Author's Note: I've been thinking for a while about something I read in which Pterry says that the Patrician in TCOM was Lord Vetinari. That Patrician is really different from Vetinari though, so I've written a little fic about how it may have come to pass. It's silly but I like it and I hope people like it too. Anyway it's just a bit of fun.

They're not mine.

"Do not let me…deter you? No, wait, that's not right. Perhaps…do not allow me to divert you? Oh gods, that's even worse…"

Madam looked up from her book and fixed her nephew with an impatient stare. "Havelock, dear, what are you doing?"

"Trying to think of something I can say to get people out of my office when I'm finished with them."

"And I suppose simply saying 'Get out of my office now or I'll have you thrown in the scorpion pit' won't do?"

Havelock smiled. "Well, it does lack a certain grace, Madam."

"It doesn't have to, just smile as you say it."

"What, and scare them too?" said Havelock. "No, I'm looking for a phrase that is perfectly polite but has slightly menacing undertones. I don't want to be too obvious about it."

"Hmm. So why are you trying to find yourself a catchphrase anyway?"

Havelock winced at her choice of words but decided not to press the issue. "I'm trying to prepare for when I become Patrician, Madam."

"Isn't it a little early for that?" asked Madam. "You've only just graduated from the Guild."

"True," admitted Havelock, "but I'd rather have it all sorted out now rather than later."

"Oh well, while we're on the subject," said Madam, "have you ever thought about changing your look?"

Havelock looked down at his clothing. "No why? What's wrong with the way I look?"

"There's nothing wrong with it, dear, it's just that you look—as much as I may hate to use the phrase--stereotypically Evil dressed like that. No offence meant of course."

"Of course," said Havelock dryly. "How could I possibly be offended by that?" He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Is it the beard? I can always shave it off."

Madam waved a hand. "No, it's more about the whole look; the tall, thin man with the dark hair and the squinty eyes--"

"Squinty? Madam, I do not squint--"

"It may lead to people losing confidence that you'd be a good candidate for the Patricianship if you look like you're Evil at the start of it."

"Yes, well I'm not Evil, am I?" grumbled Havelock. "I might be evil for a given value of it, but in a fashion no way deserving of a capital E."

"Evil is evil, dear. Besides you have murdered people, haven't you?"

"I didn't murder them, madam, I inhumed them; it's a very important distinction." Havelock sighed. "Anyway, I did it all on your orders."

"Yes, but I'm a woman, Havelock, it's rather expected of my gender to be manipulative and devious. Besides it's far more acceptable in society to be morally dubious if you're willing to wear a tight dress while doing it." She smiled at him. "And I own some very tight dresses."

"Perhaps I should borrow a couple of them; it might help me get into office more easily."

"They wouldn't suit you, dear."

"Oh, I don't know," Havelock said with a smile. "I've often wondered what I'd look like in a bustle."

Madam shot him a sideways look. "You are joking, aren't you, Havelock? I can never be entirely sure."

"I'm joking, yes."

"Oh good; it's so much easier to have someone elected as Patrician before they're exposed as a transvestite."

Havelock shrugged. "I would've thought you'd relish the challenge, Madam. In any case, I have no intention to be exposed in any way during my campaign."

"That's a shame, dear. It could've livened up your reputation." Madam smiled as Havelock scowled at her and she put down her book. "Come upstairs; I want to show you something."

Havelock groaned. "It isn't another Igor, is it? I really do resent the implication there."

"No, it isn't an Igor." Madam waved Havelock after her and they began to ascend the stairs. "Come on, dear."

She turned into a nearby bedroom and walked over to the wardrobe, opening the door with a flourish. "So what do you think?"

Havelock looked at the contents of the wardrobe with wary interest. "It's full of clothes," he said noncommittally.

Madam rolled her eyes. "Well yes, dear; they're for you. Do you like them?"

Havelock pulled out a shirt at random and held it up against himself. "It's…um…it's a little big." That was something of an understatement, he thought; the shirt was so big he suspected that he could've used it for curtains for half his house if he'd wanted.

"I know that. Honestly, Havelock, you never listen, do you?"

"I'm sorry, Madam, I don't understand…"

"It's for your new look, you silly boy." Madam gave him a huge grin. "You're going to get fat!"

"What?"

"Think about it, dear," said Madam excitedly. "The last three Patricians have been, shall we say, somewhat on the heavy side. So what does that say to you?"

"That they should've gone out for a run occasionally instead of sitting at a desk all day?" asked Havelock, now thoroughly confused.

"No. It says that people like continuity, that's why the same type of person keeps becoming Patrician. So, if you were to gain some weight, become more like their image of what a Patrician should be--"

"And if I disagree?"

"Why would you do that?" asked Madam. "You know I'm right about this."

Havelock sighed. "Well, for one thing, Madam, I do find it rather difficult to put on weight--"

"Ridiculous; just stop gallivanting all over the city's rooftops at night and eat all day, anyone can do it."

"But what if I don't want to?"

"Do you want to be Patrician?"

"You know I--"

"Well, then." She reached over and patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Trust me on this, I've thought of everything." She opened a drawer beside her and pulled out a large black wad of cloth. "See? I even got you underwear."

Havelock stared at them in abject horror. "Have I ever mentioned how uncomfortable it makes me when you buy me things like that?"

Madam snorted. "Don't be silly, Havelock, I've been buying your underwear since you were eight."

"Yes, when I was a child; in case you haven't noticed, I'm a grown man no--"

"You'll always be that little boy to me, dear." She returned the pants to their drawer and gave him an expectant look. "Why don't you try on your new clothes?"

Havelock looked down at himself, then back at the shirt he was holding. "How? They won't fit."

"Stuff a pillow down your shirt or something."

Havelock sighed. "Fine. But leave the room, at least." He gave her a pleading look when she didn't move. "Please?"

Madam grinned. "You always were a bashful child. Very well."

After watching his aunt leave the room, and checking to make sure the door was thoroughly locked, Havelock began to shrug out of his clothing. With a resigned sigh he began to pull on one of the new outfits. "Stupid, stupid clothing," he muttered to himself. "Stupid, stupid trousers…"

"How are you doing, dear? Can I come in yet?"

"No! These blasted trousers won't stay up."

"Try using another pillow. Havelock."

"Stupid, stupid—okay, you can come in now." Havelock scowled at his aunt as she re-entered the room. "I feel like an idiot."

"Yes, well if it's any consolation, you look like one too, dear." She looked at him thoughtfully. "But that is the idea…now, what about accessories? I'm thinking lots of rings."

"Oh great, just when I thought it couldn't get any worse."

"Stop whinging, Havelock, it's not attractive."

Havelock pulled at his clothing. "Neither is this. Couldn't I just pretend to be stupid?"

"No. Although you do have a point, you do look too intelligent."

"Oh dear," said Havelock with mock concern. "Whatever will I do?" He shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe I'm going through with this."

"Shut up, Havelock. Now, try and look stupid."

"And how, pray, do you suggest I do that?" He laughed grimly. "Of course, I could walk around with a pillow down my shirt; that might just do it."

"Don't be cheeky," said Madam. "Who's the most stupid person you know?"

"Charles Selachii," said Havelock promptly.

"Okay, well imagine you're him—Havelock, what is that face you're pulling?"

"I'm not pulling a face, Madam, he really does look like this," said Havelock with a smile. "You've never met Charles, have you?"

"No, and if he looks like that then I have no desire to, either." Madam sighed. "Very well, we'll leave the expression until later. Now get changed and come downstairs for dinner; the cook has prepared some candied starfish for you to try."

"Some what?" asked Havelock incredulously. "Surely you can't be serious?"

"I can assure you I am." Madam swept out of the room grandly and gave him an encouraging smile. "I'm so proud of you, dear."

Havelock sighed. "This had better work."