Lawfulness - Ramasi - Discworld (original) (raw)

"I have received a complaint about you from the Thieves' Guild," said Vetinari, idly waving a piece of paper between his fingers; as far as Vimes could tell, and he had, over the time, become very good at reading words that were upside down, in small print, waved around, it was covered in illegible scribbling.* He said nothing. "It appears," Vetinari went on, "that after visiting you, a member of the guild retuned with a broken arm, a twisted ankle, and several burns."

*Coming from a man who owned a clock whose main use was to slowly drive visitors insane, and who knew anyone who entered his office would attempt to read all visible documents, he wouldn't rule out the possibility that illegible scribbling was all it was.

"...sir?" said Vimes, when it appeared that the Patrician wasn't going to say anything more, and he could feel his gaze on him even though he was, once again, determinedly fixing the wall behind him.

"Are you responsible for Mr. Teachanddip's current predicament?"

"Mr. Teachanddip?"

"The thief in question, Commander."

Vimes frowned, as if in deep concentration.

"I'm sure I didn't burn anyone," he said, eventually.

"You know what I mean, Vimes." (Vimes looked blank.) "It is likely that he will be incapacitated in his work for several weeks – is something the matter, Commander?"

"No, sir," said Vimes, confidently, having successfully managed to avoid looking pleased.

"The guild is, understandably, quite upset about this. And we know that a smooth functioning of the guild is essential to that of the city."

"Sir."

"Was that a yes, Vimes?"

Nervous, Vimes stood even straighter: he hated it when the Patrician broke the unspoken agreement that he would ask no question he could answer only with a lie or an impertinence. It looked good on neither of them, after all.

"Sir?" he repeated, with the most confused, clueless look he could muster up.

"I'm sure it was," said Vetinari, sharply. Vimes breathed out. "Would you like to explain why you felt compelled to break Mr. Teachanddip's arm?"

"Well, he was trying to rob me," Vimes said quite brightly; he hadn't planned to bring up this rather obvious argument, because he knew that in the end it wouldn't do any good – actually arguing with the Patrician never did –, but the whole conversation was already beginning to grate on his nerves.

"He is a thief," said Vetinari, wearily.

"Yes sir. I believe there's no law saying you have to let licensed thieves steal from you, sir."

"Are you telling me, Commander, that you wouldn't have been able to stop him from doing so without seriously incapacitating him?"

"I wouldn't know, sir."

"Indeed. Are you aware that the guild is thinking about pressing charges?"

"They what?" He had promised himself he would keep his cool – he had promised himself that ages ago, when it came to some of the bizarre institutions in Ankh-Morpork he really could do nothing about*– but this was going too far.

*until he could

"They believe they will suffer a certain loss of revenue over this."

"I had to stop him from breaking into my house!" Vimes snapped. "He almost stabbed my butler, and tried to give him a cheap key ring. They can't press charges over this!"

"They seem to think otherwise. Mr. Slant informed me that there have been precedents*. May I ask, why you, as the richest citizen of Ankh-Morpork, were even in a position to be eligible as a costumer of the Thieves' Guild?"

*The reader might be surprised to learn some of them occurred on the Roundworld.

What the hell? Vimes thought. It was one stupid thief. It happened yesterday afternoon. The guild won't have complained about it in the middle of the night, probably. And he's talked about it to Slant? Where is he stealing all that time from?

"Yes, sir?" Technically an answer.

"I believe that, prior to your marriage, the duchess was never once robbed. Do you know why that is?"

"Well, I can't say for sure sir, but I guess that the presence of several dozen of swamp drag – "

"She was actually paying the insurance, Commander."

Vimes remained silent. It was not, technically, true. Sybil, who had been under the delusion that Captain of the Night Watch was actually a job to be proud of, had been unaware of the monthly fee her lawyer was paying on her behave, like only someone swimming in money since birth could be. She hadn't objected when Vimes had wanted to stop the payments as soon as he found out.

"Insurance," Vimes repeated flatly.

"Something you don't seem to be doing anymore, Sir Samuel. You do know what I am talking about, do you, Commander?"

"The money you pay to the Thieves' Guild so they won't ask for any money from you? Yes, sir."

"I am sure that I am mistakenly hearing sarcasm in you last reply, Commander." Vimes looked at the wall, face blank. "After all, you would not suggest that Lady Sybil has allowed herself to be, ah, blackmailed all these years...?"

Low blow. Vimes glared down at the Patrician, who looked back calmly, not glaring at all and being frighteningly good at it. Vimes raised his gaze back to the wall quickly.

"The guild has also been complaining that you threatened to bring the injured thief to the watch house, Commander."

Dragging a thief to jail instead of sending him home in a comfortable carriage while apologising profoundly for the inconvenience. Imagine that.

"I merely offered to have Igor look at his injuries, sir."

"That appears to have been almost the exact working of your offer, yes. For some reason, Mr. Teachanddip seemed to perceive it as a threat."

"I can't imagine why, sir. Igor is an excellent doctor, sir. Better than the ones they have at the Thieves' Guild, I'm sure."

"Possibly more expensive as well," said Vetinari, leaning back on his chair with a sigh.

There was a pause during which the Patrician observed him, possibly, in a purely theoretical way and a cold, scientific manner, imagining what he would look like disembowelled, before he seemed to reach a decision, and stood up and walked to the window.

"Come over here, Commander, and tell me what you see," he said.

Gods, not this again, Vimes groaned inwardly, as he slowly walked over.

"A city that runs smoothly because its inhabitants are being robbed and assassinated in an organised, civilised manner?" he tried, not bothering to actually look.

"A somewhat simplified way to put things," the Patrician, after giving him a Look, answered in the indulgent, condescending tone of one who would never dream of using such a ridiculous description himself. "You see, Your Grace, some of my predecessors were under the delusion that a good way to run a city is to have armed guards patrol the streets and stop whoever did anything they did not approve of. I, of course, do not share this view."

Right, Vimes managed not to say aloud. After all, patrolling guards were showy, inefficient, and might get into their head to stop people from doing things they did not approve of.

"This was not the first complaint I have received about you from the Thieves' Guild," Vetinari went on, walking back towards his desk, and, apparently at random, lifting a file from a large pile of paper. "It says here that, less than a month ago, you and three other watchmen trespassed on guild grounds."

"A month..." Vimes pretended to have to think. "We asked for permission to enter guild grounds, sir."

"According to this report, Sergeant Detritus asked for permission to enter guild grounds."

"Sir?"

"Are you sure you want me to get into that, Commander?"

He definitely didn't: the tone strongly suggested that that might involve re-examining of the sergeants every action since his enrolment, which, in turn, would involve a lot of paperwork – Vetinari was good at petty revenge.

"Sergeant Detritus is one of my best watch... people, sir."

"I don't believe I called this into doubt," said Vetinari, rather sharply. "Would you mind telling me why a watchman armed with a siege weapon had to enter guild grounds?"

"We were chasing a thief, sir. An unlicensed thief."

"Yes?" Vetinari leaned against the back of his desk and looked at him with polite interest.

Vimes, stare fixed on a spot right behind the Patrician's head, pretended not to notice.

"You were chasing an unlicensed thief inside the Thieves' Guild," Vetinari eventually concluded. "One might call this a waste of energy, Commander."

"The Watch doesn't shrink away from duty, no matter what the cost," Vimes recited, but he realised that he might be overdoing it: only Carrot could say things like that with a straight face, and even then they sounded weird. Still, the sudden blankness of the Patrician's face, covering surprise, was worth it.

"I don't think you understood my last remark, Commander," said Vetinari, sharply.

"I'm sorry, sir." He paused. "The guild let the thief come this far."*

*Technically, the Thieves' Guild is responsible for all robberies, because if unlicensed theft happens, they should have prevented it. The improved watch enters the picture as that guard dog that you secretly suspect of being about to start chasing you away any moment as well, because that's what you'd do.

"Indeed," Vetinari said slowly, looking pleased. "Mr. Teachanddip," he went on, without transition, "knocked at your front door at approximately quarter past six, if I am not mistaken?"

"Yessir," Vimes said hurriedly, in the servile, mindless, and above all noncommittal tone of one who agrees with their superior on principle, even while wearily observing the Patrician out of the corner of his eyes: he could instinctively tell they had finally reached the part of the conversation all this really was about.

"I understand that lately, you dislike being, for any reason, disturbed around six o'clock...?"

"Yes," said Vimes coldly, glaring at the Patrician, daring him to blame, and very quickly looking away again when Vetinari smiled at him.

"Has it crossed your mind that I might not be the only person who is aware of that?"

"Sir?" Vimes blinked, honestly thrown off for a moment, but not thinking that a reason not to look it.

"And that, if you have, for the first time since you have ceased payment to the guild, fallen under its attention at precisely quarter past six, this is not entirely a coincidence, Sir Samuel?"

Actually, it had crossed his mind, as Vetinari put it. He probably wouldn't have been half as angry otherwise.

"I don't think that it is desirable for anyone, that a commander of the watch unnecessarily puts himself into a position to be apprehended by a court over such a trivial matter."

A commander of the watch, Vimes repeated mentally, taking note of the indefinite article. There was a menace somewhere there, or possible just a friendly reminder that, should it ever become inconvenient, Vetinari wouldn't lift a finger to help him. Well, no danger of him being disappointed in any way there.

"I would thus highly recommend that you apologise to Mr. Teachanddip – "

"I can't let –"

"– pay all medical bills," Vetinari went on, raising his voice only so slightly, "and get paid up with the Thieves' Guild. This is, of course, merely an advice."

Vimes swallowed as the Patrician flashed him a brief smile.

"Thank you, sir," he said, carefully, while thinking that even if he decided that Vetinari had a point, he could bloody well deal with it by learning not to rise to obvious provocation, rather than giving money to the guild. "I'll... think about it."

"Capital!" Vetinari beamed at him. "Well," he circled his desk slowly, apparently already engrossed in the content of a report. "I believe that was all. Do give my regards to the Duchess." Vetinari sat down and carefully tipped a quill in ink. "I am sure she will be delighted to know that you are taking steps to avoid unnecessary stress in the future."

Vimes mouth gaped open in horror. Vetinari scribed two words on the paper in front of him, and looked up.

"You may go, Commander," he said mildly.

"Did you talk to her?" asked Vimes, suddenly not quite in the mood for subtleties.

"Hm?" the Patrician said distractedly, efficiently making him feel like an annoying background sound even while looking at him. "No, of course not." There was a brief, ominous pause, that, in Vimes's ears, sounded at lot like 'yet'. "I haven't talked to Lady Sybil in over two weeks."

Vimes had occasionally heard people, the annoying kind who seemed unable to lead a satisfying life without feeling they were, in some distant, unclear way involved with or at least connected to Greatness, remark that, while he was a tyrant, nothing but an enriched merchant and, of course, not a king, the Patrician did at least have style. He had always felt that this was utter nonsense, and here there was definitive evidence: no ruler who cared the slightest bit about style, he was sure, would, repeatedly, threaten to bring a man's wife into an argument.

"Was there anything else, Commander?" Vetinari asked, after a pause, the very picture of forced patience.

Vimes did consider launching into a long, tedious, detailed report of the last day's police-work out of revenge, but, realising this would mean he'd have to give a long, tedious, detailed report of the last day's police-work, settled for indulging in a few seconds of gratuitous fantasying about strangling Vetinari with the official Commander of the Watch costume's plume.

Vetinari counted two new dents on the wall.