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At least the sky had the decency to rain.
The thin figure dressed in dark gray clutched a bundle to his chest, as if he wanted to cradle it.
Then he laid it down in the small hole at his feet and placed a piece of paper over it, like a receipt.
He quickly covered everything with soil and placed a bone-shaped cookie on top of the small mound that had been created.
Then, the thin man stood up, put down his cane and walked toward the palace, leaving a small sigh behind him.
The patrician's day was about to begin.
A few hours later, a small canine figure entered the garden: he peed on a tree, to make it clear that he had passed, and then noticed the small mound.
He approached it slowly, his nose to the ground, until he met the cookie lying on it. He ate it: he knew that the master would not care and wasting food was a sin.
Then he took a better sniff to the air around him and emitted a vigorous "Fuck!" Before running in the opposite direction from where he had come at the maximum speed his stubby paws allowed.
*
Sergeant Agua was nervous: it was a bad hair day, and for a werewolf that meant a lot. So, for a moment, she thought about ignoring the smell coming from below and continuing to do her duty, but finally gave up.
"Hello, Gaspode, how can I help you?"
"How do you know it was me?" Replied the dog, slightly offended. Granted, it was a rainy day and he had been spending a lot of time outdoors lately, but it was still offensive. He didn't smell that bad!
Angua raised an eyebrow wrinkling his nose and Gaspode resigned.
After all, there was an emergency going on.
"I need you," he said, and then barked out everything he had sniffed.
*
Vimes was trying to sort through the pile of paperwork that covered his desk, without much luck. The rain outside was quite heavy and he was surprisingly happy to be indoors, with a cup of cocoa and a cigar, and not on the street patrolling. Maybe it had something to do with getting old, but he didn't care.
The door swung open, revealing a very wet Agua with an urgent expression written on her face.
"What happened?" He barked at her, expecting bad news.
"I'm sorry, Commander, but it's important. You have to go to the Palace."
"What for? I have no meeting scheduled for today!" He replied.
Angua looked a little embarrassed "Um...it seems there was a murderer. Not of the Patrician. Please, sir, I can explain it to you as we go."
Vimes stared at his officer and then decided to follow him without question: if Angua thought it was important, he should definitely follow her quickly.
*
The Palace was silent: the staff knew when to turn a blind eye, and apparently this was one of those days. The commander of the city guard reached the Patrician’ office without being blocked by anyone, which made him even more agitated.
Remembering what Angua had told him, he knocked gently on the patrician's door and then entered the small office. The whole room was dark except for a cone of light from a candle near the window.
“Havelock? He whispers
"Here," replied the voice from the dark
"Is everything all right? Someone reported a murder here at the Palace." He asked, trying to see something.
"Ah! The efficiency of the Watch!" replied the Patrician in his usual tone.
Hoping not to run into some trap or, worse, a knife hidden in the dark, Vimes took a step forward, toward where the other was supposed to be.
"Do you want to tell me what happened?"
"What for? I left a receipt, as the Assassin's Code says." Replied the Patrician calmly.
"You left a receipt? Shit, Havelock!" Vimes spat, continuing to move.
"An assignment is an assignment, after all. And the price has been paid; he left me a gold coin. A fair price for a loyal companion, don't you think? I made sure he didn't suffer."
"How...how did you...?" asked Vimes, undecided if he really wanted an answer.
"Do you really want to know?"
"Only if it makes you feel better."
The patrician sighed, a gold coin shining in the dark, "Probably not."
Gotcha! thought Vimes as he clutched the patrician's lean body in the darkness. For once, Havelock did not complain about the embrace.
"Why didn't you call me, love?" He asked softly in his ear.
"Oh, you were busy. And that was personal, not important." The other replied in a vague tone.
Idiot, thought Vimes, squeezing him a little tighter. The patrician was still sitting at his desk, so for once he was the taller of the two.
He kissed him on the forehead, hoping it was not too much for Havelock. Surprisingly, Vetinari let go, leaning against his chest.
"I have no regrets. I did what I had to do; his time was over. But I wonder if he knew that."
Vimes did not ask him what or who; he already knew the answer.
"Of course he knew. Of course he knows." He answered firmly, holding him a little tighter to his chest.
The candle flickered and went out, leaving them in the dark.
The patrician sighed, "He was a Good Boy."
“Indeed.”, Vimes replied, continuing to hold him close.
In the darkness, a soft cry began to make its way, as of someone who had not done so for a long time.
Vimes said nothing, merely stood.
Outside the window, the sky continued to weep.