Chapter Text
It isn't completely unheard of for a person to have more than one soulmark, at least that is what Havelock's aunt tells him on his eighteen's birthday when not one but two sentences appear on the inside of his wrists. On his right it says "Yessir." in an almost illegible scrawl, while a looping flourish of letters on his left spells out "It is a pleasure to meet you." He examines them both for quite some time, but does not arrive at any conclusions as to what they mean for his future. Havelock Vetinari is a man of plans and his plans leave no room for romance, he's quite certain of that. However, having two people bound to him might be quite useful in the long run. Who knows?
*
Sam Vimes turns eighteen and has to face his mum in the morning. There is no way he can admit to her that he has two soulmarks and even if he could, he would never be able to look her in the eye again if she read what's appeared on his right wrist. "Ah, good man. Do you know anything about mating?" in beautiful, expansive cursive like you'd find on a greeting card being sold at one of them posh stores in Ankh. It's mental. So what he shows her is what's on his left. "You would be Sergeant Vimes?" The writing is neat, the letters narrow and elegant.
"Oh," his mother exclaims, eyes wide, "she must be an educated lady!" Her thumb rubs along the inside of his wrist with startling reverence. "And you'll be a sergeant when you meet her! I'm so happy for you!"
Sam isn't sure how to handle her reaction. Guilt festers in his stomach. He's keeping things from her, but it's for her sake, isn't it? He's protecting her from the shame and disappointment he felt when he saw the first mark. The second one, that's alright. He wants to make sergeant as soon as possible anyway, so it's good to know that he'll succeed, right? Right. But how will this educated lady feel about his other mark? Won't that be a problem? Perhaps he doesn't have to think about that until he meets her. Yes, maybe for now he can put the whole soulmark business out of his head and focus on being a good copper like Sergeant Keel taught him.
Maybe, Sam thinks that night as he lies in bed, maybe if the sergeant was still around he would have shown him the marks. If anyone would have known what to do, it would have been him.
*
"Oh Sybil, oh no!" is what Lady Sybil Ramkin's mother gasps when she sees the marks on her daughter's wrists. Sybil knows she should have concealed at least one of them, but there has always been this defiant streak within her, especially when it comes to her mother and her expectations of "a young lady of your upbringing". Lady Deidre rushes off in a flurry of skirts and returns minutes later with a bar of soap and a sponge from the kitchen which looks strange in her hand, probably because Sybil has never seen her mother wield such a thing before.
It hurts when her mother grabs her and starts scrubbing. Her skin soon turns red, but the strange black scrawl remains where it is, seemingly untouched. Well, it is the real thing, so that was to be expected.
Finally, Lady Deidre stops, breathless and crimson-faced. She glares at the writing. It's such a short little phrase and so incomprehensible without context, Sybil thinks. She knows why it's so offensive to her mother, but she doesn't share those feelings in the least. In a way, she finds it more endearing and intriguing than what's on her right wrist. "The pleasure is all mine, my lady." Such a common, bland statement, in a hand that looks as though it belongs to one of those helpful little note-taking imps. All too measured and precise.
Her left is certainly more interesting.
"He can't?" Something about the way the letters flow so chaotically makes them appear almost angry. Who is he? And what is it he can or can't do? Sybil giggles at the absurdity, causing her mother's gaze to whip up to her face.
"Sybil Deidre Olgivanna Ramkin! How dare you laugh at your own mother! And you, a grown woman! Do you not understand that if anyone sees this, your reputation will be ruined?"
"I'm sorry, mother," Sybil says with false meekness, just to put a stop to the screeching.
"You will cover this up and you will never speak of this to anyone, do you hear?"
"Yes, mother," she sighs.
Lady Deidre heaves a breath that makes her corset creak. "Perhaps all is not lost. Your other mark seems promising. So long as no one learns that you have been cursed with another one, you might find your match and live a respectable life." She drops the sponge right where she stands, knowing that a maid will come and pick it up for her as soon as she leaves the room. "Come now, we will show your soulmark to your father and forget all about this unfortunate moment. Perhaps he has an inkling regarding the identity of your match. This is an exciting time in the life of a young woman, Sybil, but do not let it get to your head."
Sybil doesn't. She trudges along. She lets her mother instruct her on how to cover up the mark using a number of creams and powders. She watches her father inspect the mark her mother has deemed appropriate, listens to him grunt, "Why, this could be anyone!" and quietly goes back to thinking about more interesting things.