EXTEMPORE

Sam Vimes mounted the stairs to the Patrician's office -- five flights,
eighty steps, past a pair of guards who saluted him sharply. To the anteroom
of the Oblong Office, the seat of power in Ankh-Morpork.

--
Once this had been the throne of Ankh, but that was no longer the seat of
much, except perhaps dry-rot.

He was trying very hard not to think. At all. It was surprisingly difficult.

He was familiar with hero-worship. He'd indulged in it himself. He knew that
there were young officers, even Carrot, sometimes, who looked to him for the
way to act, who emulated him. Normal people don't join the Watch, even after
everything, and some -- as he had once been -- were looking for a father
figure. Once in a while, admiration could get tangled up with physical
attraction, especially in young minds.

But for the sake of all the gods, why did that boy have to be the first to
act on it?

Sixteen-year-old Havelock Vetinari had been watching him. Had been hired by
someone to protect him. Had followed him forward in time not once but twice,
in order to...

To do what? Seduce him?

He sat, helmet on knees, listening to Vetinari's infernal clock. He wasn't
even supposed to be here today -- it was only two days since Carcer's
execution, and he should be at home with Sybil and young Sam, but there was
always work, wasn't there? He'd promised Sybil it would only be half an hour
at the most, and he would resist the urge to swing by the Yard, which was
difficult, as it was on the most direct route between Scoone Avenue and the
Palace.

Blasted, dratted Vetinari! Just when you thought he couldn't cause any more
trouble, he up and time-traveled his way into --

"The Patrician will see you now, Commander," said a clerk, as he exited the
Oblong Office. Vimes, feeling rather numb, tucked his helmet under his arm
and walked inside.

"Ah, Vimes. Good morning," Vetinari said, without looking up. He was
apparently engrossed in a document before him. "Do have a seat, I shall be
with you momentarily."

"Sir," Vimes said woodenly. He remained standing. There was, he had found, a
little mark on the wall just about six inches to the left and two feet above
Vetinari's ear --

Something was wrong.

Well, of course something was wrong.

Vimes risked a glance at the Patrician's face. Vetinari's eyes darted up to
his, then quickly back to the page. Twice.

"Now then," he finally said, laying the paper aside. "I believe there
are -- "

Their eyes met, really met this time.

He knows, Vimes thought. He'd hoped maybe Vetinari would forget, but it had
been a vain hope, and he'd known that. He knows, he remembers, and he knows
I know...

Vetinari sighed, and rested his chin in one thin hand. Strong hands, though;
Vimes had reason to know. His shoulderblades were going to be bruised from
the force of being thrown against a wall by them.

"Are we going to be awkward about this, Vimes?" he asked.

"Sir."

"If you say that again, I may be forced to use sarcasm," Vetinari said, but
there was a dangerous edge to his voice. "Do you have anything to say about
the matter?"

Vimes considered things. 'Sir' really seemed to cover it, but --

"Anything /useful, Commander."

"Erm."

"Well, that's a small improvement, I suppose."

His mind was racing. "Is that why you...why I've been -- fortunate?"

"Hm?"

"The knighthood, the...everything. Everything I have. Did I earn it or did
you take what I told you too seriously?"

Vetinari's stare could have frozen fire. "I believe you said that I was to
go easy on a policeman named Vimes."

"Yes."

"And did I?" Vetinari asked.

He had a point. He had done many things to Sam Vimes, but going easy on him
was not one of them.

"Everything you have, you earned, more or less. I certainly did not prevail
upon Sybil Ramkin to marry you, nor did I force you to fight a war. So you
need not consider them...affectionate gifts."

"You were sixteen, what was I supposed to tell you?" Vimes blurted. Vetinari
cocked his head, folding his hands on the table.

"Commander, I have known that the day was coming when the man whom I, as a
boy, admired, would walk through the door. In all truth, I had not thought
on it in some time, nor expected it would be you -- no, not even I. It is a
surprise, but it is not something which need affect our...unique association
in any fashion," Vetinari said coolly. "I can assure you that I harbor no
resentment of any sort."

"You've got nothing to resent," Vimes answered. Vetinari's calm acceptance
of the situation was beginning to grate on his nerves just a little. "It's
not as though I /asked/ -- "

"No, you did not ask," Vetinari said sharply. "You were quite clear about
your feelings on the matter. As they still stand, let us consider it a
closed one."

"Just like that?" Vimes demanded.

"Just like that," replied the Patrician. "Now, I see here we have a few
papers that must be signed..."

The rest of the time passed in a sort of confused blur, as Vimes let his
automatic coppering instincts take over and withdrew into his own head. It
didn't help much. By the time he was out of the Palace and back on the
streets, there was really only one thing on his mind:

Vetinari had admitted that he didn't resent his rejection.

He hadn't admitted that he didn't feel the same now as then. In fact, he had
been very careful /not/ to say the one thing which would put Vimes' mind at
ease.

He turned just before he was out of sight of the Palace, turned to look up
at the wide, broad windows of the fifth floor. The Patrician was standing at
them, a tall, thin figure in black, staring down. Of course he couldn't say
for sure where he was looking, but he'd bet his last dollar that Vetinari
was watching him.

As it turned out, two of them were.

END

Gah. That was unsatisfying, no? Ah well. There's always another sequel
lurking in the wings.