Chapter Text
Lord Vetinari was slowly tapping his fingers on the table, reading through a document from the concerningly high pile next to him. Drumknott and Charlie apparently did their best to keep everything running but a lot of decisions had to wait for his return. It will cost him some sleep this week but he didn’t regret it in the slightest.
He signed the paper and put it away. Mr. Fusspot was sleeping at his feet, making sounds that would drive most people crazy but the patrician accepted them as a necessary part of the adorable yippy creature. He reached for another report and took a sip of hot tea that was brought to him just a few minutes ago. His little adventure was quite entertaining but he would never give this up for a different life.
A firm knocking on the door interrupted his work. He wasn’t expecting any more visitors today but the commander of the City Watch often tended to show up unannounced. He gave the duke of Ankh the classic “Ah, Vimes” and clasped his hands on the table. “What brings you here at such an hour, commander?”
Vimes saluted and sat in front of him. “Lipwig was busy so it’s just me, sir,” he said cheerfully.
Vetinari blinked, but it took less than a second to realise he is supposed to be waiting in anticipation for the return of the brave king-escorting group and not look like he himself has just changed from his oil stained clothes.
“Ah, report on your journey.”
“Yep, sir. Thought you won’t be free tomorrow so I’m showing up now.” Vimes seemed to be in a bright mood but also strangely nervous, as if he was expecting something.
“Well… feel free to proceed, I am infinitely interested in the details that weren’t included in the clack messages. I followed the events with great curiosity,” said the patrician calmly and tried his best to maintain his usual unreadable expression. It’s been getting quite hard with Vimes, however, he seemed to be able to read more in his body language than what the patrician specifically included there to be noticed.
Vimes was desperately trying to guess at least a fraction of Vetinari’s thoughts but this time he was met with a brick wall. He couldn’t get a single hint despite needing it more than usually.
He discovered stoker Blake’s identity during the journey, partly by accident. At first he found his assumption ridiculous but he heard him talk with one of Simnel’s mechanics and even though he completely changed tone, the voice was unmistakeable.
Coming to the oblong office to give a report immediately after their return to Ankh-Morpork originally seemed like a good idea to find out if Vetinari is aware of his discovery or not and he wanted to bring the topic up after he enjoys listening Vetinari lie to him for once instead of the other way around, but now under the man’s gaze it seemed impossible to assume he doesn't know something. He might be reading Vimes’s thoughts as they spoke.
He knows. He definitely knows. I am making a fool of myself.
He shifted his gaze to the pile that looked like it could bury them both under paper with no chance of escaping and decided to give himself a few more seconds to predict his chances of horribly embarrassing himself.
“Busy week, sir?”
“Hm? Ah. Quite. But it’s not as bad as it looks. The whole situation in Überwald created a lot of additional complications to the usual running of the city.”
Vetinari stood up and began separating the stack into smaller parts so it wouldn’t tower over them in such an accusing manner. Vimes watched his hands gently maneuvre the folders around the table and couldn’t stop thinking about how they worked with the showel…
It was almost impossible to believe that this thin man was able to not only work as a train stoker but also be exceptionally good at it all while fighting dwarves trying to take over the steering. And yet there was no doubt about it at that moment. Vimes still saw all the memories clear as day. How the goatee lost its perfect maintenance and turned into a short beard, how he seemed even taller than usual and how the dirtier his face got the more his eyes appeared to be shining.
But none of these things left such a big impression on Vimes as the fact that the patrician is apparently able to throw his reserved manners out of the window when it becomes convenient. Vimes went out of his way several times only so he could see the patrician during the journey. He toiled in hot sweat-filled air the whole day and smiled as if it was nothing. He laughed with the other stokers and smoked cigars with them. He talked loudly but in such an accent that he was barely understandable… Vimes felt as if the other stokers got to see a part of him that was less patrician and more… something… someone laid back. These memories stung with a spot of jealousy.
“You may start, Vimes. I am listening to you,” Vetinari broke the silence.
Vimes looked up and dispelled all fantasies. Suddenly Vetinari was in front of him all neat with an expensive black robe tightly hugging his sharp shoulders. His voice seemed deliberately low compared to what Vimes knew it could sound like.
He digged deeper in the memory to put together how the whole journey went but it was filled with intoxicating images of the tyrant of Ankh-Morpork with streams of sweat running down his face and mixing with smears of oil from the engines on his skin and clothes. He began describing the parts of planning and practicalities that included the Watch, relying on Lipwig adding the other details later, and carefully observed Vetinari’s face. When he got to the fight with Grags the man got up and walked to one of the big windows and looked down on the city below. Right now it gave Vimes the impression that his intention is mainly to turn his face away.
The commander took the opportunity to pinch the elephant in the room a little. “The train staff helped a lot, too.”
“So I heard.”
Does he really sound amused?!
“Yeah, especially one stoker did a great job during the fight. I even saw him knock down some of the intruders,” he continued and slowly walked to stand almost next to Vetinari. “I think his name’s Blake. You should give him some sort of medal as well.”
Patrician’s lip twitched but he quickly composed himself. “I believe mr. Simnel is to take care of his raise,” he noted.
“Mr. Simnel sure as hell should or I’ll steal Blake for the Watch. Some of my men could learn from him.”
They stared at the streets for a silent minute as the people and trolls and dwarves and all other types of citizens one could think of under them continued with their daily life that they both worked so hard to keep this peaceful. The room was horribly quiet which only allowed the sounds of the train's steering deck to resonate in Vimes’s ears louder. Constable Visit told him some time ago about a man in the desert who could hear gods speak and had such a good memory that he never forgot a single detail and Vimes felt as if he temporarily borrowed this ability. He wanted more of those moments to remember. He took a deep breath.
“I know it was you.”
“So I gathered.”
Vimes glanced at his boss and noticed he was smiling.
“It was incredibly risky and you know it. You could have died.”
“I cannot help noticing that I’m alive, Vimes,” Vetinari pointed out. “And at no point did I struggle to maintain this status.”
Vimes sighed. “But what about your leg? I cannot remember the last time I saw you without your cane outside the palace.”
“The wound is healing quite well. Sometimes it smarts but I can function just fine despite needing to sit down for a moment occasionally. The cane is rather a distinguished accessory,” replied the patrician contently. “Oh lose that frown Vimes. Nothing happened. I had a great time actually.”
Vimes scowled even more. “Yeah I noticed that.”
Vetinari’s eyebrow shot up and he turned to face Vimes. “And would you like to disclose why that is bothering you?”
Once again he couldn’t resist recalling the spark that he saw in those blue eyes. The sounds of train engines have since evoked unknown and uncharted feelings in him. He tried to look elsewhere but there was not a single spot on that man that wouldn’t remind him of stoker Blake. He almost missed that nonexistent character and never being able to get back in time and actually meet the patrician in different circumstances was almost painful.
“Forget it, thank you for helping, sir,” he murmured. “I suppose you know everything you need so I’ll just… get going.”
“Vimes, If you are under the impression that I simply 'forgot the inhibitions of my noble upbringing around the stokers and mechanics and disclosed my true personality' while hiding it from you all these years then I assure you that it’s not the case.”
“You said you enjoyed yourself.”
“I admit I didn’t mind leaving the title for a while. If you wish to see me outside of the role of a patrician, I’m open to doing it again.”
Vimes paused for a second. “You mean working as a stoker?”
Vetinari appeared to check something on the ceiling. “I mean leaving the palace incognito. But not for longer than one night, mind you. I do not wish to face this again,” he said and waved his hand into the direction of his table which was currently as hidden under paper as Vimes’s usually was.
Vimes had no idea how to react to such an offer.
“You would obviously be incognito as well.” Vetinari stepped closer to him. “Or are you not interested? Did I wrongly interpret your bad mood as jealousy?”
“No! I mean yeah! I’m not bloody jealous!”
“So you are indifferent to my proposition?”
“I’m not… I mean… gods… Why are you doing this?”
Vtinari shrugged. “We've known each other for so long and you still don't trust me a bit more than when I became a patrician. I'd hate to poison this relationship even more.”
“Professional relationship you mean.”
“Of course.”
Vimes stared at the ground for a moment, reconsidering.
“What exactly do you have in mind?”
“I’d send you the details. But it has to wait, I’m currently pretty busy.”
“I… er… wouldn’t protest.”
“Capital! I will let you know when I’m free to spare a night.”
“You’ve really gotten into being outside of the palace,” smirked Vimes.
Vetinari smiled, and for the first time since Vimes met him, his eyes matched the expression.
“I’ve realised it is great for raising the spirit,” he simply said.
Vetinari was so attached to the city he spent his whole life taking care of, that he got so close to being an anthropomorphic personification of it as a human mostly uninvolved with magic could. When Ankh-Morpork was shaken by disputes, he spent weeks barely sleeping and not an hour would pass without them somehow worrying him. When he started his job and the place was a messy hole full of crime, manipulations and fog, he became the cold sharp tool that was needed to change things. Nowadays, Ankh-Morpork was happy. It still wasn’t completely safe to walk out at night, mind you, and troubles were never that far, but the trains and progress made the forthcoming days look exciting and hopeful and the sun seemed to break through the clouds and smoke with a little more enthusiasm, making the streets look almost welcoming even when you had to wear your wallet on a chain if you wanted to continue having it. And so even the tyrannical ruler himself was able to breathe out sometimes and enjoy more than one crossword for a day. And he wasn’t a man who would let an opportunity go spare.
It still took more than a month before Vimes heard from him, however, and he was almost starting to believe that the patrician forgot about their conversation or (which was more likely) it never even happened and Vimes just falsely filed a very realistic dream among memories.
But Vetinari didn’t forget nor was it his mind playing jokes on him, because one evening a black box appeared at Vimes’s doorstep with a letter.
The letter contained merely an address of a place near the Shades, time and Vetinari’s signature. The man clearly assumed that the commander is capable enough to figure out the rest for himself, rightfully so. The box was fairly self explanatory. Vimes found some expensive evening clothes there, very different from his official commander uniform and a mask made to partly cover his face. Everything in deep black and with details that weren’t plentiful but made the whole thing look almost over the top kind of fancy - almost carnival-ish.
Thinks I can’t pick my own clothes, Vimes thought. No! He knows I can but he wants to be a controlling bastard playing dress up!
He briefly considered throwing this pompous thing out and buying something that would lessen the chances of him being confused with an assassin, but decided not to risk ruining the mood, especially knowing the place the address led to. And so the duke of Ankh ended up sneaking around the city incognito at night in clothes that were so strange for his person that not even the few cops he met along the way recognised their commander. (He was smart enough to schedule Angua a shift during the day, because hiding his appearance was one thing and masking his smell another.)