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“Oh Lord Downey, you should have mentioned.”
Lord Downey paused, thrown off in the middle of his sentence, mind scrambling to recount what he had just said.
“My Lord?” he managed tentatively, a sudden wave of dread slipping down his spine that had nothing to do with the chill permeating the Oblong Office. His eyes landed on the single lump of coal smouldering in the imposing fireplace nervously, before they were drawn to the Patrician.
Vetinari smiled thinly, nothing more than a movement of his lips that didn’t meet his eyes. He leaned forward and tapped the open and partially completed crossword of that day’s Times.
“A fascinating news story today. The recent cold front is affecting people’s hearing. I hadn’t realised that it had spread to you as well.”
“I’m not-” Lord Downey spluttered, jaw clicking shut as Vetinari inclined his head slightly to one side, eyebrow raised.
“Has it not? My apologies. I was under the impression you hadn’t heard Mr Drumknott ask you to leave.”
Lord Downey straightened up, jaw clenched tight enough that a muscle leapt in his jaw, but he slowly nodded and turned on his heel to leave. Drumknott inclined his head to Vetinari who mirrored the action, one of the only outward expressions of thanks and affection they would allow themselves in public and followed Lord Downey out.
The door clicked shut behind him, and Drumknott waited, face expressionless and hands loosely clasped in front of him, as the current Head of the Assassin’s Guild grumbled his way down the stairs and out of sight. The cold air bit at the exposed skin on Drumknott’s face with greater ferocity than usual. Working here for as long as he had, he was used to the cold that hung in the air, but this winter promised to be fiercer than anything he was used to.
His Lordship would be needing more tea, Drumknott decided, the strict lines between personal and professional wavering slightly, a minute tremor that most people would not have even noticed. Drumknott did, however.
As the days grew colder and colder, these shakes occurred more often, the urge to keep Vetinari, Havelock, warm and content conflicting with Drumknott’s desire to do his duty correctly. Thankfully, the two coincided for the moment as the Dark Clerk’s worked faster if he fed them, and the tea Drumknott needed was kept in the kitchen with the cakes carefully prepared by the cook and a slice already tasted by her children. Drumknott paused until Lord Downey had left the Palace, the draught caused by the open-door lessening and the dull impact of his shoes on the floor no longer causing the lantern on the wall to shake. He had a job to do.
Drumknott paused in front of the door to the Patrician’s office, a sudden wave of dread washing over him, old wound on his arm suddenly aching as if it was new and not several months healed. He raised his arm to knock, but found himself frozen, teetering slightly in place. It wasn’t going to be like that time. And yet…
His knock was crisp and sharp, files tucked beneath his arm and gently steaming teacup held in one hand.
“Come in Drumknott,” Lord Vetinari called, voice warm and clear despite the closed door between them, and yet Drumknott hesitated. He had to deliver these, loyalty to Vetinari pushing past the fear. It swung open soundlessly, the hinges well-greased, and Drumknott was inside the Oblong Office, head spinning with the fear of it all, hands held steady.
Vetinari sat behind his desk, pencil in hand as he poured over the crossword Lord Downey had ‘interrupted’ him for[1], Wuffles snoring at his feet, one leg occasionally knocking against the leg of the desk as he dreamt. Nothing out of the ordinary, and Drumknott’s cheeks flushed slightly with the shame of it. Charlie was another asset in Vetinari’s arsenal, not some spectre in the night to hide like a frightened child from.
“Drumknott, could you?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
He carefully placed the files on the desk, the small symbols on each corner clearly visible although they weren’t needed at this point, teacup next to it, handle pointing inwards. Wuffles rumbled out a sleepy demand to be pet which Drumknott quickly obliged. The old dog snored and rolled over, curling up further to Vetinari’s feet. The coal spat and crackled as Drumknott tipped the formerly concealed bucket onto the fire, a wave of heat spilling out into the room. It was kept near freezing during the day, but at night when it was just the two of them, that slow transition from being solely the Patrician and his clerk to being two people, each bearing a heavy weight on their shoulders, the fire blazed.
Drumknott paused by the fire, warmth sinking into his bones, fingers aching despite the gloves Vetinari had given him.
“Come here please Drumknott.”
The chair was barely large enough to fit two people, but it was warm together. Drumknott could feel Vetinari’s heartbeat radiate through his chest, feel the scratchiness of his beard on the top of his head as he rested his head on the Patrician’s shoulder.
“I’m glad you’re here Drumknott,” Vetinari said quietly, tilting his face just enough to press a kiss to Drumknott’s hairline. The cold was too much like that week, a small cell, unable to leave, stabbing pain in his arm and always the constant worry, the panic like a second heartbeat that Vetinari was hurt and in pain, and Drumknott could do nothing.
“I’m glad to be here as well,” Drumknott said, feeling Vetinari smile against his skin. It wasn’t ideal, fear and panic dogging his footsteps, but this was good.
⁂
“Is that your final decision?”
Angua paused, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Vetinari’s impassive face, her face turning towards Vimes before her eyes shifted from the Patrician. A low grin was on Vimes’s face, the unlit cigar clamped between his teeth doing little to disguise it, much to the annoyance of the other Guild leaders.
“Yes, my Lord,” Angua said slowly, turning back to face Vetinari, “That is my final recommendation-” Vimes snorted out a laugh behind her “-for the allocation of Guild money in the city districts.”
Vetinari tapped one long finger on the table as voices erupted up and down the long meeting table, faces red with splotches of anger, and Drumknott stepped forward as beckoned.
“My Lord, she’s not wrong,” he murmured in Vetinari’s ear, trying to keep the confusion from his voice. He froze as he felt light brush of Vetinari’s hand over his, hidden beneath the edge of the table, the digits far colder than they had any right to be. Vetinari should be somewhere warm, like back in their bedroom, not here when every other business had closed due to the cold. But they both knew why not. Ruling a city was a heavy burden to bear.
“What do you think will happen Drumknott?” Vetinari asked softly, voice barely louder than a whisper. Drumknott glanced around the table, numbers flickering just behind his eyes, information pulled from the depths of his mind.
“Lord Downey won’t contest after yesterday’s meeting, Vimes is happy and will support Angua’s suggestions. The other Guild heads will complain as always do, but it is a good plan. They will see that.”
“Excellent point Drumknott,” Vetinari said, loud enough that an instant hush fell over the table, drawn from the top seats downwards.
“Sergeant?”
Angua sat up straighter in her chair, the bones in her back cracking as she did so.
“Sir?”
“It has been noticed, in your plan, there was no mention of the Dwarven migration in the spring.”
Angua nodded, the motion beginning almost before Vetinari had finished speaking. Her eyes were gleaming, a wolf on the hunt, and Vimes was almost bursting with pride next to his protege.
“Cheery, that is Cheery Littlebottom sir? She-” Angua stopped and drew herself up to her full height, Drumknott glancing in between Vimes and Angua. The similarities were striking as they both glared at the unfortunate man who made a noise of disgust at the mention of Cheery’s name.
“She,” Angua snarled at the Head of the Guild of Barber-Surgeons, “has some excellent points about the dwarven migration given her personal experience. But I thought it would be best to allow her to present them, to stop any potential,” Angua paused, and grinned at the steadily paling man, her teeth a fraction sharper than they were mere minutes ago, “Misunderstandings.”
“Understandable,” Vetinari said, steepling his fingers together, gaze roaming over the gathered Guild Leaders, “Next on the agenda, I believe is the-”
“The preparations for the more extreme weather, my Lord,” Drumknott answered, nudging his glasses further up his nose with the side of his thumb as eyes turned to him. He fought the urge to shrink back and instead, met their gaze calmly. He was Vetinari’s personal clerk after all, and what sort of example would he set if he backed down now.
“Yes. What is needed for the good of the city?” Vetinari asked, reclaiming the attention on the first word. Drumknott didn’t need to thank him, that wasn’t in the dynamic of their relationship, but he traced his fingers against Vetinari’s knee, feather light against the injured limb, heart lodged in his throat at his own boldness.
The Guild Heads looked at each other, a living sea, each unwilling to be the first to break the silence. Vimes was radiant with smug happiness that was likely to carry him through until next week, or until the next time he had to broker a discussion between Corporal Nobbs and Sergeant Colon. Mrs Rosemary Palm glanced up and down the table, nodding slowly before speaking.
“If no-one is going to mention it, I will. Some of my girls, and also some of my men,” she punctuated her sentence by rapping her fan on the table[2], “are finding the cold to be particularly troublesome.”
Mrs Rosemary Palm’s face grew colder, a glint of anger deep in her eyes, and she jabbed her fan towards the faintly grinning Lord Downey and Mr Boggis who was hiding his grin mostly unsuccessfully behind one sallow hand.
“I’m surprised you both didn’t bring this to attention, given your respective profession are quite violent. Plenty in your Guilds have injuries that this cold weather must be affecting.”
“Are you saying I’m an inefficient leader, Ms. Palm?” Lord Downey asked, his voice as sickly sweet as candied violets and five times as dangerous.
“It’s Mrs Palm, Lord Downey,” Mrs. Palm snapped, her grip on the fan turning her knuckles white.
“Enough.”
It was as if someone had stabbed the rapidly escalating tension in the room with a knife, colour tinting Mrs. Palm’s cheeks as she sat demurely back down, back ramrod straight. Lord Downey became very interested in the wood grain of the table in front of him, not looking at all like a scolded schoolboy. Mr Boggis didn’t move, didn’t blink; a single bead of sweat, despite the cold bite in the air, rolling down his forehead. Lord Vetinari sat back in his chair, gaze shifting from the previously arguing trio to Vimes. Vimes shrugged, lips pursed as he thought.
“Can implement extra patrols to help with the fuel. Got some empty cells that are warm for people who need them, plus hot food. It’ll get done,” Vimes said after a few seconds, scrawling some words down on a scrap of parchment, Angua leaning over to read over his shoulder, brow furrowed and mouth moving silently as she deciphered his handwriting.
It was as if a physical weight had been lifted from their shoulders. Mrs Rosemary Palm inclined her head towards Vetinari, a gesture equal parts thanks and apology, before grinning luridly at Vimes, who only nodded towards her.
“I believe, ladies and gentlemen, that this meeting is now finished,” Vetinari said, “Thank you all for your participation.”
The fact that the participation wasn’t entirely voluntary went without saying. Vetinari was a Tyrant after all. The Guild Heads stood and bowed before beginning to file out. Mrs Rosemary Palm blew Drumknott a kiss as she left, cackling to herself at the sudden blush rising in his cheeks turning them pink. Cold air blew around the meeting room like knives as the door was opened, Angua quickly jumping up to push it closed after the last person left, Antimony Parker biting back a yelp of surprise as she helped him out of the room.
“Did you have something you wanted to add Vimes?” Vetinari asked, a note of curiosity in his voice. Drumknott knew the minute signs enough to tell that is was partially genuine: a stilling of the fingers, a slight tilt to his head, gaze steady and unwavering.
“This is possibly overstepping, but Sybil is worried so, are you both holding up okay sir?”
Vetinari froze. Drumknott froze.
“Perfectly well Vimes. Don’t let me keep you,” Vetinari replied, recovering faster than Drumknott, “Give Sybil my best.”
Vimes nodded, standing up and slightly bowing, Angua fidgeting nervously before copying, and the pair left.
Vetinari sighed, his eyes slipping closed for a few moments.
“Some tea I believe Drumknott,” he said quietly, “Bring yourself one as well.”
“Yes, my lord.”
⁂
Vetinari’s heartbeat was consistent, a steady beat against Drumknott’s ear. His own was too fast, making his hands tremble almost imperceptibly, breath shaking. But Vetinari noticed, that one small detail of a man who faded into the background for most people.
“Drink up dear,” Vetinari said, pressing the hot cup of tea into Drumknott’s hands. His own were artificially warmed by the heat of the cup, rather than the cold digits Drumknott was used to holding, the heat from the fire never seeming to touch them.
Drumknott raised the cup and drank mechanically, barely tasting the tea. It was a floral blend from Djelibeybi, one that the last visiting delegation claimed was like a sun in a cup. Drumknott had quickly hidden it from Archchancellor Ridicully who had begun to eye it with a significant amount of interest, beginning to make noises about magical experimentation[3]. He couldn’t be sure how much of the warmth spreading through his chest was from the tea or it’s claimed healing properties, but it was soothing despite himself. Wuffles snored loudly against his feet, tail lazily thumping against the floor as he dreamed.
The words were almost choking him, nestled in his throat, but he was unable to speak them, gagged by his own sense of duty and proprietary.
I know your leg is hurting you, Drumknott wanted to say, I see the relief on your face when the day draws to a close and I build the fire high. I worry every time I open that door that I will see Charlie standing over me with a knife; I worry that this is all a dream and when I open my eyes again, I’ll be back in that cell with Igor, all pain and panic, with nobody but William de Worde willing to say anything to me. I am grateful I can sleep next to you at night, but you aren’t there when I wake and for a moment, for the most sickening of moments, I think you are dead and the past few months have been nothing more than a dream to shield me from the truth.
”Sybil means well,” Vetinari said, pulling Drumknott out of his own inner emotional maelstrom. His arm ached in the cold as he wrapped his hands further around the teacup, chasing after the last few scraps of warmth.
“She does,” Drumknott agreed. His voice sounded like it was coming from far away, mechanical and clipped. The instructors at the Guild of Clerk’s had very clear ideas on how a clerk should speak, rapping rules against the boards, reshaping his words to hide his accent. It was a sharp clipped accent, one that had lessened over the years he had been in Vetinari’s service, but it still reared its head, a signal as loud as a bell.
“Speak to me,” Vetinari said, not quite an order, not quite a request. And yet Drumknott was powerless to disobey. He sighed, pressing himself closer to Vetinari who smiled, shifting to card one hand through Drumknott’s hair, the pomade he used earlier all washed out by the rain pouring down outside.
“Charlie is doing well.”
Drumknott knew he had surprised Vetinari, hand twitching in his hair before the slow rhythmic movement began again.
“He is. Last report placed him as acting in a fairly successful rendition of ‘Cold Cases and Five Small Ducks[4].’”
This was not news to either of them. Despite William de Worde’s best efforts to find Charlie after his failed impersonation, and several of his undetected more successful impersonations, Charlie had vanished into thin air for the general populace. Vetinari didn’t ask again, just waited for Drumknott to detangle his thoughts and lay them out to be turned over and discussed, to be filed away and rectified. Peace could be found in organisation, that was something Drumknott held dear.
“He is close enough to return to Ankh-Morpork,” Drumknott said slowly.
“He is,” Vetinari agreed, a slight frown on his face, “If you are needing time off Mr Drumknott, I can-”
“No.”
They were so close together, barely a few inches between them. Drumknott was no stranger to being close to Vetinari in this office. His evenings were spent curled up next to him, running through the remaining pieces of paperwork that had appeared from the Dark Clerk’s as night fell and the final reports were sent through. His nights were spent, when he convinced Vetinari to lie down for the few hours the other man slept, in his arms, warm and safe, tucked against the wall to dissuade any potential assassins that could make it that far[5]. But this felt different.
He could see the flecks of gold in Vetinari’s dark eyes, the slight smudge of purple beneath. They were nose to nose, breathing the same air, scented from the tea. Drumknott was shorter, having to lean slightly backwards to stare up at Vetinari. The other’s hands were still wrapped around his waist, constant comforting pressure against his heavy jacket.
“I don’t need time off,” Drumknott said, unable to stop his lips from curling at the mere mention of the words, “My arm is fine. It’s you.”
Vetinari froze against him. It was a transition from normal movement of blinking and breathing, to complete and utter stillness, the Assassin’s method of watching and waiting for an opening. Shutters slipped down behind his eyes and Drumknott watched as all emotion drained out of them, becoming cold and lifeless, the eyes of a Tyrant.
“I want to see you well. You need to take a break,” Drumknott said, heart in his throat, threatening to choke him, but he pushed past it. He had a Duty, not just to the City and the Patrician, but to Vetinari. And he would do his Duty even if it hurt, even if it ripped his heart to shreds.
Drumknott only realised he was trembling when Vetinari pulled him closer, kissing his temple gently. He drew back just enough to look into Drumknott’s eyes, no longer closed off and predatory. It was a look Drumknott knew was reserved only for him, a soft love that warmed his heart.
“I want that for you as well. I know your arm is bothering you still-” he cut off Drumknott’s protest with a wave of a hand, Drumknott’s jaw clicking audibly as he closed it “-and it is not a bad idea. In the morning I’ll arrange it with Charlie.”
“We will arrange it,” Drumknott said with a small smile, nudging his glasses back up his nose, aware of a few new smudges on the lenses.
“Of course.”
⁂
The Oblong Office was dark and silent. A Dark Clerk sat in front of the roaring fire, blanket drawn around their shoulders, heavy knitted socks drawn up to their knees. Chewing on their tongue they plucked a piece of paper from the towering pile to their side, sighed, and began to read. They paused at every stray noise, head snapping up as if expecting Vetinari to appear out the shadows.
“You okay?” came the voice from the speaker tube.
The clerk slowly, manually, uncurled their fingers from their mouth, muffling the scream. Smoothing out the piece of paper crushed in their other hand against their chest, they carefully moved over to the tube.
“You nearly gave me a heart attack,” they hissed, glances over the shoulder increased as they looked for Vetinari, Drumknott or Death to appear behind them, “I bent the file you idiot!”
“I’ll put some extra stationary on Mr Drumknott’s order,” the voice on the other end replied almost immediately, “Do we need the fancy stuff?”
The Dark Clerk inspected the bent file carefully, noting the way the creases ran all the way through the papers, the smudged ink on one edge, the slight tear forming along the join.
“Maybe even the extreme fancy stuff,” they said finally, wincing at the string of curses from the other end.
⁂
”Everything well love?”
Drumknott stared at the wall with a not insignificant amount of suspicion. Something was wrong, a sense of unease lingering at the base of his skull.
“I don’t think the Dark Clerk’s are handling the paperwork well.”
Vetinari laughed, unrestrained and joyous behind him, and the unease melted away like snow in warm sunshine. Drumknott relaxed backwards into Vetinari once again. His embrace was not comfortable in the standard sense of the word, too bony even with the softness of the flannel pyjamas[6] cushioning the pressure, but that itself was a comfort. That was Vetinari, uncomfortable, but trying so hard to do better, to be better, to make the city better.
“We will sort it,” Vetinari said, smoothing a hand through Drumknott’s hair, the other man squinting up at him with a small smile. He returned to the paper, arms stretched to accommodate Drumknott on his chest, one thumb black with the printer’s ink. Wuffles snored loudly from the foot of the bed, a small blanket drawn over him. It matched the blanket he lay on, traditional Überwaldian embroidery on the deep green fabric, a gift from Lady Margolotta.
She had handed it over with a wink and a declaration that while she knew it wouldn’t be used for the traditional purpose, it was still a tradition to give it. Lord Vetinari had managed to bundle the blanket off to a bright red Drumknott and quickly escorted Lady Margolotta away from his clerk, her rich laughter lingering behind her.
Drumknott blindly reached down and traced the embroidery with one finger, the loops and swirls, the oh- So that was what she meant. He sighed, tipping his head back and pressing his face into Vetinari’s neck, the man’s breath catching ever so slightly.
They were both warm, and relaxed, Charlie sleeping ready for a full day of pretending to be Vetinari and aided by the Dark Clerk’s. It couldn’t last, but it would be enjoyed while it did.
[1] It wasn’t an interruption as it was expected for Lord Downey to turn up at that time on that day, whether Lord Downey had been aware of this or not was another matter. The current Head of the Assassin’s Guild, as he was also an old schoolmate of Vetinari’s, was more transparent than most, and if all it took to make Downey less likely to complain was Vetinari creating appointments for him to ‘interrupt’ the Patrician? Then that was easily arranged.
[2] It had never been confirmed that Mrs Rosemary Palm carried any weaponary on her person. However, no-one was willing to cross her enough to find out if that assumption held true or not. Grown men had a remarkable tendency to suddenly remember something else they had to do, pay and leave when she began to speak with her fan.
[3] Ponder Stibbons did somehow find himself in possession of a small sample which he quickly hid away from the rest of the faculty. Due to the secretive nature of Wizard’s and the generally light atmosphere of the students, everyone knew by lunchtime. Stibbons didn’t say how he had come to be in possession of this elusive tea (or where he had hidden it), but the students carefully didn’t notice Lord Vetinari’s personal clerk visit a few minutes before after visiting the Librarian with a banana as a gift.
[4] This was not a well known production and it was not a particularly popular one, lacking in most of the details that delighted an Ankh-Morporkian crowd as it had no overly dramatic drinking scenes, and only one instance of characters being unable to spot someone behind them.
[5] No-one had, and no-one would, but Vetinari was always of the mindset that it was better to be prepared for unexpected attacks at all times. He was also prepared for expected attacks, meaning he was always ready.
[6] Black of course