A/N Okay this fic was sort of inspired by some lines near the end of The Truth but you don't really needto have read it to understand this. Reviews are more than totally welcome but be kind, this is my first Discworld fic lol.

PS I don't own the Discworld etc etc blah blah bliddy blah so on and so forth...

"… Mr Scrope is now Lo- is now the Patrician?"

"Yes."

"By the vote of the Guilds?"

"Yes. Of course."

"The unanimous vote?"

"I don't have to tell-"

William raised a finger. "Ah?" he said.

Mr Slant squirmed. "The Beggars and the Seamstresses voted to adjourn," he said. "So did the Launderers and the Guild of Exotic Dancers."

"So… that would be Queen Molly, Mrs Palm, Mrs Manger and Miss Dixie Voom," said William. "What an interesting life Lord Vetinari must have led."

"No comment."

(The Truth)

Prologue: Ladies

They knew each other fairly well, the four women assembled in the waiting room. They had been here before. Together they represented the four most particular and perhaps the more important Guilds of Ankh-Morpok.

Mrs Palm1 was the leader of the Guild of Seamstresses and a most formidable if still highly attractive woman and one of the city's greatest entrepreneurs; which wasn't bad for a woman most said made money by lying in bed all day. Next to her was Mrs Manger, a small stooped woman with a flushed complexion and sharp eyes. She was head of the Launderers Guild and considered herself a sensible, no nonsense woman who could do more things with a mangle than most would have thought possible.

Across the room was a figure wrapped in a gown of dark velvet with a hood covering most of her face beneath which occasional mutterings could be heard. This was the head of the Guild of Beggars, commonly known as Queen Molly. There had been some talk a few years ago of the Thieves Guild taking over the Beggars under the premise that begging came under the heading of daylight robbery. But one meeting with Molly had been enough to convince the thieves that there was going to be no deal; she had that kind of detached personality which is very difficult to do business with.

Sitting as far away from the others as possible was a rather brightly dressed young lady. Constance Allslop, or Dixie Voom as she preferred to be known these days was the youngest of the group and head of one of the newer guilds; the Guild of Exotic Dancers. This Guild and its leader were not particularly popular with the other ladies in the room. Mrs Palm felt the Exotic Dancers lacked class. Mrs Manger disapproved of the kind of stubborn stains that seemed to end up on the "costumes" they wore and all the little sparkly bits that tended to come off in the wash. Molly didn't really have anything against her except that she was obviously in possession of a number of shiny things which she had no intention of handing over for free.

In fact there were only two things which these women held in common. They were all the heads of their professions and respected as such2. The other reason was sitting at a desk behind the heavy oak door at the far end of the waiting room.

1 No one could ever remember there being a Mr Palm and it had been concluded that the title was to give her position the smack of respectability (Madam and Mistress were words which projected quite the wrong image) Seamstressing was a family service after all.

2 And if you didn't show the proper respect they were perfectly capable of forcing respect upon you. Remember the mangle.