Veni. Vici. Vetinari.
Disclaimer: Discworld and all its characters and locations belong to Terry Pratchett, not me.
Vetinari was bent over his instruction of politics again. He did not consider it prudent to include the monumental change he had made to himself to ensure that Ankh-Morpork would never fall out of skilled hands-or at least not for very long and not if he didn't want it to. And the only skilled hands were his.
Ah...Lady Margolotta. There was a woman who understood politics. She had even enabled his transformation, in several ways. A little bite-and the Temperance League to make vampirism not only acceptable but feasibly harmless. Such a good person, to keep such a tantalizing secret. The brilliant thing was that she would do so for only as long as it suited her, lending another little intricacy to his world.
Lord Vetinari relished a challenge. After all enough willpower and logic could solve anything. The world was just to simple to let lie.
He smiled as he lay the quill down. Oh yes, he was teaching Mr Lipwig, tutoring him to inherit the city, according to certain schools of thought. It was so amusing to misled people. If only they knew. Commander Vimes would go bursar.
The only person who didn't leap to conclusions was Drumknott. Dear old Rufus, too little imagination to speculate and far too mired in fact in any case. As far as Vetinari knew the only thing his secretary desired was to be his secretary. He was so very useful-completely lacking in any form of ambition, except perhaps for a more efficient filing system. So useful and unique-perhaps he should receive a gift for his loyal service. One that would ensure such service would endure.