The disintegrating tapestries had been swept away. The iron hangar and
wrecked chairs had been hauled out of the hall by two trolls and the
Librarian, who was a hands-on sort of person. Vetinari had been given
his cane, and a bandage for his forehead. Vimes thought he'd like a
picture of that, for days when the world could do nothing but depress
him.

He was impressed by the stamina involved in this particular wedding.
Technically, they were already married. But Marisia insisted and the
Patrician agreed. They were already here, after all. Why not put on
the show for the rest of the city?

Now, Vimes was standing, in his slightly-dented dress armour -
courtesy of 'Vengeance of the Gods' - as the upper crust of
Ankh-Morpork society seated itself in the Great Hall. Vetinari,
standing nearby, was still and silent, watching everything with that
little look he had, the one that told you he could read every thought
in your head, and you couldn't even see the large print version in his.

"Do you want to explain what the hells just happened?" Vimes asked, as
he acknowledged a greeting by one of the plainclothes officers.

"Do you really want to discuss it here?" Vetinari asked.

"Yes, actually. I do. My wife was nearly shot last night, thanks to you
and your little magic trick."

Vetinari sighed, but kept the clear, still expression on his face.
"Belief is fueled by nothing so much as hard evidence of the idea in
question. One man began believing in Marisia Gumboni because his
officers in the far reaches of the Disc notified him that it was so.
Rumour is a fickle goddess, but I knew I could count on the Watch."

"I only told de Worde, and then only because I had to."

"Ah yes. Mr. de Worde. Do you know, he doesn't even keep those filing
cabinets locked?"

vimes thought back to Carrot's remark. /If the newspaper prints it, it
must be true./

"So you set it all up."

"You make it sound as though I was a criminal mastermind. I merely
arranged a few things that might, as it were, come together to form
an opportunity. When it occurred, I took advantage of it." Vetinari
nodded at Lord Venturi, who was passing through the aisles, trying to
find an empty seat. Vimes tried to ignore the fact that Carrot was
desperately trying to get his attention. He had a feeling he knew
what the Captain was going to tell him.

"But she required a certain amount of belief, you know. More than I
could provide. You are a man who does not hold many convictions, Sir
Samuel, but those you do hold are quite...oh, how shall I put
this...quite /firm/. When you do believe, as I think has been admirably
demonstrated today..."

"That's why you wanted me as best man. I'm a good witness," Vimes said
dully.

"I was not lying when I said I could not think of anyone else I would
rather have fill the position."

"That's no kind of an answer."

"No. But it will have to do, for now. I must say, I didn't expect an
attacker to descend. I imagine someone on Cor Celesti is not very happy
with me right now. Alas, they do not have you on their side, Sir
Samuel."

Vimes opened his mouth to reply, but he was effectively drowned out by
the Librarian, who had begun a sort of improvisation on Fondel's
Wedding March, using the giant organ in the great hall, which had
several buttons that might cause explosion if used when the air
reservoirs were at their fullest.

Marisia Gumboni - now a solid, real woman - appeared at the entrance
arch, wearing an unusually fancy wedding dress, and preceded by the
honour guard, in terrifically shiny uniforms.

"Best foot forward, Sir Samuel. It'll all be over in a few minutes,"
the Patrician said, over the wheezing of the organ. "My..." he gave
Vimes a funny little look. "My wife and I appreciate your efforts on
our behalf."

The ceremony, when not made urgent by the temporary transparency of
the bride, was quite long. For Vimes, it consisted mostly of standing,
and trying to ignore the whirling thoughts in his head, and giving them
the rings /again/. Then there was a ledger for him to sign, saying
that he'd witnessed the damn thing, and the honour guard had to be led
out of the Hall.

"Sir," Carrot said, as he walked by to join the others in the honour
guard, "The man who attacked you vanished. Detritus says - "

"Don't worry, I know. I expected as much," Vimes said wearily. "I don't
think he'll trouble us again. I don't think he can."

"But sir - "

"Smile and march, Carrot," Vimes said, as he led the Patrician and
Marisia to the front of the line. "I'm not making a toast," he said under
his breath, to Vetinari.

"Happily, Sir Samuel, I anticipated as much. There are many dignitaries
here today who would gladly take your place," Vetinari replied. Vimes
detected a mild double-meaning. "I have asked the Genuan ambassador to
make a small speech."

Outside, as news of the wedding passed from the Great Hall to the
streets below, a cheer went up. Vetinari sighed.

"I do hate it when they go patriotic," he said dryly. "Still, I suppose
I have the citizenry to thank."

"How's that?" Vimes asked.

"Sir Samuel, who do you suppose spent more time imagining - believing
in - this woman? Myself, or the people of the city? I barely went
beyond a quite simple physical description. I did not select her
personality or her talents. I have you to thank for that."

"Me?"

"Oh yes. And the rest of Ankh-Morpork. They are the ones who imagined
the sort of woman I would marry. Marisia was molded to fit Ankh-
Morpork's expectations of her, not mine. No indeed." The Patrician took
her arm, falling back slightly. "In a way, you could say I have married
the city. A good match all round, I think."

Vimes, who'd had one too many shocks for anyone to deal with, simply
shut his mind down after that.

***

"That was quite a Hogswatchday," Sybil said, sinking into a chair in
the Ghastly Yellow drawing room and removing the dancing slippers,
which she hated almost as much as Vimes hated his dress uniform. "What
happened to Havelock? You could hardly tell it was him, under that
bandage."

"Carrot happened," Vimes grunted, removing his armour and handing it
to Wilikins, who carried it out to the rack. He sat back on a couch,
exhausted, and looked at the ceiling. "Someone tried to drop a tapestry
on Vetinari's head."

"That wasn't very nice, Sam."

"I didn't do it!" He said, indignantly. There was a slight pause.
When he looked over at her, she was smiling.

"I know, Sam," she said gently.

"Oh, gods..." he put his hands over his face. "I'm going to bed and
sleeping for a week. Maybe two."

"I'm sorry. Tell me what happened," she said.

"Carrot knocked him out of the way. Into a wall." He sighed. "There
are easier ways to get married. There must be."

"We seemed to do all right."

"I was half an hour late for ours and covered in slime. Vetinari got
/shot/."

"But it was a lovely ceremony."

He grunted. "Yes. I guess it was."

"Do you suppose they'll be happy? Havelock and Marisia?"

"Dunno. Reckon they're in love?" Vimes asked, thinking of the one,
crystallizing moment when Vetinari had stood in the doorway, calling
Marisia's name. And then he thought of the fact that no-one could
be as devoted to this city as he and Vetinari were, without loving it.
Loving Ankh-Morpork was not a satisfying hobby, but it went with the
job. If you wanted to keep the job.

"They looked happy," Sybil answered, virtuously. She didn't add that,
for Vetinari, 'happy' was anything beyond a blank poker-face. "It's
not always easy to tell."

"No, I suppose not," he said. "It's not the way I'd go about getting
a wife, I can tell you that."

She laughed, gently. "I hope you're not planning on anything of the
kind."

"No, dear."

***

"So this is myself," Marisia said, looking at herself in her bedroom
mirror for the first time. The Patrician sat nearby, hands on his
cane, watching her admire herself. "I quite like it."

"Of course," he replied. "Nothing you would change?"

"No, Havelock."

"Good. Then the job was well done. I appreciate craftsmanship."

"Yours, or the Duke's?"

"Both, I suspect."

"And what," she asked, turning to face him, "Do we do now?"

A small smile appeared on his lips.

"We care for the city, Marisia. First and foremost, always."

"After we've done caretaking?"

"We are never done caretaking."

"Oh, yes," she said dismissvely. "But after the duties are seen to.
At the end of the day?"

"Then, I think, we may be allowed a few minutes of privacy," he
answered. "I don't think even the gods would deny us that."

***

And, gentle readers, neither will I.

***

END