Each afternoon, the sun lays bars of shade and light over the Oblong Office. It heightens the gold in Drumknott's sandy hair and the green in his hazel eyes.
Sometimes, paused halfway along a thought, Vetinari watches him dimming and brightening as he crosses the room. It doesn't waste much time; two or three minutes a day, at most. Vetinari thinks of it as a rest, a short scenic holiday.
But Drumknott is a man, not a landscape. One day he'll feel himself watched. One day he'll look back.
What might happen when their eyes meet, Vetinari dares not imagine.