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Untitled Penguin Fic - Chapter Three & Epilogue

It was halfway through breakfast when the message arrived. The clerk who delivered the note politely disregarded the penguin and fish smell. “Whek?” Vetinari said as Drumknott read it. “The wizards have a solution, sir,” he said. “They would like to see us as soon as it is convenient.”

(G Rated, 6806 words)

Chapter One - Chapter Two

Drumknott woke up painfully early, barely feeling like he had slept at all. He could of course hear Vetinari wheking and Wuffles wuffing, and… he groaned. Why did it sound like they were running up and down the corridor? He dragged himself out of bed, forgetting to put on his glasses until he had already walked into his second door. He stumbled back to his nightstand. Putting them on, he realised they were extremely crooked. Penguins aside, no wonder he’d had a headache the last few days… They’d have to be fixed, but that was hardly his biggest problem for now. He opened the door of his chambers and looked out into the corridor. It was still mostly dark. A flash of brown fur sped past his ankles, barking. Well there was Wuffles. So where was…? “Whek!” Ah. There he was. Vetinari pattered flatly up the corridor and stopped at the sight of him. “My lord…” he said wearily. “Whek?” “Yes, sir, I am awake. Do you know what time it is?” The responding look said Drumknott, I’m a penguin. Rufus channelled his exhaustion into one that said no, you’re really not. He sighed, “It’s not even four in the morning, sir.” “Whek,” Vetinari said, flapping his wings. Wuffles bounded from the other end of the corridor, yapping. Vetinari turned to him, flapped his wings again, and the pursuit resumed. That Rufus had been awoken at quarter to four was evidently considered Not His Problem. And why shouldn’t it be? He was a penguin, Rufus thought sourly, he didn’t need to sleep for more than ten minutes. If that was the way he wanted to play this, fine. That Vetinari was awake wasn’t his problem either. He wouldn’t cause havoc, not on purpose at least. Rufus was going back to bed.

He heard the vase break before he realised what the sound was. Drumknott squinted at the clock on his nightstand in the grey light lethargically filtering through the curtains. At least now it was a quarter to five… Remembering his glasses this time, he got out of bed again. There was no sign of Vetinari in the corridor, and the noise hadn’t come from his chambers. There was a distant whek from around at least two corners, and another crash. Rufus grumbled, pulled his dressing gown tighter around him, and went on the search for destruction. It didn't take him long to find it. Vetinari was standing in a corridor a little way from their chambers, looking around himself. The slightly proud air about him faded as he saw Rufus. “Sir…” “Whek?” He was standing next to a small table that had been toppled over. A statuette that was ‘not of a goddess, merely of a woman in a similar pose’ was broken into several pieces. On the other side of the corridor, well. Neither of them had particularly liked that vase. It was of a predecessor’s aesthetic taste, and the glaze had cracked. Regardless, it was also in several pieces on the floor. Vetinari was acting innocent -- preening himself to be exact. “Sir,” Drumknott said again, “did you mean to break the vase?” “Whek,” Vetinari said reproachfully. Of course not, his posture said, in the same way he never intentionally set Vimes after operations in the city he didn’t like. He went back to preening his… for lack of a better term, armpit. Rufus rolled his eyes. “Very well, sir. I will call for someone to clean this up.” “Whek?” Vetinari asked. “No, I didn’t sir,” he replied. Tea wouldn’t be enough. This was going to require coffee. It was halfway through breakfast when the message arrived -- well, halfway through his lordship’s breakfast. Rufus still wasn’t over the raw fish, he was even slightly put off his coffee. The clerk who delivered the note politely disregarded the penguin and fish smell. “Whek?” Vetinari said as Drumknott read it. “The wizards have a solution, sir,” he said. “They would like to see us as soon as it is convenient.” “Whek?” “It…” Drumknott read over the note in more detail. “It would appear they are aiming to artificially recreate the conditions that… caused this state, sir.” Vetinari made an uncertain noise. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Rufus shared his apprehension. He was keen enough for him to be returned to normal, and if it could be done before this evening, that was great but… a sick feeling of anxiety set into his stomach. Wouldn’t doing the same thing over again make things worse? Couldn’t Vetinari be made… doubly a penguin? What would that mean? What did a double penguin look like? One of the dreaded frogs in jars with two heads and human fingers? “Whek?” Vetinari said softly, suddenly standing beside him. Rufus broke out of his panic. “Sir?” He made a kind of cooing noise, pressing his head against Rufus’s side. He smelled like fish, but it was oddly comforting. “You… couldn’t be doubly a penguin, could you, sir?” Vetinari butted him gently, making a doubtful sort of noise. Turning a penguin into a penguin, Mr Drumknott? Rufus could hear him say, that would be quite the opposite of a solution to our problem. With a shaking hand, he picked up his coffee and nodded. “That makes sense, sir. I’m sure the reasoning is sound…” Vetinari rubbed his head on Rufus, making another soft sound. “I’m alright, sir,” he said. He cooed again, still cuddling. Rufus tentatively lifted a hand to pet Vetinari’s head. His feathers were one way smooth and the other way prickly, like velvet, and left an oiliness on his fingers. He was oddly solid, muscular. Rufus had thought he would be squishier. He wasn't sure what motivated his lordship to accept petting, it could hardly be instinct for a penguin to cuddle up to a human. Then again, the few mentions he had found of penguin behaviour in reference books (admittedly primarily from his nephew’s much-loved copy of An Encyclo-Paedia of Animales) said nothing of chasing after dog toys or biting footmen either. Another

soft coo. Rufus angled his head to verify that Vetinari still had his eyes open and hadn't in fact dozed off in his lap. “You sound like a pigeon, sir.” “Whek,” he said, as if determined to prove he did not. “Sir, I would suggest that we finish our breakfast and not keep the wizards waiting for us,” Rufus said. Vetinari made a noise that suggested that he agreed, but simultaneously communicated reluctance to return to his side of the table. Given he appeared to be enjoying it, Rufus decided to pet him for a little while more.

Almost simultaneously, there was a scene of rather less peace occurring in the main H.E.M. laboratory. Ponder had spent the last half hour trying to explain his hypothesised method of Returning the Patrician from Penguinhood to the Archchancellor. “…backwards?” Ridcully asked, “You want to un-surge the magic?” “Not exactly, Archchancellor,” Ponder replied, his upper body presently within part of HEX’s inner workings. “You see, I’ve gone over exactly what happened during the surge - which only lasted fractions of a second - and if we can very precisely recreate it in a reversed state it should have the opposite effect.” He pulled himself out with a little grunt, found a smaller spanner than he was currently using, and disappeared from sight again. Ridcully thought about this explanation. “You’re planning to un-surge the magic,” he said. The posture of Ponder’s lower half was distinctly defeated. “If… you really want to call it that, sir, then yes. I’d say that isn’t an entirely inaccurate description.” “Hmf. What are you doing now?” “Just tightening things, sir, making some slight adjustm-- argh…” There was a clatter. “What’ve you done?” Ponder groaned, “I’ve dropped the bleeding spanner, and it’s just gone out of my reach…” “What, do you grease your fingers in your spare time, boy?” “Funny, my aunt used to say something si--” Ridcully picked Ponder up by the ankles, dangling him into the machine. “Sir! ” “Can you reach it now?” “Y-yes? ” Ponder said in terror. At that moment, the Librarian pushed the door open, carrying a mug of coffee and most of a cheese and banana sandwich. At the sight of what the humans in the room were currently doing, he put down the mug and the sandwich just beyond the threshold and backed away, hoping to remain unnoticed.

There had been a few more ‘accidents’ involving somewhat disliked ornaments of low historical or financial value in the time it had taken for Drumknott to change his trousers on account of penguin oils and call up the carriage. The footman had borrowed a thick pair of gardening gloves for the purpose of assisting Vetinari to and from the carriage, he noticed as the door was opened outside of the university and that seemed quite wise. He didn’t know what had come over his lordship in the last half hour, he was very… beaky all of a sudden. He had nearly bitten the porter, and pulling on parts of Rufus’s coat seemed to be his new favourite activity. “Sir, please behave yourself,” he said quietly. “Whek,” Vetinari said, affronted. “It will be embarrassing if you bite the wizards.” “Whek!”, as if to say I would never! Drumknott gave him a look. Vetinari returned a slightly guilty one as the footman lifted him down. Instead of the congregation of wizards Rufus had been expecting, or even simply Ponder, the Librarian was waiting for them on top of the front steps. There was a small pile of banana skins accumulated next to him. As he noticed the carriage, the orangutan scooped them up and deposited the skins under one of the shrubs lining the entry walkway. “Ook,” he said as they approached. “Whek,” Vetinari replied. “Good morning, Librarian,” Drumknott said. “Ook.” “Whek?” “Ook,” the Librarian said, standing up. The door swung itself open, certainly by magic, and he knuckled inside. Vetinari waddled behind, and Drumknott followed. The university was rarely buzzing as much as the city's other centres of activity, not with people at least, but this early in the morning -- five past nine, to be exact, the atmosphere seemed more sedentary than normal. Rufus watched as a paper dart flew past under what may have been its own power and travelled towards the student dormitories. Vetinari and the Librarian were conversing. “Whek,” his lordship said. “Oook,” the Librarian replied, lifting a hand mid-stride to illustrate the topic. “Whek,” Vetinari said in apparent understanding. “Whek?” “Ook!” The Librarian went on, “Ook-oook .” “Whek… whek!” “Ooooook .” “ Wh-ek…” The tone control exhibited bordered on remarkable. If Drumknott had been paying much attention, he might have likened it to the way hundreds of words could be said with only variations of a few sounds in the languages spoken in places such as the Agatean Empire. However, he had found himself more interested in the ratio of distance to the kitchens to number of mouseholes as they navigated the corridors, and he was not as well-versed in knowledge of such languages as may have been expected through proximity to his employer. The Librarian’s route to the High Energy Magic building from the main entrance was far more meandering than Ponder’s. It did eventually however take them through multiple sets of double doors with increasing numbers of warnings pinned to them.

“Ook,” the Librarian said, and somehow Drumknott understood that he was saying that most of the warnings were intended as reminders of protocols to the students. For example, asking them please not to introduce variables of pizza grease into controlled areas. “Whek?” Vetinari asked, questioning their effectiveness. The Librarian shrugged as they finally entered the room HEX resided in. In here there was a sizable congregation of wizards. Drumknott vaguely recognised that most of them had been present at the demonstration. Ridcully was leaning impatiently against a cluttered table, tapping a foot. Ponder was bent over the instructional portion of the machine, still busy as HEX wrote down what he was instructing it. “Morning chaps,” Ridcully said as he noticed them. “Whek!” “Good morning, Archchancellor,” Drumknott said. “Ook.” Ridcully glanced up at the brim of his hat for a moment. “Yes, well done Librarian…” He found an already balled up piece of paper behind him and threw it at Ponder. It bounced off the back of his head. Ponder made a startled noise and turned around. “Oh--” he said with a slightly forced, jittery, overly caffeinated smile, “good morning.” The elevator carriage-like apparatus was back, though the gate appeared to have been much improved. It was still more suited to a vegetable patch, but now it appeared to be at least capable of keeping the neighbourhood kids away from the hypothetical gardener’s prize marrows. There were more tubes, cables, and wires feeding into it. Drumknott eyed it suspiciously. So did Vetinari. “Whek?” he asked. “Ah yes, improvements have been made, my lord,” Ponder said. “Ook…” said the Librarian. “Yes,” Ponder said, “I have tested it actually.” “Ook?” Ponder turned around to look at him, shoved his glasses back up his nose, then resumed inputting data into HEX. “Well I’m not telling you that.” Nothing of this exchange inspired much confidence. Drumknott cleared his throat. “This is safe, isn’t it?” he asked. Ponder made an uncertain noise and scuttled across the room to check his notes, nudging his way past Ridcully. He leafed through sheets of paper, mumbling to himself until he found what he was looking for. “It’s… as safe as it needs to be,” he said as he came back. “HEX, scratch that last input please?” The writing arm tracked backwards and scribbled out what it had last written. “Thank you,” Ponder said, leaning forward to check the placement of decimal points. “Yes, it’s point two four.” HEX wrote this down. “And back to start?” The rollers moved backwards, Ponder paid very close attention until they came to a stop. “Well,” he said, tapping his forefingers together, “that is the sequence I wrote…” “Stibbons?” said Ridcully. “Yes…?” Ponder seemed to suddenly remember that he had an audience. “Oh, right! Yes-- uh…” He looked around a moment before settling on Vetinari. “Yes, so… uh, if we have you in here, my lord,” he said, gesturing to the apparatus. Vetinari looked up at Drumknott with some degree of consternation but, after applying a reassuring tug to Rufus’s sleeve, he waddled to it and hopped up inside. Ponder shut the gate behind him, and peered at a dial as Vetinari’s weight depressed a plate in the base. He made a small noise and went back to HEX’s console. “Just… one small adjustment for the sake of accuracy,” he said, bringing the rollers forward once more and beginning to change things. The wizards grumbled. Ridcully crumpled his beard in his hands and stared at the ceiling. “Whek,” Vetinari said. “No, accuracy is important,” Ponder said, “for… numbers of fingers, and… things like that.” The sick feeling of anxiety set into Drumknott’s stomach for the second time this morning, images of frogs in jars swimming in his mind. Ponder came back to check the latch on the gate. He appeared satisfied. For a moment, Vetinari followed his fingers with his beak, but they never quite strayed close enough to receive a nip. “We’ll all just step out for a moment, not to complicate things… we don’t want any, uh… repeat occurrences…” Ponder chuckled awkwardly, ushering everyone

from the room. He gave the Librarian a thumbs up through the glass in the door. With an ‘ook’ of confirmation, the orangutan pulled the lever and swung himself out of the spell's radius. Light flashed from under the door in various colours and the hum of electricity filled the air. Rufus screwed his eyes shut and tried not to panic. Ridcully vibrated his ribs with a reassuring pat. “Nothing to worry about lad, it should all be going to plan…” he said, though he squinted trying to make out what was happening on the other side of the door. Whirring, humming, clicking… Red light, green light, pink light, blue light… It was several minutes before the atmosphere settled, the noises died away, and light stopped flashing from under the door. Ponder peered through the glass and cautiously slipped back inside.

From the door there was a comforting lack of glitter, but it's absence was only compounded by the dense presence of fluffy white feathers descending slowly to the floor like history's laziest blizzard. Also as in a blizzard, visibility failed entirely. “Ook,” said the Librarian, emerging from his sheltering place. “How did it go?” Ponder whispered tentatively. The Librarian shrugged and started fishing feathers out of the air. He sneezed defensively as one of them threatened to go up his nose. Ponder proceeded further into the room, trying not to inhale feathers. Something rattled. He froze. Someone muttered almost inaudibly. Whatever it was rattled again. There was a cough. Through the muffling effect of down (another similarity to a blizzard), Ponder just about made out a quiet curse directed to the presence of the feathers. The door opened and Ponder spun around. Ridcully's mountainous silhouette was unmistakable even through the haze. “Uh, Archchancellor--” Ponder began and swallowed a feather. “What’re all these bloody feathers for?” Ridcully boomed, waving a hand. There was a flash of octarine and every single fluffy white feather succumbed to gravity at once with a whumph. Ridcully caused tidal waves as he entered the room proper. “So,” he said, “did it work?” “Um,” Ponder unearthed himself from under enough feathers to provide every citizen of Ankh-Morpork with a new pillow every Hogswatch for the next century, “I haven’t actually determined--” “Might I ask if this latch is intentionally difficult?” Ponder turned around on his knees. Ridcully picked him up by the back of his collar as he strode towards the apparatus. “Havelock, old chap! Back to your old self I see!” “It would appear so,” Vetinari said, trying another possible permutation of gate rattling. “I also cannot open this gate.” Ridcully put Ponder down and pushed him forward. “Sorry, my lord, it’s supposed to be intruder proof,” he said, fumbling to find the pedal at the bottom of the gate without visual reference. “Yes…” Vetinari drawled, watching him icily, “I’m sure it would be quite effective in blocking any intruder who would not think to climb over it.” The apparatus’s size was more apparent now that it contained a tall human man rather than an averagely proportioned penguin. There wasn’t a great amount of head-room provided and Vetinari appeared to decompress somewhat as Ponder managed to open the gate. After only a few steps, his knee buckled and he turned over on his ankle. “I wouldn’t suppose any of you fine gentlemen has hold of my cane?” he asked. Ponder was frozen, accepting of his fate as support. “Your cane, eh?” Ridcully said. “We’ll have to see where…” “Ook!” The Librarian interrupted, flinging feathers with one hand as he knuckled over with Vetinari's cane in his armpit. “Ah, thank you sir,” Vetinari said, releasing Ponder’s shoulder as he accepted it. “Ook,” the Librarian said, insisting on having his leathery hand shook. “Yes, I do agree,” Vetinari replied. “My apologies, you’re rather too far down for me to keep my balance.” “Ook,” the Librarian said in understanding, letting Vetinari have his hand back. Ponder snapped back to life and skittered off through the feathers. “My lord, if I could ask you just a few questions?” he said, returning with a pencil and clipboard. Ridcully rolled his eyes. “Yes?” Vetinari replied. Ponder had been expecting more resistance than that, or at least the word ‘why’. He shoved his glasses back to the bridge of his nose and traced his pencil down the clipboard. “Alright, sir, what’s six times two hundred and three?” “Arithmetic?” Ridcully said, “Stibbons, the man was a penguin a minute ago--” Vetinari held up a hand to him, not taking his eyes off of Ponder. “No, I understand entirely. You’re testing my cognitive function.” Ponder nodded nervously, “Yes, sir, it’s very important, on account of you having had a smaller brain than usual for the past few days.” “Yes, quite sensible,” Vetinari said. “Six times two hundred and three, you said?” “Yes, sir.” “Twelve hundred and eighteen.” “That’s right,

sir. What’s the square root of thirty-seven?” Vetinari’s eyes moved for a moment as he ran the calculation in his head. “Six point oh eight three,” he said. Ponder’s mouth hung open for a moment in surprise, then he checked his clipboard and nodded. “Yes, I would have also accepted as correct six, six point one, or if you had said ‘I have no idea’.” “That’s what I would have said,” said Ridcully. “Ook,” agreed the Librarian. Vetinari hummed with a tiny smile. “Oh point three’s not a real number…” Ridcully muttered as Ponder made notes. “Point oh eight three,” Vetinari corrected. Ponder gestured concurrently with the end of his pencil, “Also, oh point three is a real number, we call it a third.” Ridcully huffed, “What’s wrong with just calling it that, then?” Ponder rolled his eyes, “My lord, can you tell me the fundamental relation of a right angled triangle?” “‘It will be taken as fact that the area of the square on the hypotenuse side is equal to the sum of the areas of the squares on the other two sides’,” Vetinari replied as if reciting from an old textbook, “Its equation being expressed as A-squared plus B-squared equals C-squared.” “Correct,” Ponder ticked on his clipboard. “One more, how many feet are there in a mile?” “Imperial or Genuan?” he asked. “Quirmian actually…” Ponder replied, noting something. Then he laughed, “no, I’m just kidding, that's all I wanted.” “Yes, since Quirm has used the imperial or Ankhian mile since fifteen-seven.” “Yes, thank you sir.” “You’re quite welcome,” Vetinari said. “You are not found wanting?” Ponder took a look at his clipboard, “No, everything seems to be in order, sir. You might not remember the last few days clearly, but that’s natural.” “I shan’t let it concern me,” Vetinari said. He looked down, then up at Ridcully, “Mustrum, what have you done to your fingers?” Three of the Archchancellor’s fingers on his left hand were an odd shade of purple. “What? Oh, must’ve… shut them in a drawer, I suppose,” he said unconvincingly. Vetinari didn’t raise an eyebrow, “I see. You ought to be more careful.” Ridcully chuckled awkwardly, “Yes, yes I ought to…” “Do you think we could do something about all of these feathers, Archchancellor?” Ponder asked, changing the subject. Ridcully hummed, looking around for a moment. “Well it wouldn’t be too difficult to…” he mumbled to himself. “None of you chaps move! Especially not you, Librarian.” He made a complicated gesture in the air, and in a dazzling flash of octarine most of the feathers were replaced with stacks of fat cushions. Ponder blinked, “Well, that’s certainly better than something living.” Ridcully picked bits of stray feather off of his robes. “Not the most efficient conversion, but yes, not squirrels for one thing.” Ponder coughed self-consciously, “Yes… not squirrels. Thank you, Archchancellor.” “Don’t mention it lad. Since nothing’s shouting at us, Stibbons, should we have people in?” “Uh…” Ponder inspected a small device pinned to his lapel. “Yes, things should be returning to background by now sir.” The Archchancellor seemingly didn’t care what this meant as long as Ponder was agreeing with him. The Librarian poked a cushion to test its squishiness and found it satisfactory. “Good, that’s what we like to hear,” Ridcully said. He looked at the Librarian, “Have them in.” The Librarian frowned at being ordered to abandon his perfect cushion, but he got up and knuckled to the door. “Oook!”

Drumknott opened his eyes as the latest flash of light faded away. The wizards around him were discussing quietly, a few of them peering in through the glass in the door. It seemed… There seemed to be some confusion. It had been several minutes since the Archchancellor had left his side and entered the room after Ponder, and aside from a few flashes of light, little had filtered into the corridor. He thought he had made out more than just Ridcully’s booming voice, but the door was thick, designed to keep magic from escaping it, and that mostly kept sound inside too. There was a muffled ‘ook’, and the door was pulled open by the Librarian, half dangling from the handle with one of his long arms nearly at its full length. “Ook,” he said again, beckoning. The wizards jostled for a minute, none of them really wanting to be the first in the room, until one of them found himself pushed forward and they filed in. The word 'academic' also applied to schoolboys, as it were… though Rufus was fairly sure Vetinari had come up with that himself, and he had been talking about Lord Downey at the time… Anyway, speaking of Vetinari… His line of sight automatically adjusted itself down as he entered the room. There were… cushions everywhere and, Rufus sneezed, soft down feathers. He opened his eyes again, blinking, and lifted his head to the sight of a familiar black-clad form. Ponder was figuring his way through the stacks of cushions towards his work table, Ridcully had just walked away to speak to senior members of faculty. Rufus scarcely felt his feet begin to move. He rushed forward, startling a few wizards, kicking up feathers, and latched onto his lordship in his excitement. There was wobbling as their balance equalised. Rufus hardly noticed. In fact, he didn’t register the action he was performing as a hug until he felt Vetinari’s hand pat his back. Rufus stepped back, Vetinari looked completely fine. His height was his usual, his nose was no more beak-like than it was meant to be. He had the right number of fingers, he was standing like he normally would -- if in the slightly lopsided way he stood when his leg was bothering him. In fact everything about him appeared normal, except… hm. Well that didn't really look bad as much as… he would tell him later. “I am to assume then, Mr Drumknott, that you have missed me?” Vetinari asked. He flushed, “Ah… yes, sir…” Vetinari chuckled, “Well, I cannot say that I do not find it flattering, but I would much prefer that you do not knock me over.” “Sorry, sir…” he looked down at his shoes. "And perhaps you might offer a little more warning the next time?” Rufus looked up, there was a fond, amused look in Vetinari’s eyes and it did something to them. His brow furrowed, and Rufus realised he had been staring. “Is something the matter?” “No, my lord!” That was too much. He cleared his throat. “No, my lord,” Rufus said more calmly. Vetinari traced his outline briefly, but let the matter go. He did not increase the distance between them, instead his posturing altered to suggest that Rufus ought to stay exactly where he was as he might shortly be required to provide support. The wizards seemed to be congratulating each other, though for what Drumknott was entirely unsure. In his eyes returning his lordship to normal was entirely Ponder’s achievement. The Librarian had settled down comfortably in a nest of cushions. No longer being spoken to, or impulsively hugged, Vetinari seemed to be taking stock of himself. “Strange question, my lord,” Ponder said loud enough to be heard from across the room, catching Rufus off-guard. “Do you have any… comments, observations, that sort of thing… regarding the past few days?” “It is an odd experience, being turned into something one is not,” Vetinari said, examining his fingers. Remarkably, he had reverted to humanity with his rings intact. “I have the bizarre recollection that I may have been a lizard once.” The congregated wizards looked at each other, a little horrified. Drumknott looked at him, and them, in bafflement. After a moment of confused eye

contact, Ponder and Ridcully shrugged at each other. Whatever incident his lordship was referring to, if it was indeed an incident at all, was evidently before either of their time. “Are you… sure you were a lizard, my lord?” Ponder asked. Vetinari looked up from the marvel of once again having elbows. His brow furrowed, as if he had not thought to question this exact reality until that moment. “Now that you ask…” he began, his eyes glazed slightly in deep search of his memory, “not at all. Around… I believe it to be a week of that time is rather a blur.” Some of his weight shifted onto Rufus. To his quiet relief, he was able to confirm that Vetinari definitely did not smell like fish. “I’d think you might have been ill, old chap…” Ridcully said, giving him a look that he would usually save for the bursar. Vetinari did not seem to notice, or at least he ignored it. “Yes… that would make rather more sense…” The wizards relaxed. Ponder made a few short notes. The Librarian adjusted the position of his cushions, apparently unaware of the tension that had briefly filled the air. “Right,” Ponder said, “if there’s nothing that you…” he trailed off, his line of sight suggesting he may have just noticed what Rufus had noticed. He shook himself off and cleared his throat, “Sorry, if there’s nothing, no concerns, you’d like to bring up, my lord, I don't have reason to keep you any longer.” The Librarian gave him a slightly strange look and resumed enjoying his cushions. “There is nothing of which I am aware,” Vetinari said. He looked at Drumknott for objection, Rufus shook his head. “I will only thank you for your quick response to this matter.” “Oh, you’re welcome sir,” Ponder said quickly, “it was no bother, any time.” He coughed, “...not to suggest we make a habit of it, of course.” “No, I would rather we did not.” Ridcully suddenly reasserted himself, scattering a few cushions as he came across the room. “Well, I’m glad this is sorted with no hard feelings, old chap,” he said. “Quite, Archchancellor,” Vetinari said, his tone subtly suggesting that 'hard feelings' had been very narrowly avoided. Ridcully seemed to detect this. There was a slightly nervous note to his laugh. “We’ll see you out then, avoiding any wrong turns and such.” “Indeed…”

Vetinari didn't appear to be really listening to Ridcully as they made their way back to the atrium at the front of the university. They passed the Great Hall, and there was still a large amount of glitter leading to and from it. Not currently needed for support, Drumknott was nonetheless paying quite a lot of attention to his lordship’s walking. There was something… he wasn't sure. Most surfaces of the university were so old that they didn't stay level for long, which made not tripping over things a little tricky even without extenuating factors. He was aware of Vetinari responding noncommittally to something the Archchancellor said about future events. Navigating the buildings took far less time when your guide wasn't an orangutan and you weren't following behind a penguin, and they were now outside. On sight of them, the footman seemed confused as to where Vetinari had come from, and the carriage driver quickly disposed of a cigarette. Drumknott gave both men a look in which he tried to communicate that there would be no explanations. “Faster than we expected, m’lord,” the footman said. “Aye, usually longer with wizards…” agreed the driver. Vetinari hummed, taking note of the gardening gloves. It occurred to Drumknott that he hadn't seen exactly where the footman had been bitten. Somewhere in the vicinity of his hand he supposed, but with the gloves and the man’s livery, no bruising was visible. Not that it really mattered...

The footman closed the carriage door, leaving them to settle before the horses started off. There could only be worse times to tell him, Drumknott supposed... “Uh… sir, you’ve got some…” Drumknott said, gesturing to a streak of white in Vetinari’s beard. “Ah…” Vetinari examined the streak in the window and brushed his fingers over it. “What would we do about that, do you think? Dye it perhaps…” Drumknott hummed uncertainly. “I would be concerned of it being a little too close to your mouth, sir.” “Yes, you are right…” Vetinari shook his head, giving Drumknott the impression he was forcing himself not to look at his reflection in the glass. “Well, for tonight I shall shave and we can wait to see if it comes back.” “For tonight, sir?” “Yes,” Vetinari said. “We’re having dinner with the Genuan ambassador. You can’t possibly have forgotten.” “No, sir, I remember.” “Good,” Vetinari looked out of the window. “Speaking of which, Mr Drumknott, you do not happen to know if the menagerie has a penguin?” “...I don’t believe so, sir.” “Ah. I wouldn’t suppose there would be any chance of borrowing one perhaps?” “Not a living penguin, sir, at least not on short notice.” “Very well.” “Might I… ask why you would have wanted one, sir?” “Oh, no, it isn’t important,” Vetinari said, finding glitter on his robe. Rufus thought for a few moments, then he frowned. “Sir, you were not thinking to play a practical joke on the ambassador?” “No,” Vetinari said self-defensively. “No, not at all. I’m shocked you would assume that of me.” He looked out the window again, “Simply shocked.” “Not at all, sir, I had no desire to cause offence,” Drumknott said. “It merely passed through my mind, sir.” Vetinari was looking at him suddenly. “Mr Drumknott,” he said in feigned shock. “I would not have taken you for a practical joke kind of man.” Drumknott could have bit his tongue. After almost three days of not being properly understood the sarcasm was evidently coming out in force. Instead he looked at Vetinari placidly. “I am not, sir,” he said. “No,” Vetinari laced his fingers together, sensing non-participation. “Neither am I. Well, the ambassador will be in the city within the next few hours.” “He will indeed, sir.” “We are meeting at six, and before that is -- if I recall -- the tailors at three?” Rufus nodded, “Ten past three to be exact, sir.” Vetinari smiled, “I would think that leaves us plenty of time for tea, don’t you?” “Tea should not put us behind schedule, sir,” Drumknott replied. “No, I should think not. Driver,” Vetinari said, gently knocking on the little hatch behind his seat. It slid back. “We will be going to Mrs Grant’s Tearooms, thank you.” There was a short affirmative and the hatch closed again. The carriage carried onto its altered route. Vetinari took off his rings and stretched out his fingers before putting them on again. “You must tell me if I did anything to embarrass myself,” he said. Drumknott bit his tongue. He could tell him about chasing the ball, and breaking vases, and about biting Vimes, and Ridcully, and the footman, but… He shook his head. “Nothing that I am aware of, sir.” Vetinari seemed skeptical. “There are no… explanations owed to anyone?” “Not that I can think,” he fiddled with a loose button on his jacket. “Wuffles was overjoyed with you.” Vetinari hummed in amusement, “I’m sure he was. I will owe him a few good throws of the ball however.” “There was a letter yesterday from the Duchess of Quirm, sir. I have not opened it.” “Ah, I will have to see what that is,” Vetinari said. “Did you find the missing copy of last year’s trading agreement?” “Uh…” Rufus looked at his shoes, “no, sir… I’m afraid that I had forgotten about it in the…” he cleared his throat, “disruption of the past few days, sir.” “Understandable, understandable…” Vetinari was looking at his reflection again. “There is nothing else amiss with my appearance you wish to inform me of, Mr Drumknott?” Drumknott examined him. “Everything else appears to be in order, sir.” “Thank you.”

Mrs Grant’s, their favoured tearooms, were not too far from the university. As such it was not long at all until the carriage slowed, the driver bringing the horses to a gentle stop as they arrived outside. Vetinari stepped down first, taking a few moments to stretch out his back and shoulders. Drumknott stayed behind a little, watching. He had been sure there was something… odd about the way Vetinari had been walking as they left the university. Now he saw it. He was waddling slightly, it wasn’t just his leg bothering him, though that did appear to be true. He resisted the urge to groan. His lordship was still walking like a penguin. Rufus caught up, and Vetinari leaned close to him. “Drumknott,” he said quietly, “please do not hesitate to remind me that I have knees.”

---

Epilogue

“I do wish you would tell me exactly what you’ve done to your wrist, Sam,” Sybil said for the hundredth time. “I’ve said,” Vimes insisted as they came up the steps into the embassy. “I don’t know what I’ve done to it.” Sybil gave him a look and picked up his hand. “Half of your hand is purple, dear. You must have some idea,” she prodded it. Resisting the urge to curse, he yanked his hand away from her. “Sybil, that hurts!” “Darling, if your wrist is broken…” “My wrist isn’t broken, and I don’t know what I’ve done to it. Just… trust me please.” Sybil hummed, “I worry sometimes, Sam.” Vimes sighed and pinched his nose. “Yes, I know you do… but not right now, alright?” The door to the dining room was opened by a bewildered servant reluctant to interrupt husband and wife. The quiet conversation already occurring around the table paused. “Good evening, your grace,” Vetinari said brightly, clean-shaven and not a penguin. Sybil elbowed Vimes’s default response out of the way. “Good evening,” he said, nodding. “Ambassador,” Vetinari said to the smart-clad man sitting opposite him, “as I have of course mentioned previously, it is my pleasure to introduce Sir Samuel and Lady Sybil, the duke and duchess of Ankh.” The Ambassador smiled dazzlingly and stood up. “I’m very glad to meet you, your grace, and you, ma’am,” he said. “I’ve heard plenty about you.” Something about the hard R’s and barely present T’s of the Genuan accent made Vimes want to punch it in the face, not the ambassador specifically, but definitely his accent. “Pleased to meet you too,” Vimes said, shaking the man’s hand. He let his attention slide as the Ambassador turned to greeting Sybil, to Vetinari sitting at the table in a new suit as if he hadn’t been a penguin the last time Vimes had seen him, and Drumknott beside him, looking as if he was going to fall asleep before the main course. As they took their seats, Sybil noticed the same. “Are you all right, dear?” she asked. Drumknott woke up sharply. “Hm? Ah, yes, I’m fine ma’am,” he said, straightening his glasses. “We’ve had a rather busy few days,” Vetinari said, “what with final preparations and such.” Yes, Vimes expected they had, Drumknott especially. Not because of any kind of preparations either. Another word starting with ‘P’, which was much shorter... not that one. “Well…” he said, “I’m glad you've made it tonight, I almost thought you wouldn't the other day.” Sybil looked between him and Vetinari. “Why’s that, dear?” “Yes,” the Ambassador said, “were you sick?” Vetinari shot Vimes a glance. Drumknott looked to be nodding off again. “Well no, I was not sick per se,” he said, “though I was hardly myself.” “Oh darling,” Sybil said, “you really must pay attention to that.” Vetinari did not roll his eyes, which was testament to his magnitudes of restraint. “I assure you, your grace, I do.” Well that was rude and he was definitely going to be due a talking to once the Ambassador had gone. Vetinari nudged Drumknott, who woke up again. “Rufus, I would really rather you didn't fall asleep.” That Drumknott did not even show the slightest sign of wanting to hit Vetinari for this was another testament to restraint. “Sorry, sir,” he said sheepishly. “Well,” said the Ambassador, “I say as long as no one starts snoring…” Sybil barely restrained her sudden laughter to acceptable levels. “I’m sorry,” she said, her face quite red, “that took me by surprise.” “I think it caught us all,” Vetinari said, slightly lost for words but certainly amused. The mood changed for the better, Vimes once again felt permitted to speak. “So,” he said conversationally, “how have things been in Genua?” “Oh!” the Ambassador beamed, “Let me get started…”

#finished!!!!

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