to the cane the patrician was leaning on. Damn, he really couldn’t argue with him there.
“Fine,” he conceded. “But I won't enjoy it.”
The corners of Vetinari's mouth twitched as he tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Duly noted, commander. Duly noted.”