“Professor Downey.” Vetinari greeted, light-headed from blood loss. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”
“I’m here to save your leg, my lord, but these idiots won’t let me through.” Downey glared at Vimes.
“He is a doctor, captain.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” Vimes muttered at Dwoney and shuffled out of the way. He crossed his arms, eyes fixed on the two men like a gargoyle’s.
Drumknott stepped forward, all of nerves. “Is there anything I can do?”
Downey looked him over. “Tell the kitchen to wash their biggest table with sclading water. Scour it with salt and rinse it down with hard alcohol.”
Drumknott gave a brief nod and took off.
“You carry the Patritian.” Downey ordered the troll. “Make sure the bandages don’t fall off.”
Detritus looked to Vimes. Sam harrumped. The troll picked Vetinari up bridal style, and stomped after Drumknott. Dust shook from the ceiling as he walked.
With a sweep of the arm, Vimes gave Downey right of way, grinning menacingly.
He held the rear, not leaving the assasin out of his sights.
They arrived to a sauna reeking of booze.
“How very Hubward.” Vetinari noted to no one in particular.
Downey unrolled a satchel of torture implements. “I need him on his side, stripped to his breeches.”
Detritus stood Vetinari on the uninjured leg while Drumknott helped him out of the robe and tunic, then on the table. As Vetinari rolled over, Drumknot pulled up a stool to sit by his head.
Downey rolled up his sleeves. He uncorked a bottle of something orange and smelling of the sea, then wiped it over the small of Vetinari’s back with a cotton wad.
“Do not cripple me, Downey.” Vetinari said off handed.
“You’re already crippled.” Downey loaded a massive injection from a tiny vial. “Hold his hips and shoulders. And don’t break anything.”
Detritus gave him a look like a brick wall, then clamped down on Vetinari, imovable but not squeezing.
Vetinari took a deep breath and held it. Carefully, Downey slipped the needle all the way in. Vetinari frowned, fingers twitching.
“There.” Downey pulled out. “You can let him go.”
“Tell me when your legs go wooden.”
Downey traded the injection for a knife. He side-eyed Vimes. “I work beter without an audience.”
“Worry not, captain.” Vetinari chimed in. “Letting a wounded man die is against code.”
Vimes stared at the Patrcian. Vetinari stared back. Vimes stomped out, Detritus following.
Drumknott remained, still watching Vetinari’s face, almost oblivious to Downey. He was obviously there for moral support, but Downey wasn’t sure who’s.
Drumknott did. Vetinari closed his eyes. Downey tied a loose tourniquet around his groin, adjusting it as he felt for the pulse on the back of the knee. Satisfied, he secured the tourniquet at the correct tightness.
Nothing happened. He stuck a needle in the sole of Vetinari’s foot. No response. Downey undid the bandages. The thigh was a mess, impaled and crushed simultanioulsy. Drumknot took one look and turned green.
“Leave if you’ll be sick.”
Drumknott shook his head and returend his attention to Vetinari’s face, framing the man’s head with his hands but not touching. Downey eyed him for a moment, then Vetinari. He set out to work, searing bits of flesh with a red-hot blade, sewing muscles togeather with silk, and soaking a shirt’s worth of linnen in blood. When he was done, Vetinari was pale as a sheet.
Downey went to the washbasin. “Black sausage. Red meat. Beans. Dark greens.”
Vetinari opened his eyes. “Give us a moment, Rufus.”
Drumknott left. Downey dragged the vacant stool to the side. Dropped on it.
“Thank you.” Vetinari near-whispered.
“I’ve noticed. I’ve also noticed your secretary looks at you like he worships you.”
“Must be the blood loss.”
“He’s a pushover. What do you see in him?”
“He makes my life easier.”
The words felt like a slap.
“You’re really bringing that up now? After I’ve saved your leg?”
“I merely answered your question. You made the comparison. You always have to keep score.”
“I don’t want to be in you debt.”
“I am in his. And the commander’s.”
“And they never ask anything in return?”
“In my work that is harder than you imagine.”
“If you don’t mind being in debt, prove it. Ask for something.”
Vetinari deliberated. “I need to know what I did to make you pick on me.”
“That.” Downey spat. “You were a perfectionist know-it-all. You made me look bad just by existing.”
Vetinari met his gaze. “And you made me suffer for existing.”
“For being an arrognat git, always so high and mighty.”
“I never rubbed my knowledge in your face.”
“You ignored me no matter what I did.”
“Did to me, not for me. You picked on me mercylessly. I wished you would ignore me.”
“How could I, you were the teacher’s pet. Havelock, what is this, Havelock how do we do that.”
Vetinari looked wounded. “You were the one with all the friends.”
Downey gaped. Clicked his mouth shut.
Vetinari looked away. “I was skilled and you were charismatic. We could have had everything. Instead you chose to make it a competition.”
Downey frowned. “You just have to rubb it in, don’t you.”
“I’m not trying to rub it in, Lord Downey.”
“Cruces is dead. The guild needs a new master.”
“The patrician doesn’t get a say in guild matters.”
“The patrician can veto any new guild master. Besides, I am a fully paid member and provost. I will support you publicly.”
“I would prefer someone I can trust.”
“You know that’s not how it works.”
“Is there a contract on me?”
“As a guild member I have the right to know if there’s an offer on the patritian.”
“Bastard.” Downey muttered. “No. There was but it’s been canceled, on account of you being worth more alive than dead.”
“Then I would like to put one.”
“As I said, no cotracts on the current Patrician.”
“The new guild master can reavaluate the choices of his predecessor. Especially if his predecessor was killed for breaking guild rules.”
“Having contracts on fellow assasins is bad for morale.”
“Oh I don’t want an open one.”
“Right. You’ll think up some outlandish circumstance that would never happen, preventing anyone else from taking a second contract against you.”
“Gods, no. Outlanidish things happen every day.”
“… I don’t understand you.”
“Downey, I want you to put me down if I go mad.”
“How would I tell the difference?” He fired off.
Vetinari pined him with a look.
“All right, all right. … How much?”
“Because if you go mad, you’ll be more worth dead than alive.”
“This is why I can’t tell the diference. Only you would put a contract on yourself as protection and insurance. You’re a freak.”
Downey groaned. “… How long have you been planing this? You’ve lost too much blood to think this up on the spot.”
“Since you started teaching. Cruces would retire eventually. This merely moved the schedule.”
“Right. … So who gets to collect the favor?”
“I suggest whoever needs it.”
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