Chapter Text
Lady Sybil Vimes was standing next to the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork feeling rather bloated as she tried to make polite small talk. Usually, she was quite happy to talk to Havelock, but this charity event taking place in the Great Hall of Unseen University was simply too tedious. She'd never say that, of course, but that didn't mean she couldn't think it in the privacy of her own head. At least Havelock refrained from touching her stomach and making asinine comments about her pregnancy which was just beginning to show. Only a few minutes earlier Lady Rust had clutched her and remarked, "Oh Sybil, look at you, you're just about to burst, aren't you! And at your age, who would have thought it possible?"
Certainly not you, Sybil had thought as she'd forced a smile and replied, "I'm only in my second trimester, it's still a while yet, but thank you for your concern."
She shifted uncomfortably in her dress. Havelock had appeared to her like a raft to a drowning woman. No better shield against mindless prattle than his cold, disarming stare. She'd sidled up to him and he'd let her, a rare privilege she enjoyed from time to time.
"And where is his grace, the Duke of Ankh?" he asked now.
Sybil met the Patrician's aforementioned cold, disarming stare and sighed. "Detained at work, I believe. He sent a young officer to the house to notify me before I left. I'm afraid the poor lad was rather startled by Dribble."
"Dribble?" An inquisitive quirk of the eyebrow.
"Oh, one of my oldest dragons. He's a silly little dear, perfectly harmless! No flame, no teeth even, not since he had the T.T.R. when he was just a cock."
"What a remarkable sentence," Havelock said, raising his glass to his lips as if that would prevent her from seeing them twitch. "Dare I ask--?"
"Talon and Tooth Rot, it's sadly very common among young males."
"Ah, how unfortunate."
Sybil nodded. "Anyway, the young officer was from Klatch. Sweet boy, but he'd never even seen a swamp dragon before, if you can believe it!"
"Hm, I imagine the hot climate would not benefit their unique anatomy."
"Oh, I say! They don't do well in the heat at all! Or in the cold, for that matter - they like it lukewarm, I think. But then they generate a lot of heat themselves... To be honest, it is difficult to find conditions under which they thrive. They're generally not the thriving kind. But they make wonderful pets!"
Havelock inclined his head at her and opened his mouth to say something when a bright flash cut through the hall and static electricity ran up her body. Sybil gasped, her knees buckling. She saw Havelock drop his glass and lunge forward, his movements quick and precise despite his cane, to catch her. He gripped her arm and something passed between them with such intensity that Sybil thought she might black out. For a split second, up was down and down was up, left and right inverted and the entire Disc seemed to slip away beneath her feet.
When she opened her eyes, people had congregated around them and were staring.
"Is everyone alright?" bellowed Archcancellor Ridcully. "Small mishap! That burst of thaumic energy was not supposed to pass through here! I will talk to the students about this - or maybe someone else--"
"Everything is not alright," Sybil heard a disturbingly familiar voice say. She turned her head and looked at herself. From the outside.
"What?" she gasped. "How?" She looked down at her hand. It was long, pale and wrapped around a familiar wrist. Shocked, she let go and took a step back.
"Archchancellor," the woman who was her twin, down to the pearl earrings and chestnut colored wig, said, her voice much colder than Sybil's ever would be, "please take myself and the - ah - Patrician somewhere more private where we can discuss the extent of this magical mishap and promptly rectify it."
Ridcully's gaze flitted between the woman - herself, Sybil realized, or at least her body - and her, before it settled on her.
"Havelock?" Ridcully asked, waiting for the Patrician's input.
Oh dear, Sybil thought, oh no.
Her hand, her black-clad arm, her flat chest, black boots. A sharp pain in her thigh when she tried to stand up straight. The other Lady Sybil bent, snatched Vetinari's cane up from the ground and held it out to her. "Here, your lordship." She took it.
"Yes," she said - her voice was his, of course it was his, but it sounded more hesitant than she'd ever heard from him before.
Ridcully’s beard twitched as his jaw worked silently. "Right. Well. Follow me, then." He turned on his heel and began marching toward a side door, his robes billowing dramatically.
The other Lady Sybil - Havelock - moved with unsettling grace in her body, gliding forward as if this were all perfectly normal - although she did have just the smallest suggestion of a limp for the first two steps. Sybil, meanwhile, fumbled with the cane, her mind still numb with shock. She could not be him. It wasn't possible. She set her foot down and winced when the pain shot through her leg. It was just about bearable if she leaned heavily on his cane. That way she hobbled after Ridcully and herself.
Until another thought stopped her dead in her tracks.
"The baby," she whispered, fear clawing up her spine. "My baby..." She pressed a hand to her - his - stomach, flat and firm, no pregnancy, of course. Sybil felt tears sting her eyes as it hit her. Her and Sam's unborn child was in her body with Havelock, separated from her. She stumbled through the door Ridcully held open for her, almost tripping over Vetinari's cane. They were in a small room, cramped and lined with shelves with an assortment of all kinds of strange things on them.
"As you might have deduced," Sybil heard and saw herself say - her posture very straight and quite commanding, "I am not her ladyship. I seem to be trapped in her body and I'm assuming that she is in mine?" She - he - looked at her, waiting for confirmation.
Sybil nodded. "Yes, I am very much Sybil Vimes and I would like to have my body back, right now, Archchancellor!" Her throat felt tight with anxiety and anger. "My body and my baby!"
The men - and they were both men, she reminded herself, despite the form Havelock currently occupied - stared at her in shock. It seemed neither of them had thought of her pregnancy. Well, she thought of it, it was at the bloody forefront of her mind!
"I- ah - well..." stammered Ridcully, "this was some sort of thaumic backwash, likely from the students’ latest ill-advised experiment. Stibbons did warn them about cross-dimensional resonance, but do they listen? No, they--"
"Archchancellor," Havelock - Sybil - interrupted smoothly, "while I am fascinated by the pedagogical failures of your institution, I would much prefer to focus on the immediate problem."
Ridcully blinked. "Ah. Yes. Of course." He cleared his throat. "Right. Well. The good news is, these things usually wear off on their own!"
Sybil’s stomach - Havelock Vetinari’s stomach—lurched. "Usually?"
"Nine times out of ten!" Ridcully said cheerfully.
Havelock’s voice, coming from her mouth, was dangerously calm. "And the tenth time?"
Ridcully’s smile faltered. "Ah. Well. There was that one incident where two fellows got stuck for a month or two. And, er, the other one where they never quite swapped back fully—bit of a mix-up in the personality department, but nothing drastic! You might just come out of this with a newfound love for swamp dragons, Havelock!" He looked at Sybil in Vetinari's body, then realized his error and turned to Vetinari in Sybil's. "I'm told they make wonderful pets."
"You will work on finding a solution, starting right now," Havelock said, then he seemed to remember that, technically, the wizards of the Unseen University were not subject to the laws of Ankh-Morpork and therefore didn't have to take orders from him. "You will, of course, be rewarded for your efforts as soon as they bear fruits. However, I must ask you to keep this situation a secret. No one who is not directly involved in resolving it must know. It could cause severe and quite unnecessary complications for the city's governance, as I'm certain you would agree?"
"Hm, yes, yes. Discretion. Very important." Ridcully nodded. "However, I must tell you that something like this could take quite a while--"
"Which is why one had better get to it right away," Havelock interrupted. He didn't raise her voice; he simply spoke in the soft, sharp tone Sybil would use with a very badly behaved dragon.
"Yes," Ridcully replied. He frowned, his gaze flitting between them like a confused grasshopper. "Will you be alright?"
"We will manage," Havelock said firmly. "Won't we?" He looked at her. It was quite disturbing, Sybil thought, to be glared at by oneself. She could be an imposing figure when she wanted to be, she'd known that on some level - though she had certainly been taught to make herself small and unobtrusive and find ways to fade into the background and not take up too much space. Havelock, however, stood ramrod straight, hands on her generous hips, eyes sharp like diamonds.
Gods help her, she was quite striking like this.
Meanwhile, Sybil dragged herself over to a dusty chair and collapsed into it.
"Oh, what a mess," she groaned. "I don't know how I shall cope if this isn't resolved within the hour, Havelock!"
"You surprise me, I've never known you to wallow in self-pity. Whatever has happened to the famous Ramkin steel?" he asked sardonically. Sybil bristled. She was never sardonic.
"It's currently in my body! Which you occupy! Along with my baby!" Sybil was not one for hysterics, but she could see the appeal now. She wanted to scream. Instead she took a deep breath, her hands going to her - Havelock's - aching thigh and started massaging gently. "I have an appointment with Mrs Content tomorrow, for one thing."
"Well, I will postpone it."
"You will do no such thing." Sybil snapped and glared up at herself. "You may not understand this, Havelock, because gods know you're not a woman and certainly not a mother, but there is nothing more important to me right now than the child you're carrying. Nothing."
"That may well be the case, but I'm certain your child would benefit from your survival," he replied archly. "Which can only be ensured if no one suspects something is amiss. I - you - cannot afford to be perceived as weak. There are people just waiting for you to make a mistake, your lordship."
She couldn't argue with that and that only made her feel worse. Havelock occupied a world filled with conspiracies and assassins. It was not a world she wanted anywhere near her unborn child.
"We'll relocate to the palace," Havelock continued. "Drumknott will have to be informed. So will your husband. But, apart from those two, no one else must know."
"Oh... Sam," Sybil sighed, "he will... well, he will, as Corporal Nobbs likes to say, go spare."
"Indeed." There was a certain amount of satisfaction in the way Havelock said it. He caught her look and added, "Commander Vimes can be a great motivator when he is angry. As I'm sure Archchancellor Ridcully will soon find out."
"Sybil?" the voice rang out just as Havelock had finished his sentence. It was as if by speaking his name they had summoned him. Sybil tensed. Usually, she was overjoyed to see Sam, but this was not the time. She was not ready to explain this awful mess to him.
She looked helplessly at Havelock, who met her gaze with a resigned sort of resolve before calling, "In here!"
Sam, bless him, burst into the room as if he had a warrant. His eyes immediately latched onto the person he thought was his wife. Sparing the Patrician slumped in a chair no more than a cursory glance, he rushed to her side. Her husband had never been a man prone to or even capable of public displays of affection, but since she had informed him of her pregnancy, his inhibitions had somewhat weakened and while Sybil was usually quite happy about this, now she was slightly disturbed by the sight of Sam putting a protective hand on her stomach.
Not as disturbed as Havelock, who bristled rather visibly and took a very decisive step back.
"Dear, what's the matter? Are you hurt? They said something about some magical accident out there. I swear if those wizards harmed you--"
"I am unharmed," Havelock interrupted him. "However," he paused and sought to catch Sybil's eye. She nodded unhappily, "I am not your wife--"
"What?" barked Sam.
"If you would let me finish," Havelock said coolly, fixing Sam with a stare so devoid of love, Sam actually backed away from it. "What I was going to say is that your beloved wife is currently over there." He gestured at Sybil, who forced a weak, slightly watery smile. "The magical incident that occurred seems to have, for lack of a better explanation, caused our minds to have left our own bodies and to seek, hopefully temporary, lodgings elsewhere. Namely, in each other's bodies."
"What?" Sam repeated, eyes narrowing as he looked back and forth between them.
"I am Havelock Vetinari." He gestured once more at Sybil. "The man sitting over there who looks like me is in fact your wife."
"It's true, Sam," Sybil said softly.
Sam stared at her, completely flabbergasted.
"No," he said.
"Yes," Havelock said flatly.
"No," Sam repeated with more force.
"Yes," Sybil said gently.
"Where's Ridcully?" Sam growled.
Havelock pointed. "He went that way."
Sam stormed off in the direction Havelock had indicated. Moments later, muffled shouting could be heard. Apparently, her husband was doing what he did best: making people upset. She could only hope it would help. Mustrum was generally not a man who could be motivated by threats or shouting.
Minutes later, Sam came stomping back into the room, his face granite.
"They say they're working on it. Don't know how long it'll take. Keep saying it's complicated, bloody bastards."
"Yes, we have heard a similar assessment," Havelock said. Sybil watched her bosom heave rather majestically as he took a deep breath. "I have to return to the palace. I have, as you know, a city to run. Lady Sybil will accompany me, of course. You, Commander--"
"What?" snapped Sam. "She's not going to the palace!"
"She is not herself at the moment, she is me. And I am the Patrician, I have to be visible." Havelock towered, not even specifically over Sam, but in general. Something about his poise made her body look like a statue cut from marble.
"You're Sybil," Sam countered, "you can't be in the Oblong Office playing Patrician, people will ask questions!"
"Certainly, but Lady Sybil is entitled to take part in council meetings - granted, she has been woefully absent from them for quite some time now." He shot her a look that due to her face looked a little more like a disappointed schoolteacher than his usual cutting disapproval. "But it isn't completely unbelievable that she would take more of an interest in the city now that she is actively increasing its population."
"The baby... Ye Gods..." Sam shook his head. "She's not supposed to strain herself!"
"I do most of my work sitting down, Commander. It will be fine."
Sybil sighed softly. "I don't think we have much of a choice, Sam. The city would plunge into chaos if Havelock vanished, and if we made the situation public, his enemies would surely try to seize the opportunity. It's best to play along and hope the wizards find a solution soon." She attempted to give him a hopeful smile and he grimaced.
"Don-- Don't make faces like that, it's unnatural, that is!"
"I must agree. No more smiling, please."
She looked at them, faintly hurt.
"It is getting late. Drumknott will be outside, waiting in the carriage." Havelock strode towards her and held out his hand. Sybil hesitated, then shot her husband another apologetic look. She took her own hand - it was pleasantly soft - and allowed Havelock to pull her to her- meaning his - feet. She had to lean heavily on the cane as they walked, Sam trailing awkwardly behind them like a particularly persistent storm cloud.
Outside the Unseen University, the night air was crisp. Sybil found herself shivering a little. Havelock was so thin, she felt every little breeze as if it was whistling through his ribs. They stopped in front of his rather pretentious all black coach.
"I want to have a word with my wife. In private," Sam said, tugging on her sleeve.
Havelock narrowed his eyes at him, giving him the kind of look Sybil only deployed when she suspected her husband of trying to hide grievous injuries sustained on duty.
"Very well, in the meantime I shall fill in Drumknott. Do not make me wait too long, however."
He opened the door to the carriage and they heard a confused Drumknott ask, "Your Grace? Can I help you?", before Havelock climbed inside and closed the door behind him.
Sam pulled her into the shadows of the alley leading to the Scholar's Entry, away from prying eyes - not that there seemed to be any. After the incident, the wizards had cancelled the event and sent everyone on their way. Now, only the Patrician's and Sybil's carriages were left.
"Sam, dear?" She reached out to touch his shoulder, but he flinched and she let her hand drop. "Are you all right?"
He grimaced again, his face the very picture of misery. "I'm supposed to ask you that."
"I'm fine, really. It's all very strange, but... I'm sure this will be fixed in no time and then we'll all laugh about it."
"Laugh about it? Sybil, godsdammit, how are you staying so damn calm?"
"Panicking isn't going to solve anything, dear. Do I feel like crying? Yes, of course I bloody do! But what would that accomplish? Nothing! And Havelock already told me not to show any emotions that might make him look weak! Besides, I may not have gone to the assassin's guild school, but damn near all the boys I grew up around did! I know how these games are played, Sam! I can handle it."
He gaped at her and she realized that he probably liked to forget how much she was part of the class of people he so cheerfully despised. How much their child would be, too.
"I don't want you to worry. I'll stay close to Havelock and make sure he doesn't do anything that could endanger our baby," she added gently. "We just have to wait this out. It'll be fine."
"The baby, Ye Gods, if I think about the baby in there with him, I'll go mad." He looked at her, held her eyes. "Sybil... how can you stand it?"
"I just try not to dwell." She wanted to reach out again, to touch his cheek, to kiss him, but she knew he wouldn't let her and she couldn't risk it anyway.
"I hate this! Bloody magic! There's nothing I can do about it! I can't protect you or our baby!" His hands were balled to fists at his side, tension rolling off his body in waves.
She grabbed him by the shoulders, this she told herself, was not an intimate gesture. Two men could do this and no one would bat an eye - well, except that they would because they'd be seeing the Patrician grab the Commander of the Watch, but still.
"Look at me, Sam," she said sternly. "This is not your fault. Trust me. It will be alright. I love you."
Sam gaped at her, brows furrowing. "You can't say that to me," he stammered, "not when you're him. I'll have nightmares about this!"
"Oh..." She tried to put on a brave face, but the rejection hurt something awful. "I'm sorry."
He grabbed her shoulders, and now they stood there, holding each other awkwardly, at arm's length. She registered the slight change in their height difference. Havelock was just a smidgen taller than her and that made her feel strangely unbalanced.
"No, I-I'm sorry. It's not about you! You know I-- well-- with you-- I-- I do--"
The poor dear was verbally flailing like a wounded goose. "I know," she said. "I know you do, Sam." She couldn't stop herself from rubbing her thumb along his shoulder a little.
He cleared his throat and pulled away.
"I had better go," she conceded. "You should go home as well, Sam, get some rest. Willikins is still waiting for me. You have to tell him, well, something, I suppose, though, for the life of me, I cannot imagine what."
He nodded. "I will. Butlers probably aren't supposed to ask too many questions anyway, right?"
"No." She smiled wanly, but he gave her that look again and so she stopped. Reluctantly, she watched him go.
The she turned and limped back to the carriage.
Inside, Drumknott and Havelock were sitting facing each other on opposite benches. Havelock had a few loose pages in his hands and was leafing through them. He barely raised his eyes when she entered. She sank down next to him with a sigh.
"Your... ah lordship?" Drumknott studied her.
"Hello, Rufus. How are you? And how is your mother?" She smiled and instantly found herself on the receiving end of a glare - from herself. "There is no one here but us, Havelock, I'm allowed to be--"
"No, you are not," he cut her off. "His name is Drumknott and your communication should be limited to his duties."
Drumknott gave her an apologetic smile. "While it is kind of you to ask, your grace, I agree with his lordship that under the circumstances we should be very careful," he whispered.
As usual, she was astonished by the young man's professionalism. "You're taking this remarkably well."
Drumknott shrugged. "This is Ankh-Morpork. One either learns to adapt to unexpected developments or one suffers the consequences."
"Well said," Havelock agreed, eyes on the paperwork again.
Oh, she was going to be stuck with these bloodless men for an indefinite amount of time! What had she done to deserve this?
"Drumknott," she said, mimicking Havelock's matter-of-fact tone, "her ladyship has an appointment with Mrs Content at nine a.m. sharp tomorrow morning. It is absolutely vital that she attend. Do you understand?"
"Ah..." He cast a helpless look toward his actual master.
To her surprise, Havelock nodded.
"Mrs Content... that would be the midwife in Kicklebury Street?" Drumkott asked and Sybil had to silently commend him. One could barely hear the terror in his voice. Meanwhile, Havelock was staring rather fixedly at the sheet of paper in his/her lap.
"Yes, very good! You have heard of her, then?" Sybil beamed until she was reminded by Drumknott's already pale face turning ghostly that she wasn't supposed to.
"I believe she helped bring me into this world," he mumbled as if having had to go through the indignity of being born was an embarrassment he'd much rather forget.
"Oh, well done, that woman!" Without thinking, she reached over and pinched Drumknott's cheek. The poor man's eyes nearly popped from his skull.
"Your lordship!" he gasped.
Havelock huffed a sigh that was far more exasperated than was polite. "Do we need to discuss this again?" he asked, arching a very judgemental eyebrow.
"Oh, don't you two treat me like I'm some silly old goose! It would do all of you well to remember that the only reason you're even here is because some poor woman braved hours of grueling labor, just to push you out into this world!"
"Yes, thank you." Havelock folded up his reports and stared at her in silent condemnation.
Sybil sat back. Havelock, she remembered, had not known his mother because she had died when he was very young. Perhaps even in childbirth? She wasn't sure. The notion, however, was enough to make her insides clench.
She was about to say something when there was a shout.
"Stop the carriage!"
The hoof beats slowed as their driver heeded the call. The door was ripped open before the carriage had fully come to a stop and there was her Sam, red-faced and panting. He really should smoke less.
Havelock heaved another sigh. "Vimes, what seems to be--"
"I'm coming with you!" Sam blurted, as he climbed inside and plopped himself down next to Drumknott. He looked her in the eye. "I know you said to go home, but home is not the house, not when it's empty. I talked to Willikins and he'll make sure everything's looked after, the dragons too. Anyway, home's not a place, not to me. It's Sybil. It's wherever we're together, so."
Here he was, then, her husband who couldn't stammer through the three simple words, but managed, somehow, to say something so endlessly more meaningful while gasping for breath. Sybil's heart was about to burst with love. She sniffed and wiped at the sudden moisture on her cheek. "Oh, Sam..."
Everyone was staring at her with varying degrees of horror.
"Oh, come off it," she snapped. "That was deeply touching!"
"You might as well get it out of your system before we reach the palace," Havelock said. "Though I am not sure how we will justify your presence, Commander."
"Doesn't make less sense for me to be there over night than Sybil. Might even look less suspicious that way. Don't want people to get ideas about my wife sleeping at the palace with you, do you?" Sam grumbled.
"Very well, I suppose we have our work cut out for us," Havelock said archly.
And what else, she wondered, was there to say to that?