It takes a lot to surprise Havelock Vetinari. Ankh-Morpork tends to be a place where anything can happen. Still, infant pony princesses appearing in his throne room might be just unusual enough to do the trick.
Havelock Vetinari- master chessmaster, patrician and lord of Ankh-Morpork, (former) assassin and possibly the most dangerous man on the disc.
He's been a lot of things in his life, and as he juggles the political coalitions, unstable individuals, race relations, and magical mishaps of the city, he's never really missed the social life he discarded for this job.
The arrival of a small, white filly in his throne room will give him a chance to try adding "father" to his list of titles.
Inspired heavily by Tatsurou's My Little PWNY stories, and by the shameful lack of Discworld crossovers on this site.
First story- updates will be slow, and commentary is greatly appreciated. I may solicit direction for how the story should go down the line, if I get that far. Will try to update one a week.Will try to update regularly. On hiatus until further notice. Many apologies.
“Have you ever thought about where the word politician comes from?” –Havelock Vetinari
In some worlds, it was, perhaps, a dark and stormy night. Indeed, on the disc, it usually would be; the gods prefer the proper ambiance for their games, and the introduction of a major new piece is the type of dramatic moment the disc itself would find appropriate to whip up a storm.
However, the gods absolutely hate the introduction of a new player[1] and the turtle doesn’t pay much attention to the other worlds it so causally passes by[2], so there was no thunderstorm, no dramatic crack of lightning at just the right moment, and certainly no punctuation of an ill-timed wish by thunder.
There was just the swish of a ragged broom upon the cobblestones, and a soft pop as the fate of two worlds was altered…
Lord Havelock Vetinari, Patrician of Ankh-Morpork paused for a moment as he idly marked off the third diplomatic correspondence of the evening. After the arrival of the steam train to Ankh-Morpork, he’d been able to visit his fellow rulers in foreign nations much more easily, but by and large he needed to stay here and keep juggling all of the hundred and one different ways the city might fall apart.
Vetinari was not a cruel man, nor a base one. He knew that forces which could destabilize his city were common- indeed, the last few times the city was stable was because it was busy being hammered by an outside force.[3] The best thing to do was to take all the intrigues, plots, and problems and play them against each other. As long as no one power gained a decisive advantage, the city would keep running.
As he turned back to sign his latest correspondence, he heard hurried footsteps approach his office. Looking up, he bemusedly raised an eyebrow at the disheveled figure walking into the room[4]. The man, his blond hair askew, quickly pulled himself to order; if it hadn’t been Vetinari watching, he wouldn’t have even noticed the lapse.
“Yes, Drumknott?” said Vetinari, frowning. Drumknott never ran in the office.
“My lord, there’s been a… disturbance, with the throne.” Drumknott said. “We do not know whether it was an attempt to steal it or not, but in any case-“
“Hold on. Which throne?” Vetinari’s brow furrowed for a brief moment. “I know the Klatchian throne has been changing hands occasionally ever since-“ He looked up startled as Drumknott shook his head.
“Not a throne as in a seat of power, my lord,” he said. “The physical throne, here in the palace.”
Vetinari leaned back in his chair. “Someone tried to steal it? They’re welcome to it, if it doesn’t fall apart on them when they take it.[5]”
“Well, my lord, as I said, we’re not certain if they were trying to steal it, but it has been… replaced.” Drumkott said nervously.
“Replaced? Replaced with what?”
Vetinari blinked several times. At the top of the dais which had once held the throne, the gilded chair he had looked upon many times was absent.
In its place was a caricature of what a child thought a throne should be- a large, red-velvet backed chair of gold, upon a single layer of gold-washed marble. The imposing thing was sitting exactly where the old throne would be, and more disconcertingly, its base appeared to have melded onto the plinth at the top of the stairs. A small white cushion sat on the chair.
Vetinari turned to Drumknott. “When did this happen?”
“The guards outside say they heard a bang, then a howl of wind, my lord. That was not a third of an hour ago. They looked in, saw the change, and then sent a message through the clerks. I came to see it first, then came to tell you.”
Vetinari nodded. Looking closely at the new throne, he noticed a distinct sun motif covering the back and top. He frowned. “Drumknott, do you know of any heraldry which matches that symbol?”
“No my lord.”
“Hmm. I would be disappointed with you, Drumknott, but neither do I…” Vetinari’s voice trailed off as he noticed a tiny bit of movement from the top of the plinth. Looking more closely, he noticed the cushion shift slightly. “Has anyone approached the throne?”
“No, my lord.”
“And have any pets come in through the doors? Cats, perhaps?”
“No, my lord. The guards have kept…”
“I see.” Vetinari moved to the base of the plinth and stepped up the stairs. “In that case, we should probably get a wizard to handle that creature.”
“What creature?” said Drumknott, moving up to join his master. Then he saw the rise and fall of the little animal perched upon the throne. “Oh…”
“Yes, it must have come through with the new throne.” Vetinari stopped in front of the chair. “I can’t see what it…”
As soon as he spoke, the little creature stirred, then looked up, blinking owlishly at the somber clad Patrician. A golden crown sat, askew and far too large upon its head, and a pair of pink eyes blinked below a brilliant pink mane. Four little hooves spread out under the creature, and the horn atop its head moved as it fluttered its wings.
Vetinari blinked. For the second time today, he was actually surprised.
The little creature blinked up at him again. “Hello!” she chirped in a high pitched voice.
Vetinari was surprised again. He composed himself instantaneously. “Hello,” he cautiously responded. He realized that this could be the solution to his confusion. “Do you know whose throne this is?” he asked.
The little creature giggled. “It’s mine!”
Surprise struck for the third time in a single day, a record which hadn’t been broken in twenty-eight years. “Oh dear.”
Drumknott composed himself again. “Should I prepare one of the diplomatic chambers, my lord?”
Vetinari found himself unable to take his eyes off the little… Four limbs. Hooves, with odd coloration. Snout, not muzzle. Tail long and wavy. A little pony, perhaps. He absently replied. “Yes, but summon one of the wizards anyway. We will need their help. I think.”
Rincewind rather enjoyed times like this. They convinced him that he wasn't mad because, if he was mad, that left no word at all to describe some of the people he met.- Sourcery
There was a long agreement of non-interference between the Unseen University, home of the wizards of the disc, and the city of Ankh-Morpork. Unlike magic on many worlds, Discworld magic is comparable, in many ways, to nuclear power- all well and good if used correctly, devastating if used incorrectly, and possessing numerous side effects if used at all.
Therefore, the city and the university had a taciturn agreement- the city agreed to never ask the wizards’ help with anything, and the wizards agreed to stay in their university for the most part and leave the rest of the world alone.
Lord Vetinari, however, was not the kind of person you could ever expect to obey any rules, especially those never written down, if he thought it would be necessary to keep his city running smoothly.
Which is why Senior Wrangler Horace was making his way up to the palace on a bleary spring morning[1], half dozing in his carriage chair.
A sudden bump caused him to jolt upright, and he glared across at the corpulent figure sitting on the other side of the carriage. “Mustrum,” he said tiredly. “Could you not have told lord Vetinari that we could come a little later in the morning? You might be used to waking up at these horrible hours, but I’m not.”
Mustrum Ridcully, Arch-Chancellor of Unseen University, looked across at his fellow professor. “Listen, Horace. Lord Vetinari has several times upheld matters so that we can maintain the quality of life we require as wizards.” He growled. “And he’s certain we have a magical accident sitting smack-dab in the middle of the palace. Considering the last few times something like this[2] happened, it makes sense he’d call in the experts.” He puffed up proudly.
“Really?” The Senior Wrangler muttered. “Then why isn’t Stibbons here? He’d probably get what was going on the best.”
Mustrum scowled, glaring at his companion. “Ponder doesn’t know everything, Horace. Point of fact, I’ve actually started to understand what he’s doing. After the match, you know we decided the poor chap was handling too much.[3]”
“But-“
“In addition,” Mustrum caught him off. “The magical accident in question is apparently equine[4] in nature. That’s right up your alley, correct?”
“No, I’m not a-“
“Splendid.” Mustrum said, while giving the Wrangler the Arch-Chancellor’s no. 15 glare.[5]
Fifteen mostly silent minutes later, the two wizards arrived at the steps of the palace, and five minutes later, were ushered into the throne room. This in and of itself was unusual, but only slightly so. When Lord Vetinari summoned someone, they usually were escorted in to see the patrician promptly in his office- he only made those that came to him wait.
As the wizards came into the throne room, however, each gripped their staffs a little tighter than they normally would have. The room reeked of strong magic, and they could sense the waves of not-quite-rightness oozing off the throne sitting at the back of the room. At the foot of the dais, the Wizards were shocked to see Vetianri staring at a small, white creature, which lifted and turned its head upon their approach.
“Hi!” The little creature chirped.
Mustrum stopped suddenly. Three different parts of his brain were in utter conflict at the sight of the little creature, which was now gleefully waving to him from her (and how did he know it was a female?) perch atop Vetinari’s desk.
First was his wizards’ senses, which frankly screamed at him that there was far too much power radiating off the little being sitting in front of him. Very carefully, he turned to look at the Senior Wrangler, and mouthed a single word.
“Sourcerer?”
The Senior Wrangler, who had been present at the dread ascendency of Coin, the last Sourcerer, frowned, tensed, and then shook his head. Although the feeling of the magnitude of magic radiating off the little creature was reminiscent of that of Coin’s, it was not nearly as great. What was more, there wasn’t any of the phenomena which should have accompanied the arrival of a new sourcerer[6]. He couldn’t even touch the magic the little creature was wielding; that alone proved she was no “source” of magic.
That explanation, however, would come later. Mustrum turned back to the little creature, facing the second impulse running through him. Now that he’d confirmed he wasn’t facing a reality-bending mage, he was already fitting the little creature up for a trophy wall. Mustrum was an avid hunter, but he’d never gone after something like this before.
Fortunately for both Mustrum (who really had no idea what he’d be getting into trying to hunt this little creature) and for the creature in question (who might have been injured hoofing the arch-chancellor’s butt back to him), there was a third impulse running through him that swiftly overran the second. At his core, Mustrum was a gruff old man. And gruff old men have a hard time being impolite to gracious little girls.
The creature in front of him hit all three of those criteria.
So Mustrum swept his hat from his head, and said graciously “And hello to you, princess.”
While he’d meant it as an honorific, the little creature immediately grew solemn, stood up on four little hooves, and did a rough imitation of a curtsey, wings spread. “Thank yew.”
Vetinarti raised an eyebrow, and said acerbically “and how did you know she was a princess, Arch-Chancellor?”
Mustrum blinked as he set his hat back on his head. “I didn’t know, Havelock[7]. Just seemed appropriate,” he huffed.
“Well your instincts were correct, this once at any rate.” Vetinari leaned back and steepled his fingers. “Now, introductions are in order. Gentlemen, this little filly is Princess Celestia of Equestria.” He raised one finger to stall the question which rose from the Wizards’ lips. “And no, I’m not certain where Equestria is, or how she got here. I am however, able to read some of these.”
He motioned to several documents spread across the desk. “These were retrieved from under the cushion which currently occupies the space of the throne. Although I do not read the language, what little this filly” he motioned to Celestia, who was staring at the Senior Wrangler, “could tell us about them was that they were “boring documents for Equestria.” He sighed and sat back. “She, and her throne, appeared about two hours ago, and I have little idea on how to deal with her. It would be best if she was sent back where she belongs.”
Mustrum looked at the throne, then looked at the Senior Wrangler- who had just scooped Celestia up and was examining her up close. “Good gods man, what are you doing?” Mustrum hissed.
Horance was muttering as he examined the little filly. “She’s like a dragon. Not a swamp dragon- a real one.” He looked up at the raised eyebrow on Vetinari’s face and the furrowed, red face of his arch-chancellor. “I mean- sorry, my lord. It’s just that her wings are too small to support her given her weight- oof!”
Clelestia looked up from where she’d buried her hoof in the Wrangler’s stomach. “Yew don’t talk about a lady’s weight like that!” she said disapprovingly.
Vetinari’s stoic expression twitched slightly. To those that didn’t know him, they’d say he was stifling a smile. Those that did know him knew Vetinari never smiled. Those that actually knew him knew that he was not stifling a smile, but outright laughter.
“Not what I meant, princess. It’s just, your wings are too small for you to fly, and I was thinking maybe you flew with magic,” he explained. “That seems to be the case, anyway.”
“Alright, so she’s like a dragon,” Mustrum said. “That explains the magic, anyway.” He turned to Vetinari. “Havelock, this… filly is radiating magic to the extent that we thought… she… might be a sourcerer. However, she hasn’t enough power to warp reality, so we should be- oof!”
Celestia‘s horn glowed with a soft golden light as she yanked the Arch-Chancellor’s hat down over his eyes. “Not nice to talk about me. I’m right here!” she yelled.
Lord Vetinari stood and gently took the little filly from the Senior Wrangler’s hands. “Child, cease. He was merely looking out for the state of the world; I remember the last sourcerer. He was… not pleasant, for all that he was little older than you.”
Celestia flattened her ears back and mumbled “Sorry…”
Vetinari looked up. “So she is magical, intelligent, and neither of you have seen anything like her before?” Both wizards nodded. “Very well. Would either of you like some breakfast before you go? I recently hired a new cook, and she’s dismayed at how little we consume at the palace.[8] Maybe you could go and give her a challenge?”
Within seconds both wizards had vanished towards the palace kitchens. Vetinari looked down at the tiny pony now curled up upon his lap. “Drumknott?” he murmured. “Do you know anything about childcare?”
Drumknott stopped, then looked back at Vetinari. “Nothing my lord. It is not something which arises in my duties.” He stared at his lord for a moment, then ventured a question. “My lord, are you considering… keeping the filly?” He swallowed. “I apologize for my forwardness, but…”
“You wonder why?” Vetinari looked at Drumknott. “He turned and glanced over the documents on the desk. “According to these documents, and the manners of… Miss Celestia, she is obviously being groomed to be next in line for the throne of her kingdom.” He steeped his fingers. “However, judging that she was quite surprised to be here- and that her throne was brought here with her- indicates an accident or a twist of fate.”
He leaned back, allowing Celestia to settle onto his stomach. “She is magically powerful, which discounts squirrelling her away somewhere out-of-the way. She’ll draw attention and trouble easily. If she really is a noble, other nobles and royalty will seek to use her to their advantage.” He frowned. “That prevents leaving her with any of the common men, and makes the main of the nobility untrustworthy. Her education, care, and lessons might be needed immediately upon her return, and I would rather win another ally for Ankh-Morpork than a nation left adrift without a capable ruler. In short she must be cared for, protected, and educated without being trained in bigotry or preferences I don’t care for.” He looked up at Drumknott. “That means I must raise her, or oversee her being raised, until the time comes for her to go back to her people- and if she never does, someone like her must have a proper understanding of how the world really works.”
Drumknott’s brow furrowed. “Sir, you mentioned “most” families of the nobility are untrustworthy. Why not leave them with one of the ones you think are?” Vetinari gave something, which on other men, might be considered a smile. “Because although I trust them as much as I’d trust any being in this city, they would not educate her correctly. More’s the pity, as they’ve proven to be capable parents.” He looked at Drumknott’s widening eyes. “Speaking of which, could you send a summons to the family in question? It’s been too long since I called Sir Vimes in here, and for once, I require his advice.”
Fabricati diem, Pvnc.-Motto of the City Watch, whittled down to its basic form.
Sir Samuel Vimes, Duke of Ankh-Morpork, Commander of the City Watch, and Blackboard Monitor[1] stared at the messenger on his doorstep.
“I thought you never left Vetinari’s side,” he murmured. Louder, he said “Drumknott. What the hell are you doing on my doorstep? Couldn’t Vetinari send one of his goons around?”
Drumknott peered over the top of his glasses and replied “Your grace, this is not a normal summons. As a matter of fact it is most irregular, and may require some brief explanation; and Lord Vetinari thought it best to not spread word of the… development before the normal circulation of rumor, half-truths, and lies spread the word.”
Vimes glared at Drumknott. “I’m not covering up a murder, no matter how important the bugger was, and you can-“
“Murder?” Drumknott looked surprised. “It hasn’t been murder- or assassination, for that matter.[2] It’s not even watch business.”
Vimes scratched his head. “If it isn’t watch business,” he ventured, “why are you here?”
Drumknott hesitated, then pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “May I come in, Mr. Vimes? I haven’t come just for you. I’m going to need Lady Sybil, as well.”
“And why do you need my wife?” Vimes growled.
“Two reasons. First, we require someone who is versed in the care of highly magical creatures. Second, we require someone who is well versed in the care of children.”
Vimes blinked. “What?”
“Lift your wings and try again.”
“Yes, Lady Vimes.”
“Call me Mrs. Vimes, or Miss Sybil, dear. And flap!”
Vimes watched as his wife doted on the little white pony standing in the corner of the throne room. He looked, eyes wide, at Vetinari, who was watching the interaction of the two from behind his desk. He cleared his throat. “The only reason I even went along with this little trip was because I assumed you’d gone mad. A talking, magical pony?” He shook his head. “Sounds like something out of one of those silly kids’ books- one of the bad ones.”
Vetinari raised an eyebrow. “And you are proven wrong, I take it?”
“No, you’re still mad, sir,” Vimes said, making the last word sound like a curse. “Just a different kind of mad. You’re no father, that’s for certain, and if you think you are-“
“I think I have no choice, Vimes.” Vetinari looked flabbergasted. Vetinari always had a choice. “The only options are keep her myself, send her somewhere with someone I cannot trust to raise her correctly and well, or remove her from the world.” He looked up at Vimes. “I refuse to murder a little girl, no matter how oddly shaped, for no reason. And I refuse to have her suffer at the hands of the nobility or be the easy pickings for some magic eating monster or malicious wizard.” He glared at Vimes. “If I considered any other choice reasonable, I would attempt them first.”
Vimes opened his mouth to speak, then froze. Vimes was, by his nature, a suspicious bastard™, and therefore always though the worst of anyone. However, he’d never really seen Vetinari seriously wrong, and more importantly, he’d never seen Vetinari explain anything like this.
He looked more closely at the dour figure in front of him. While the average being of Ankh-Morpork would only have seen Vetinari[3], Vimes had, more than once, gotten a brief glance past that. While, for the most part, Vetinari did a very good impression of a true onion[4], he did have some nuances which prevented Vimes from arresting him.
However, for the first time, Vimes saw something he’d never seen before in Vetinari. He blinked just a hair faster than normal, his breathing was actually visible (if only slightly) and his steepled fingers were slowly moving back and forth.
Vimes leaned in and said softly “You’re nervous, aren’t you.”
Vetinari paused, then looked sharply at Vimes.
Vimes leaned back, and said quietly “You called me here for advice. I thought it might be for guard duty, or to expand the watch, but that’s not it is it.” He glanced at Vetinari. The only change in the patrician’s visage was a slight tightening of the lips.
Vimes sighed. “You have no idea how to be a father, do you?”
Vetinari gazed up at Vimes. He paused, and then, almost inaudibly, murmured “Yes.”
“Good.” Vetinari seemed startled by the word. Vimes continued “You need to hold onto that feeling. Men like you an’ me?” He shrugged. “We’re not fathers. Not naturally.”
Vetinari looked at Vimes, then slowly said, “I wouldn’t expect you to put yourself alongside me, Commander.” He sounded like he was telling Vimes not to toe the line, but he was still curious.
Vimes looked down, then silently rolled up this sleeve. Below his wrist lay a strange, looping mark, a sign which could terrorize dwarves with just a look. “Since I got this,” he said softly “I’ve been able to hear things I shouldn’t.” He glanced up at Vetinari, who looked on unsurprised. “But I know why I survived it, and others didn’t. Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?”
Vetinari raised an eyebrow. “You’ve always said you watch yourself.”
“Yeah, and I do. But Carrot, he thinks that everyone should watch themselves, and have someone to look after them, too.” He looked up to the ceiling. “I heard you had me and the watch reinforced so that we could watch the city- and you made me commander so that I could watch those that watch the city.” He looked back down at Vetinari. “Myself and yourself included.”
He turned and looked at the little pony, now flapping her wings and hovering a few feet above the floor as his wife watched. “Keep watching yourself. You can’t afford to be Vetinari the Patrician around this girl, just like I can’t be Commander Vimes around Sam.” You want to be a good father? Try to make her better than you. Not stronger, not smarter- make her a better person than we are.”
Vetinari looked past Vimes at Celestia, and slowly nodded his head.
And then Vimes turned back and said lightly “And you’ll probably want to hire a nanny or… whassit’s name, a governess for her. She’ll need a female touch, which I know gods’ all about.”
“A governess? I think I know someone who might fit the bill for someone as… unusual as Celestia.”
Both Vimes and Vetinari blinked and turned to face Sybil. She, using one of the many abilities of a veteran mother[5], had come up behind the two of them, cradling a dozing Celestia in her arms. “She’s the Duchess of Sto-Helit, but since Queen Keli took over she’s been doing wonderful things as a teacher.”
“I’ve heard of her,” Vetinari said. “But she hasn’t been in Ankh-Morpork for years. I don’t know where she went, and I’m going to need help sooner rather than later.” He smiled slightly at Sybil. “So unless you know how to contact her…”
“Well of course I do. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t know what she was up to.” Sybil reached into her bag and removed a thin back book, rifling through it. “Truth be told, she went on a vacation with her former fiancé. She married up, you know. Married a god!”
Vimes paused, and even Vetinari looked shocked for a second. “Did I hear that right?” Vetinari murmured.
“Yes, no one talks about it. The only reason I managed to get the gossip before people ignored her is because I wrote down his contact info.” She smiled as she looked at her book. “Here we are. Lobstang Ludd, member and god of the history monks.” She frowned. “No contact info, though…”
“History monks?” Vimes said. He walked towards the windows, which gave a good view of the street. His gaze fell upon an old man, carefully sweeping up a pile of dust. “I know how to talk to them.”
“Rule 1: Do not act incautiously when confronting little bald wrinkly smiling men!” –Lu-Tze
Vetinari watched his guards through the window.
“Drumknott?” he spoke softly.
“I apologize for acting with undue haste, my lord.”
“That was most unlike you, Drumknott.”
Vimes watched from next to Vetinari. “Where did you find these buggers? The fool’s guild?” he snorted, then added “Even Inspector Pessimal could take half of them!”[1]
Vetinari sighed and looked at Vimes. “Commander, we have spoken of this before. The majority of the city guilds will not allow your watch to act as the palace guard. They think it would make it too easy for you to seize power.”
Vimes snorted. “I’ve seen what you go through. If someone tried to give me the job I’d…” He winced as a dull crack found its way through the shut windows, despite several inches of glass. A groan, likewise muffled, echoed in from outside.
“Drumknott, we were planning on asking Mr. Tze to come and speak with us. It would have been fine to have gone yourself to ask for his help.” Vetinari looked through the window. “Telling the palace guard to “Fetch him,” was undoubtedly the quickest way to get his attention, but is unlikely to endear him to our needs.”
Drumknott stared out the window. “He’s just one old man. How is he- they’re in armor!” he muttered as he watched.
“Lu-Tze is possibly the oldest living member of the time monks.” Vetinari said. “He is old enough to understand how the world works, smart enough to know how to change it, and wise enough to leave it well enough alone. He is also a master of Deja-Fu[2], possibly the only human practitioner[3] in existence. I doubt any of the current guards, or watchmen, could stop him.”
“I bet Detritus could take him.” Vimes said. A muffled thud sounded through the window, and Vimes popped the latch and looked down the wall. “Pothead! What’re you laying around for! Call your mates off right now!”
The unfortunate guard, lying in a heap at the bottom of the wall, glanced up to see a scruffy looking man glaring down at him. He woozily replied “And who’d you be? Bloody Sam Vimes?”
Vetinari leaned out the window, eyebrow cocked. The sergeant, already frazzled, nearly toppled over backwards. “While I am pleased to see that my guards still have acute observational skills, please acknowledge his grace’s command.” He looked down at the scattered soldiers, and the old man who had thrashed all of them with nothing but a broom. “Mr. Lu-Tze, I presume?”
The old man looked like a stereotypical time monk (to those who knew what time monks were.) His orange robe was old enough to be white if you squinted wrong, he was short, and had no hair whatsoever. His broad grin widened as he looked up at Vimes.
“Hello, Mister Vimes! How’re you doing?” he yelled at the window.
“Doing fine, you bastard.” Vimes responded. “We need to talk to you. Could you…”
Lu-Tze shook his head. “I make a point of not acknowledging people who try to have me arrested. It’s a violation of rule one, after all, and I don’t like it when people ignore rule one.”
Vimes massaged his head, and was about to speak up when a distinct clopping sound came from the next window over. He leaned out the window to see Sybil trying to hold one hand over Celestia’s eyes, while the little pony giggled and clopped her front hooves, looking over the unconscious, concussed, and staggering palace guardsmen. Lu-Tze looked up, and his eyes went wide with shock.
“What- who are you, little one?” he spoke.
Vimes shook his head. “You might not like Lord Vetinari, but would you come inside to take a look over her?” he said, motioning to Celestia. “She showed up in the throne room, and I’m guessing she’s the reason you’re here.”
“So.” Lu-Tze looked up over his cup of tea. “You’re the one who has all of the monks in a tizzy, hmm?”
Celestia looked back at him, blinked twice, and sneezed.
Vetinari raised an eyebrow. “The Time Monks? Why would they have anything to say about her?”
Lu-Tze looked at Vetinari, frowning. “I don’t care about you, Havelock. I know your fate- or did, anyway.” He looked back at Celestia. “The monks I mentioned knew all the players, everything that can happen on Discworld. But now, things are changing; for no reason at all, as far as they can tell.” He snorted. “Only one reason I can see- she’s not from the Disc. Never born on the turtle. We can’t see what she does; only the echoes.”
Vimes frowned. “I thought you couldn’t see everything- you didn’t know exactly what I could’ve gotten up to during that bloody revolution[4].”
Lu-Tze shook his head. “We see everything, or rather, all possible things. We didn’t know which possibilities you’d fulfill, but we knew they existed. She’s impossible, so anything she generates is likewise impossible- so we don’t even know it could happen, much less what will.”
Vetinari had been strangely silent. He spoke slowly. “So, since you can’t see what she might do, and you can’t see where she is, you’ll need to see what she’s doing with your own eyes.”
Lu-Tze blinked. Then he blinked again, and shook his head. “No monk can, and I won’t. Time’s stable around her- she might be a blind spot, but she’s keeping time from breaking. Maybe it flows different where she comes from. Who knows? But!” He glared at Vetinari. “I can tell you’re trying to get me involved. Easy lead to having me- or someone- here. So, boy- what do you want?”
Vetinari seemed startled for a moment, then collected his thoughts. “I want Susan Sto-Heit to be my daughter’s governess.”
Lu-Tze laughed. “Hah! Trying to get her involved in magical mess like this? Not likely, Havelock! Not-“ Then he froze. He looked at Vetinari again. “Your daughter?”
“Yes. Celestia needs a caretaker who understands rulers and what skills they need. There are no others I’d trust with the child then myself- save for the fact I have no idea how to handle children.” He frowned at the now snoozing Celestia.
Lu-Tze looked sharply at Vetinari, then abruptly stood up. “There’s no future where you were a father, Vetinari. None. Or there wasn’t.” He turned to look at Celestia. “If you’re changed that much by her presence- maybe the God of Time should have eyes on you after all. I’ll contact Lobstang- it’ll be up to you to convince his wife.”
He turned to look at Drumknott. “You- where’re the guest rooms in this place?”
Drumknott looked at Vetinari “My lord?...”
Vetinari glared at Lu-Tze. “And what makes you think you can have a room here?”
Lu-Tze grinned. “You want me to call Lobstang up? Fine. But I want to be here to see you try to bargain with Ms. Susan.” His grin widened. “Match of the century I didn’t think I’d ever see- Havelock Vetinari, trying to bargain with the granddaughter of Death!”