'They're well outside the building,' said a chair.
'What ghastly people.'
'We should have used the Assassins' Guild, though.'
'Hah! They've done rather well out of Vetinari. In any case, we do not want him dead. However, it occurs to me that we may eventually have a job for the Guild, later on.'
'Quite so. When our friends have safely left the city... the roads can be so dangerous at this time of year.'
'No, gentlemen. We will stick to our plan. The one called Charlie will be kept around until everything is entirely settled, in case he can be of further use, and then our gentlemen will take him a long, long way away to, hah, pay him off. Perhaps later we will call the Assassins in, just in case Mr Pin has any clever ideas.'
'Good point. Although it does seem such a waste. The things one could do with Charlie...'
'I told you, it would not work. The man is a clown.'
'I suppose you are right. Better something once-and-for-all, then.'
'I'm sure we understand one another. And now... this meeting of the Committee to Unelect the Patrician is declared closed. And hasn't happened.'
Lord Vetinari by habit rose so early that bedtime was merely an excuse to change his clothes.
He liked the time just before a winter's dawn. It was generally foggy, which made it hard to see the city, and for a few hours there was no sound but the occasional brief scream.
But the tranquillity was broken this morning by a cry just outside the palace gates.
'Hoinarylup!'
He went to the window.
'Squidaped-oyt!'
The Patrician walked back to his desk and rang the bell for his clerk Drumknott, who was despatched to the walls to investigate.
'It is the beggar known as Foul Ole Ron, sir,' Drumknott reported five minutes later. 'Selling this... paper full of things.' He held it between two fingers as though expecting it to explode.
Lord Vetinari took it and read through it. Then he read through it again.
'Well, well,' he said.' "The Ankh-Morpork Times". Was anyone else buying this?'
'A number of people, my lord. People coming off the night shifts, market people and so on.'
'I see no mention of Hoinarylup or Squidaped-oyt.'
'No, my lord.'
'How very strange.' Lord Vetinari read for a moment and said, 'Hm-,'mz. Clear my appointments this morning, will you? I will see the Guild of Towncriers at nine o'clock and the Guild of Engravers at ten past.'
'I wasn't aware they had appointments, sir.'
'They will have,' said Lord Vetinari. 'When they see this, they will have. Well, well... I see fifty-six people were hurt in a tavern brawl.'
'That seems rather a lot, my lord.'
'It must be true, Drumknott,' said the Patrician. 'It's in the paper. Oh, and send a message to that nice Mr de Worde, too. I will see him at nine thirty.'
He ran his eye down the grey type again. 'And please also put out the word that I wish to see no harm coming to Mr de Worde, will you?'
Drumknott, usually so adept in his understanding of his master's requirements, hesitated a moment.