Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was an interesting effect of the Patrician’s reputation for deception and manipulation that it did not exactly matter what the truth was. Whether the Patrician would in fact do the things he was rumoured to do, whether he had allowed these rumours to spread (or indeed spread them himself) to bolster his power and authority, or whether they were all utter fabrications, the end result was the same: all three options were possible, and so, in the eyes of the enemies and allies of Ankh-Morpork¹, all three options were duly considered and treated simultaneously as truth and lie. In short, they simply were.

People were wary of the Patrician, and they felt it rightfully so that they were. They reminded themselves on a nigh constant basis that it would not do to underestimate him, convinced that in doing so, circumstances would arrange themselves into causing a mysterious disappearance on their part.

The Palace staff, quite uniquely among servants, did not have the typical penchant for work-related gossip, as they tended to take the view that gossiping about their particular employer was a fool’s errand, and they were not paid to perform fool’s errands. However, the rumour mill of Ankh-Morpork turned continuously, and while it may not be in one’s best interest to gossip about ongoings in the Patrician’s Palace, one could always trust there to be someone acting against their own best interest. And so rumours spread regardless, if at a somewhat impeded rate. Whether he was unaware of it, ignored it, or used the tale-telling nature of his servants to his own ends was yet another one of these plausible “truths” debated by the people.

Within the first week of Lord Vetinari’s rise to the Patrician’s office, it was rumoured that he had ordered the restocking of the scorpion pits. His predecessor had never used the scorpion pits, much preferring his predecessor’s choice of using secret police to strike fear and swords into the hearts of citizens. If one were so inclined as to ascertain the origin of this rumour, one would quickly trace its addition to the curriculum of the Co llege of What Some Bloke in the Pub Told Me to a Mr. Daniel Anderson of 34 Money Trap Lane. Mr. Anderson had been the clerk tasked with handling the paperwork surrounding the acquirement of live scorpions from a small Klatchian province. He also enjoyed a pint after work most nights, which made him chatty, and so he quickly became a proverbial head-lecturer at the College. No one needed to hear about anyone visiting these scorpion pits for people to assume their use. The Patricians of recent memory had instilled in Ankh-Morpork the understanding that not knowing anyone that had visited the scorpion pit just meant it was a very successful scorpion pit. In this way, the mere possibility of being sent to the scorpion pit invoked fearful respect and a rather cold sweat.

Miss Constance Swan of 3 Kicklebury Street was a laundress at the Palace, and everyone knew no one could gossip like washerwomen could. It was known that the Patrician was an Assassin until recently. It was not known, exactly, why he wore the drab black that he did like it was a uniform. Assassins did not wear such faded black – their black had to be stylish and so was as black as midnight during a new moon – but they did wear black. Was it a hold-over from his last profession? Was he a man who did not care for fashion, or preferred the utilitarian robes of office to save himself a few minutes decision of what to wear in the morning? Was he a man who needed such few minutes saved? Was he a man who knew that stains showed starkly on other colours and did not care for such stains to show? Or did he just want people to think that he was such a man?

Mr. Mathias Dusteby, who lived in a room at the guild-house of the Artificers’ Guild, was one of the woodworkers involved in the carving of Lord Vetinari’s cane after that unfortunate incident before the Watch Commander’s wedding. One of the woodworkers, because he said that the cane was curiously commissioned in pieces, and not even the expected pieces of handle, collar, shaft, and ferrule. The handle was indeed commissioned as a whole, given that it was to be a silver Death’s head, but the rest of the cane’s design was broken into unusual puzzle pieces to later be put together, section by section, by multiple teams of Artificers, so that not one Artificer knew every single piece that went into the making of the cane.

Mr. Dusteby was rather convinced this was to hide hidden weaponry or specifications to lend the Patrician an advantage in a fight, now that he had a game leg. Other Artificers weren’t so sure, and felt it must have been a ploy to convince people he had an ace up his sleeve. Some thought it a public stunt to keep everyone guessing while a single shadowy figure crafted the real cane that surely held some dark secret, like a blade forged from the blood of a thousand men or secret compartments to stash poisons and possibly, their antidotes. Mr. George Hopewell, the metalworker that crafted the silver Death’s head, felt the nature of the cane didn’t matter, because the Patrician was still an ex-Assassin; whether he did or did not have a game leg and required the mobility aid, the Patrician surely was as deadly as ever, if not more so for now having a blunt instrument always about his person, the handle of which was a bloody heavy ball of metal.²

The fact of the matter was that if a person wanted to see themselves get anywhere in the political sphere, or indeed in life, they were not to let their guard down around the Patrician for having a walking stick. He may or may not have been manufacturing his image to appear more or less frightening, but this was Lord Vetinari, and nothing could stop him from ordering any numerously horrendous and quite painful things to those he felt stood in his way. Ultimately, the walking stick provided stability to the Patrician, but it did not extend the same courtesy to those around him.

And then there was the subject of the Patrician’s chief-clerk and personal secretary. Mr. Rufus Drumknott was a short, plump man who, like his master, had no discernable vices, but unlike his master, there was a known exception. It was said he accepted bribes and was particularly fond of those bribes that involved high-quality stationary from the shop attached to the guild-house of the Teachers’ Guild, on Filigree Street, ask for Mrs. Doreen Hichens, she’ll tell you what he likes, but he always looked somewhat miffed even as he accepted the bribe. It was said he was the long-standing secretary of the Guild of Clerks, Secretaries, and Allied Trades, but how he had time for such a position was unknown, as he was essentially Lord Vetinari’s shadow.

Mr. William de Worde, head editor and head reporter of the Ankh-Morpork Times⁴, of 13 Gleam Street said that Mr. Drumknott had a temper, though where he kept it no one was sure. One man saw him at the Blue Cat club on a Friday night, but as was the nature of these things, Mr. Hampton Wigram of 322 Morpork Street never told anyone. He understood that bringing attention to the fact that he saw the Patrician’s secretary at the aforesaid establishment meant that people would bring attention to the fact that he himself had to be in attendance for this to occur.⁵ The one thing everyone could agree on, however, was that he spent the most time with Lord Vetinari out of anyone else, and so surely he must have picked up a few tricks.

The rumours about His Excellency His Grace, the Duke of Ankh, and Vetinari’s Terrier, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes oft weren’t rumours in the traditional sense. They were more… stories. Stories that Commander Vimes would correct himself, if ever the conversation steered towards his various feats. The man was as straight as a ruler, and while he didn’t make any attempt to control the rumour mill, he would make an effort to keep the stories about himself honest. He didn’t arrest the dragon, that was Corporal Carrot Ironfoundersson, but he did arrest two armies. He charged towards armed men on a camel running faster than the ferocious D’regs would dare, but he insisted this said more about his city-boy nature than his bravery. He did kill a werewolf with his bare hands, but werewolf deaths are temporary without the right equipment, and it was a lucky move brought on by desperation and lack of sleep.

He was called Vetinari’s terrier. The aristocracy said this was because he would dig and dig and never let go, even of those innocuous little incidents of yore that stood as the foundation of every noble family, usually concerning the matters of slavery, violence, piracy, etcetera. Commander Vimes said this was because he would act without thinking, and wasn't that a threat from the man whose weapons of choice were his truncheon and whatever heavy piece of wood he could tear from the furniture. He would begrudgingly admit that the Patrician wasn’t the worst person he’s ever met⁶, but he’d coldcock anyone who said he was fond of the tyrant.⁷ His watchmen said he said that if anyone was to kill the Patrician, it was going to be him.

The rumour here was that when he heard of this, the Patrician smiled.