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If Samuel Vimes could wish for one thing, it would be for Vetinari to never drag him on a diplomatic mission ever again. There always were all these stupid rules about who to talk to, who to dance with, when to speak first, when to be spoken to, when to drink, what to drink, how to dress, and so on and so forth. But probably the stupidest thing that Vimes had ever had to endure had been the parade just now: Four hours of Klatchian troops trotting past, waving some flag or another and expecting a good old cheer from their superiors, who had the power to simply ship them off to a foreign country to die in battle, if the fancy struck them. The stupidity of it all had driven Sam Vimes of Cockbill Street to sheer insanity. But Commander Samuel Vimes, Duke of Ankh, had endured and had dutifully saluted the brave troops of their (reluctant) ally.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if they, as spectators, would have had a comfortable chair, a nice coffee and a cigarette at their disposal – but no! They’d had to stand for four hours in the sweltering sun, no drinks, no shade, and certainly no smoking.
On the first chance he had gotten, while Vetinari had still been caught up in small talk, Vimes had slunk off to their suite to have a cigar. It had irritated him at first that the Klatchians had given Vetinari and him a joined suite, but it did have two separate bedrooms, and they only spent time there when sleeping anyway, since every other minute of the day seemed to be planned out with meals and meetings, and fucking parades. And the common room had a nice little balcony – perfect for having a quiet smoke by himself and to cool off after standing in the bleeding sun for four damned hours. Vimes made himself comfortable in one of the deckchairs and enjoyed every single puff of his cigar.
When he had finished, he went back inside – but stopped dead in his tracks when he realised that Vetinari had returned. The patrician was sitting in one of the low, cushiony armchairs which were scattered all over their suite. One leg he had outstretched – his bad one. His eyes were closed and his brow furrowed while he was kneading his thigh, struggling, it seemed, to get proper pressure into it.
Damn. Vimes had been so caught up in being sweaty, miserable, and furious during the parade that he hadn’t thought for one moment about Vetinari’s game leg and what standing in one spot for four hours would have done to him. Poor bastard.
Surely, he wanted to be left alone right now... But before Vimes could decide on whether to sneak back out onto the balcony or into his bedroom, the door fell shut behind him with a thud.
Vetinari’s eyes fley open. When he realised that he wasn’t alone, he immediately pulled himself into an upright position and moved his outstretched leg in. Even though his face returned to its usual calm and inscrutable state of being, it was obvious that he hadn’t expected Vimes.
‘You alright, sir?’
‘Of course.’
‘Hmhm... So you don’t need help with that?’
Vimes nodded towards the leg. He knew plenty of officers with old wounds that acted up sometimes – he had his own scars that smarted when the weather changed. They all agreed that getting relief from that was more precious than gold.
‘I am fine, commander, thank you.’
His voice had an edge to it that betrayed his calm demeanour.
‘If you say so, sir.’
Vetinari pursed his lips defiantly. ‘Anyway, it is none of your concern.’
‘Well, then you should have gone in there.’ Vimes pointed at the door that led to Vetinari’s bedroom. ‘Now you sorta made it my problem.’
‘There is no problem, Vimes!’ Vetinari took a moment to collect himself and continued more calmly. ‘But even if there was one, making it yours would not have been my intention.’
‘Yeah, I bet.’ Sam wondered when he had ever seen Vetinari lose his temper even slightly. Never, probably? And then he realised that he sat in the armchair that was closest to the entrance… ‘You meant to reach your bedroom, sir, didn’t you? You just didn’t make it.’
Only the tension in Vetinari’s jaw betrayed that he felt caught, perhaps even embarrassed. So far, Vimes had never seen his leg actually hurting him. But now that he had… He acted before he had properly thought it through: He walked over to Vetinari and, after only a moment of hesitation, dropped down on his knees.
‘Vimes…’ If it was supposed to be a protest, the tremor in Vetinari’s voice, though slight, didn’t make it feel that way.
Very carefully, Vimes rested his hands on the thigh that Vetinari had been shot in all those years ago. Gods, he remembered the blood and the fear and… No. Not now. Gently, he pressed his thumbs through the thin fabric into the muscle, about where he had seen Vetinari do it. They were both wearing Klatchian garb, light and flowy – and thank the gods for that. In his armour, Sam would have collapsed after about ten seconds in the desert sun. As it were, he could feel the tension in Vetinari’s thigh clearly trough the thin cotton.
‘Here?’
There was a moment of silence during which Vimes did not dare to look up. It could well be that he had overstepped too far this time. But then…
‘A little higher.’
There was an uncertainty in Vetinari’s voice that made Sam’s heart ache a little. He inched his thumbs further up the thigh.
‘There.’
Vimes stopped on command and pressed his thumbs into the muscle. Gods, Vetinari was lean; there was barely any fat to go through.
‘You need to eat more,’ he said, more to himself than anything, and earned a quiet chuckle.
‘Would you take command of the palace kitchens, Vimes?’
Sam looked up. ‘Do you need me to?’
For a long moment they looked at each other, Vetinari’s eyes oddly unguarded. But then he flinched and furrowed his brow in discomfort. Vimes immediately released the pressure from his thigh.
‘Sorry.’
‘No, do go on. It’s the kind of pain that will make me feel better in the morning.’
‘Really?’
‘I’ll be stiff otherwise.’
So Sam pressed his thumbs back into his thigh. After some more massaging, Vetinari shifted a little in his seat and stretched the leg out long again, giving Vimes better access.
‘Mind the actual scar’, he said quietly.
With careful fingers, Vimes could feel through the fabric where the skin was thick and unyielding, so he made sure to go around it as he moved his thumbs up a little.
‘That alright?’
‘Yes.’
Sam felt Vetinari relax underneath his touch. He worked in silence for a while, concentrating on the task at hand.
‘You could have asked for a chair during the parade.’
‘And disrespect the Klatchian troops, Vimes? Upending a delicate political balance? I think not.’ Vetinari paused, then he licked his lower lip, hesitated, and finally asked: ‘Can you put more pressure into it?’
Sam shuffled on his knees to get a better angle. ‘Like that?’
There was a gasp, then a satisfied hum. ‘Hmhm.’
It didn’t surprise Vimes that Vetinari had been frustrated when he had tried to get relief from his pain on his own. This kind of pressure had to be hard to facilitate yourself.
‘Does it hurt often?’ he asked. ‘Do you just hide it all the time?’
‘I can manage.’
‘I know that. It’s not what I asked.’
Vetinari sighed. ‘It hurts sometimes, like these things tend to do. I cannot always avoid events that trigger it, like today. Would you like me to publicly suffer over it?’
‘No. But you could ask for help when you need it.’
There was a pause.
‘Even if I had considered asking… Well, it cannot surprise you that I would have assumed you to be uncomfortable if I had asked for this.’
‘I… Huh.’ Vimes stopped what he was doing for a moment, only now properly realising that he was crouched at Vetinari’s feet, massaging him rather far up his leg… Somehow, nothing about this felt wrong, though. ‘Yeah, I reckon I should have been.’ He resumed the work. ‘I’m not.’
‘Interesting.’
They were both avoiding any mention of the word dog so desperately that it hung in the air anyway.
‘I think that’s enough, Vimes.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Quite.’ Vetinari’s gaze flickered over to his bedroom door. ‘Though there is a small jar on my bedside table. Would you get it for me?’
‘Sure. Honestly, you probably shouldn’t get up for the rest of the day.’
Vetinari gave him a mirthless smile. ‘Our hosts will be very displeased if I miss the soirée. The jar, please, Vimes.’
The jar, it turned out, contained a salve. When Sam returned with it, he didn’t pass it to Vetinari. Instead he got back down on his knees.
‘Vimes…’
‘Do you want to do it yourself or do you think you need to do it yourself?’
Vetinari ground his jaw, then nodded and leaned back in his chair, allowing Sam to roll his trouser leg up. The skin of his thigh was smooth and lily white, except for where the bullet had entered. A thick red scar sat there right in the middle of the muscle. Sam swallowed. He had never before seen the lasting damage that the gonne had done.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.
‘It wasn’t your fault.’
‘Yeah, but…’
‘Vimes,’ Vetinari interrupted, making Sam look up at him. ‘It wasn’t your fault. And if you are doing this as some kind of penance…’
‘I’m not!’ Sam blurted out, but Vetinari’s raised eyebrow told him he had protested a little too fervently there, making him feel caught. ‘And if I did, what would it matter?’ he mumbled awkwardly. ‘Why shouldn’t I help you if I can?’
To his surprise, Vetinari didn’t press the matter further.
‘Quite right. Please forget I said anything.’
Keeping his head down, Sam spread some salve from the jar in his hands to warm it up before he gently pressed them on Vetinari’s thigh and rubbed the tincture into his skin. The patrician breathed out softly at the contact and it made Vimes smile. Gently, he continued to massage the muscle, feeling Vetinari relax.
And then a knock on the door, made them both jump. Vimes rushed to his feet while Vetinari sat up and rolled his trouser leg down.
‘Come in,’ he commanded cooly, as if the knocker hadn’t disturbed anything.
A servant stuck his head in. ‘The prince invites you for refreshments in the Blue Salon.’
Vetinari nodded graciously. ‘Thank you. We shall be there shortly.’
As soon as the servant had vanished, Sam growled. ‘Can’t we get a bloody minute to breathe?’
‘Diplomatic relations are hard work, Sir Samuel.’ Vetinari heaved himself out of his chair, so he came to stand right next to Vimes. ‘Know that you have made it a little bit easier,’ he added quietly, before taking up his cane and limping towards the door.
As soon as he had crossed the threshold he straightened up and you wouldn’t have known that anything had ever been amiss.