His Lordship Reflects

Disclaimer: I. Own. Buggerall. With a slight nod to Monty Python

Lord Vetinari strolled over to the window and sighed. The city worked like clockwork now, if like the clockwork of a cuckoo clock designed by a mad doctor. Every foe of him and the city had been destroyed or imprisoned, Mr Fusspot was doing well, though he could not be separated from that infernal rubber... well to say 'bone' would be to sell it a letter short, however bone is more socially acceptable. Commander Vimes was chasing criminals, powered by rage, justice and occasionally nicotine deprivation, Captain Carrot was making tentative moves to further his relationship with Angua who was patiently waiting for him to get on with it and his godson, Sam Vimes junior, had recently said his first word, 'bugger'. Vimes had actually reached mach 3 for fear of what his wife might do to him, though she was merely mildly disapproving, Vetinari's spies noticed that Vimes had no cigars and was trying to furtively smoke a receipt for the next week.

He had finished reading the minutes of the guild of anarcho-syndicalists, and was wondering what to do next, which distressed him, when a man dressed in furs and who had pointy ears, stepped in, with Drumknott, who had a pained expression on his face.

"A visitor for you my Lo-arrrrgggghh!"

"You will speak when told to" said the stranger, "The queen desires your presence immediately."

"Indeed." Vetinari murmured as he stood up, hiding a knife up his sleeve. Elves were really unobservant he noted.

Ankh-Morpork was never boring for long; he mused as he was led to the Queen.

A/N: As this is a one shot, I have to say that a portable circle was set up by occult minded idiots for the ease of elven access, which are regrettably not in short supply. Think Aleister Crowely.