Work Text:
“Apparently they caught several contestants attempting to board the local train between two of the intermediary villages,” Lord Vetinari, Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, remarked, with the barest hint of a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “And there is of course the matter of Mr. Limbfort’s remarkable time in completing the recent stage which put him in the lead. There’s a movement among the spectators to have him disqualified from the race entirely, but of course, as his supporters so readily argue, there’s nothing in the rules against it.”
“Indeed, sir.”
Vetinari paused in momentary surprise at the lackluster response from his secretary. The matter of the Tour de Quirm, the much-publicized velocipede race currently happening between many of the allied cities around the Sto Plains, was a topic that had previously stirred quite a bit of excitement from Drumknott. The man had a fascination with the two-wheeled contraptions that had led to many a lively conversation in the office, and he had been following the race quite closely. His strict moral compass would, Vetinari had assumed, lead him to have strong opinions on the matter of the potential cheating currently happening among the competitors, but it seemed he had been mistaken.
“...There’s a certain expectation that the race organizer would put a stop to such unsportsmanlike behavior, of course,” he continued after a moment, “and one does wonder why he might be delaying so long in making a statement on the matter. If I were of a more cynical nature, Drumknott, I would be inclined to propose that the Comte de Lyin thinks a controversy such as this might encourage sales of his new sports newspaper, the profits of which, I believe, have been on the decline in recent months.”
He turned away from the large window at the back of the Oblong Office to give Drumknott a rather knowing look, which the clerk responded to with a small nod and a quiet hum before turning back to his paperwork. Vetinari didn’t frown, but he did let out a short breath through his nose.
Drumknott had been out of sorts all morning. Vetinari had assumed the diversion of talking about the races would perk him up a bit, but it didn’t seem to be having the intended effect. It was strange, and a bit worrying. If things went on like this much longer, he’d have to say something.
“Well, be that as it may.” He gave up on the attempt, moving back to sit at his desk. “I suppose we shall have to do something about Mr. Dibbler’s new invention sooner rather than later. While I applaud the spirit of creativity and inspiration that has driven our city to such progress in recent years, his new steam-propelled pen has been reported as causing significant damage to public infrastructure during the inevitable explosions.” He tapped his fingers sharply on the desk, and held out a hand toward Drumknott for the - rather weighty - file on CMOT Dibbler.
Drumknott stepped up with his usual silent grace, passing over a file without needing to be asked. Vetinari took it without looking, flipping it open with a casual flick of a finger as he placed it on his desk-
And paused.
A report on the recent sales of the Comte de Lyin’s paper stared back at him, outdated to their current conversation by almost a minute.
This was such an unusual occurrence that for a moment he found himself quite unable to react, simply staring down at the offending file in surprise and no small amount of consternation. After a pause he looked up, directing a raised eyebrow at his secretary.
It took Drumknott a moment to notice the expression. This, too, was unusual.
When he did, he blinked in confusion for a moment before glancing down at the file on the desk. A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face, and he swiped the folder back into his arms with a sharp motion. A different file was dropped onto the desk in its place, so hastily that a few of the papers inside shifted, their corners peaking out from under the manila cover in a disordered fashion that would have normally been unacceptable to the neat little clerk. He didn’t seem to notice, turning away from the desk with a flustered air.
“My apologies, sir,” he said.
“Drumknott,” Vetinari said, with no small amount of concern. This sort of behavior really was terribly out of character for him. “Are you quite alright?”
There was the faintest hunching around his shoulders, as though he’d been hoping the Patrician would not notice the state he was in.
“Yes, sir,” Drumknott replied, turning back around to face the desk. His expression was perfectly smooth and blank, not a trace of emotion to be seen, and it would take a very, very observant person to notice the faint tension around his eyes. “It won’t happen again.”
“You seem out of sorts,” Vetinari pointed out.
“Just a bit tired, my lord.”
“Drumknott.” The Patrician paused, giving the Oblong Office a brief but searching glance. Despite the fact that they were, ostensibly, the only two people in the room, there was always the possibility that someone else was listening in.
But there were no darker shadows at any of the peepholes in the walls, and the floorboards that would bend if someone was standing against the wall on the other side were laying flat.
He turned back to his secretary.
“You know I value your personal privacy, but please remember that you can tell me anything.”
Drumknott hesitated for a moment, inhaling one long breath before letting it out again on a sigh. The forced blankness dropped away into a tight, unhappy expression.
“It’s nothing, sir,” he paused, then amended: “My parents have begun talking about arranging a marriage for me.”
Vetinari’s eyebrow went up again. “I had thought that practice had fallen out of fashion.”
“Yes, sir. I don’t mean something so formal as arranging a match without my consent, merely that they are becoming rather vocal on the merits of a few of their neighbors’ daughters and how the young ladies might be amenable to settling down with a respectable young man without engaging in an extended courtship process.” A muscle in his jaw twitched, just once. “They have talked rather extensively about how they would like to see me set up with a nice girl before they retire, and how they don’t think I’m likely to meet anyone on my own with the hours I keep for my work. They seem to be under the impression that it would be good for me to have someone to go home to at night.”
Vetinari privately agreed with the sentiment, but he could read his secretary’s mood well enough not to pass comment. “I take it you are against the idea?”
“I enjoy my work, sir,” Drumknott said earnestly. “And it is important for the city. I will not ignore it in favor of currying the affections of a girl I’ve never met. And I have no desire to be an absentee husband.”
Vetinari paused for a moment, considering his words. “Perhaps that is true,” he allowed. “However… you are quite a young man, Drumknott. Your work, while vital for the city, will not be forever.”
It was a fact that they were both acutely aware of, and plans for the succession of the Patricianship had been in the works for a long time. Vetinari personally found it rather reassuring to know that the city would be in safe hands for the transition of power to the next ruler, but he knew that Drumknott was still uncertain whether he would want to remain working in the Palace for too long after that point.
“Is it not, perhaps, a good idea to lay the foundations for the future?”
Drumknott’s posture was tense. “I may be somewhat isolated, sir,” he said, with as sharp a tone as Vetinari had ever heard him use. “But I am far from a social pariah. I should hope that if a day comes when I wish to have a wife, I am more than capable of charming a woman on my own.”
“Indeed.” Vetinari was careful to keep the amusement from his own voice, but he permitted the fondness to show through. “Allow me to apologize for any perceived slight to your character.”
Drumknott relaxed, ever so minutely, the defensive posture slipping away. “Thank you, my lord.”
He glanced down at the file in his hands with a slight frown, detaching - in a polite way - from the conversation. Vetinari allowed the matter to rest for the moment, watching out of the corner of his eye as his secretary walked over to the bank of filing cabinets along the wall and carefully tucked the unneeded document away. He kept his head bent over Dibbler’s folder, pretending to read while he thought.
He himself had never been interested in marriage, or any sort of romantic companionship, preferring to devote his time to his work and the acquaintances he made among his colleagues. He knew from observation the strong passions that arose in others when they experienced love, but had never quite felt himself to be capable of equaling that depth of feeling. Even as a youth he had always found it preferable to keep his distance, focusing on his studies rather than getting involved in the messy social affairs of his peers.
Besides, a fair percentage of what people called love seemed to be pursued with other goals in mind, and he had always considered the physical aspects of a relationship to be rather… sweaty, for his tastes.
He had always regarded these facts about himself to be something that set him apart from others. People generally assumed that his bachelor status was a result of his dedication to the city and his job, and he had never found it necessary to disabuse them of the notion. He doubted they would take the time to understand, in any case: in his experience, most people held an unconscious certainty that everyone around them shared, on some level, the same wants and desires as they did. And he’d found it a universal truth that everyone around him, at some point or another, found themselves wishing for love.
He glanced up at Drumknott. The man’s lips were pursed, and his posture stiff, as he leafed through another stack of files.
His secretary had always been very devoted to his job, often at the expense of his own personal life. Vetinari had credited that to his sense of dedication and determination and - while he found those qualities admirable - had worried about the man having so narrow a life. While he held a true appreciation for such a strong commitment to their shared work, he had never wanted to be the cause of Drumknott shunning his other passions and interests.
But… work hadn’t been Drumknott’s whole life, in recent years. Since the advent of the trains he’d started taking his full allotment of personal days in order to spend time aboard the engines, and when he wasn’t busy getting covered in soot he was taking that geared monstrosity of a velocipede out on long rides down the coach roads outside the city, through the endless fields of cabbages. He had close relationships with several members of his family, especially his elder sister, and occasionally even joined some of the other members of the Palace’s clerking staff on a friendly night out to one of the city’s nicer pubs.
And yet not once, in all that time that he had been spending building an interesting and varied personal life, had he ever displayed even the slightest interest in finding a romantic partner.
A conversation from many years before echoed in his mind, when Drumknott had referred to Captain Carrot’s attempt to resign from the Watch as an emergency.
“What else are we to call it, sir, when a young man of such promise throws away his career for the pursuit of a girl?”
Vetinari kept his eyes trained on the paper in front of him, reading on in silence for a few minutes.
“Drumknott,” he eventually said, and Drumknott looked up from his files. “The work you do is, indeed, invaluable to the city. I can’t have you being distracted on a daily basis.” He paused, as the secretary tensed. “While I certainly have no intention of living up to my reputation as a tyrant, it may indeed be necessary to forbid you from considering engaging in a marriage until such a time as you are sure that such a thing will not interfere with your job performance.”
He looked up, then, and met Drumknott’s gaze in a long, cool stare. “Do be sure to pass along my apologies to your parents.”
For just a moment, the look on Drumknott’s face was one of pure shock - a very rare expression for Vetinari to be able to engender in him, after working together for so long. It faded into a brief, warm smile, and he closed his eyes for a heartbeat, inclining his head in gratitude.
Then he took a small breath, and gave an even smaller nod. “Thank you, sir,” he said, his voice quite even. “I am sure they will appreciate it.”
“Indeed,” Vetinari said, with a small, sincere, here-and-gone smile, and returned his attention to the report.