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"Sir Samuel, do you consider us friends?"
You could’ve heard a pin drop, if of course said pins were in hands of anyone other than Rufus Drumknott who prided himself deeply on never dropping a pin in his long and intensely ordinary pin-holding career.
"Sir?" asked the Duke of Ankh, Sir Samuel Vimes, Commander of the City Watch in vain hopes he had misheard the question. It was eleven o’ clock in the morning and all was not well
Lord Vetinari did not look up from his paperwork.
"I do believe I was quite clear."
“ Sir? ” repeated Vimes, this time as less of a question and more of a crutch.
"It's a simple question, commander."
"Not coming from you it isn't!"
Vetinari finally abandoned all pretense of signing an already signed report and shot him a look that threatened a completely inarguable ‘nevertheless’ might be incoming if he pushed the issue further.
“Do-” Vimes swallowed dryly “-do you consider us friends, sir?
"I believe I asked first, your grace."
"I just thought, since it’s such a simple question-”
"Nevertheless."
The two men stared at each other. Or rather, Vetinari stared at him and Vimes stubbornly continued to stare at his usual spot slightly above and to the left of patrician's head.
In another universe, just a wash-worn sheet of reality away, a few winding tones of a wood flute played a haunting tune fit for a standoff. As a good-will sign of multiversal cultural exchange, a small, perfectly round clump of dust rolled across the room aided by a non-existent gust of desert wind. It was quickly disposed of by Drumknott who had been looking for an excuse to be less present for whatever gruesome human interaction was taking place in front of him.
Sweat rose on Vimes’s forehead. He risked a fleeting glance downwards. Vetinari’s forehead was completely dry. He’d probably manipulated his sweat glands into complete obedience years ago, it was probably a full credit course at the assassin’s guild.
Tension had passed the point of knife-cuttability and was starting to resemble the texture favored by more traditional dwarf bakeries, the air was starting to become flammable.
To hell with it.
"Fine! I do consider us friends! Are you happy now, you old snake?"
Lord Vetinari made a little note on a paper in front of him.
"Thank you for your candor commander, now don't let me detain you-"
It was a testament of how used he’d gotten to the Patrician’s unique talent of making people leave his office that Vimes overcame the natural urge of his legs to turn around and instead thumped a fist down on patricians desk.
"Oh no you don't!"
Vetinari looked down at the offending hand with severity that would normally make any present-day hand-owner worry about their future ability to clap in a way that wouldn't answer any philosophical riddles¹. It didn’t work.
“Is there a point to this, commander?”
"You can't just force me to admit I think we're friends and then not say it back."
"Your Grace, we've known each other for nearly two decades now, but you still tend to forget I am in fact, a tyrant. I can do whatever I want, it's in my job description."
"Bullshit, you haven't done anything tyrannical in years."
"Consider this a rare act of genuine tyranny then. You are dismissed, your grace."
"Yeah, well, consider this an act of insurrection," hissed Vimes, placing both hands firmly on the desk, making it clear no amount of silent staring would make them disappear.
"Sir Samuel, I think this is hardly necessary."
"You want to know what *I* think, sir?"
"It seems I rarely have a choice on the matter, commander."
"I think you like me," said Vimes, viciously.
"Is that so?"
"We see each other every day!"
If the eyebrows were to raise any higher they would’ve had to apply to the newest air traffic tax.
"For daily meetings, sir Samuel, a normal part of a professional relationship."
"Ha! I bet you don't see Quirke if you can avoid it."
"As you’re well aware, Day Watch has taken on more of a ceremonial role over the years. I simply see no need to discuss the menialities of standing still while wearing a big hat."
"I save your life at least once a year," said Vimes, with an eye twitch that implied he was at this very moment stopping one such assasination attempt with nothing but his own self control.
"Some would say that says more about you than me."
“You keep giving me your damn titles!”
“During the full 23 years of my reign I have granted titles to nine-hundred and fifty-three citizens, seventy-three foregin dignitaries, four horses², two dogs and, on one memorable occasion, a single mayfly³.”
Vimes made a series of furious gestures of disbelief for the sake of anyone seeing this whole thing happen, all of which were expertly ignored by Drumknott.
"You laugh at my jokes!" he settled on as a last ditch attempt, pointing a finger at the patrician accusingly.
"My word, do I?"
"Just yesterday, during the guild meeting I asked Mr. Slant if there was any legal recourse for Downey to sue the head of the Baker’s Guild over out-poisoning him and you did that thing where you cover your mouth to avoid people knowing you're laughing at them!”
“That sounds highly unprofessional of me, do you have any proof of such a libelous claim?
"You're doing it right now!"
Lord Vetinari lowered his hand to reveal an expression so devoid of humor it’d earn him top marks as well as a full scholarship⁴ at the fool’s guild.
"I assure you you're mistaken. If this was all, commander, I do have a very thrilling budget report I should be getting back to.”
The hands refused to move.
“It’s a Simple Question, Sir.”
“What Question was that again, your grace?”
Vimes leaned forward menacingly,
"Do.You.Consider.Us.Friends?"
Lord Vetinari's eyes widened and his brows knit together as if he was simply surprised and mildly concerned that Vimes was still stuck on something so inane.
"And don't give me that look, you bastard, you brought it up in the first place!"
Lord Vetinari leaned back in his patrician chair to seemingly give it a disconcerting amount of thought.
“You’re asking if I, during our long, eventful and more often than not intertwined careers, have developed not only a great professional respect in your abilities, but a sort of a mundane appreciation of your less useful eccentricities as well? To a point where I don’t merely consider you a valuable asset to me as a patrician, but an indispensable presence to me as a person?”
“Well-" It did sound a bit far-fetched when he put it like that.
“Perhaps the one true stable constant in this festering, regulation-dodging shack of cards we call our city? One I’ve come to rely on first for my physical and eventually mental well being?”
Vimes was beginning to feel like he was being punished for something.
“Alright, alright, I get it, you don’t have to-”
“You’re asking if I consider you to be someone I would not object to spending time with outside of my busy work schedule, perhaps over a, hah, friendly game of Thud, or, gods forbid, a pleasant night out at some form of social event or another.”
“You could’ve just said no, like a normal-”
"Of course I do, commander, I never implied otherwise."
Vimes opened his mouth and then, after not much came out of it, closed it again.
He worried his brows with his thumb and index finger for a few moments, dragged the hand back down his face, took a deep breath that lasted almost exactly ten seconds and then finally exhaled it.
"Alright,” he said, with a trained sort of tranquility.
He turned around. “See you tomorrow then.”
Lord Vetinari listened intently until he heard the slightly muffled⁵ thump of a fist meeting its usual spot on the hallway wall, then leaned back in his chair with an air that an observer with a poor attachment to their life might call self-satisfaction.
“Sir, if I may-”
“May-away, Drumknott.”
It was a sign of Drumknott’s extensive secretarial professionalism that he barely grimaced at what he considered a strictly unnecessary grammatical flourish.
“Was there perhaps a less complicated way of asking if Sir Samuel was eligible as your plus one for the Tri-Annual Quirmian Friendship Gala?”
Lord Vetinari sighed a sigh of a pained saint.
“You know how he gets about high society gatherings, I just didn’t want to cause him undue stress.”
__________
¹ i.e. with both of them.
² Granting important governmental positions to horses was considered an essential part of any tyrant’s workload and Lord Vetinari was often criticized for his moderation on the issue.
³ It didn’t live up to its expectations.
⁴ While the Fool’s guild was generally not considered a popular destination for well-off families who liked their children, its tuition fees could rival that of the Assasin’s guild. It was a fairly recent decision by Dr. Whiteface who viewed creating an atmosphere of pure academic misery essential to the craft.
⁵ A team of cutting edge plasterers have worked hard on creating a compound that combined the look, sound and satisfaction of the real, bone breaking plaster with the slight give and softness of something that would not regularly make a decorated public servant have to write his reports with his left hand. They nearly succeeded.