Sam Vimes unrolled a map on one of the tea tables. Silvie joined Vetinari as he rose to join the three Vimes men around it.

Saul looked at her and his face dropped in almost comical dismay. "Silvie?" She cracked one of her rare smiles and moved into his arms. "Oh gods! My baby sister has gray hair!"

She snorted. "Says pot to kettle! I'm past forty, Saul Fortytude Vimes, I've a right to be gray - especially in this city!"

"Yes, but the last time I saw you, you were still in short skirts!"

"Time marches on, Saul. Speaking of which -" The men took the hint and addressed themselves to the map.

Simon perched a pair of horn-rimmed half specs on the undistinguished Vimes nose and gave his brothers the Look over them. "Yes, I wear glasses. I am a touch farsighted. Any comments?"

Being Vimes the Look did not have it's usual effect (ie: damp boots) but Saul and Sam both shook their heads. Not even a Vimes goes out of his way to annoy another Vimes.

"Gather round, gentlemen," Saul said and his officers, Carrot and Angua, Spearchucker and Lonely all drew closer to look over the Vimeses shoulders. "Sam?"

"According to my lads - and ladies - barricades are going up all over the city," he responded, indicating points on the map. "Easy Street and Five Ways, Dolly Sisters and even lower Short Street. Buggy tells me Nap Hill's walled itself in and Dimwell and the Soak are blocked across the river. So far their lordships have contented themselves with issuing decrees but if we don't move fast it could be the 'Glorious' Twenty-fifth and sixth all over again."

Vetinari admired the way Sam Vimes could vocalize apostrophes. Saul raised an eyebrow. "Glorious what?"

"'Revolution'," and there were the apostrophes again, "that put Mad Lord Snapcase in power."

The other eyebrow joined its fellow. "Sounds like a bad move."

"It was," Sam Vimes bit off the words.

It had been indeed, Vetinari silently agreed. And he was damned if he was going to allow his city to go back to those murderously inefficient days!

"So far no troops have been sighted beyond Small Gods and lower Short Street. Most seem to be milling around the palace."

"Damnfools," said Saul. "You sure Rust isn't running this pitiful excuse for an insurrection?"

"Positive." That was Simon Vimes. He flashed a small chill smile at his brother. "According to my people both Rust and Venturi refused to have anything to do with it and are under house arrest."

"Hmph! my respect for the man increases - reluctantly," said Saul.

"He did meet you, sir," said the Adjutant, with a little smile.

"So did Venturi." Sam looked at his brother thoughtfully.

Rust, Vetinari reflected, was a military fool - but one with a good sense of self preservation in the battlefield of politics, a trait Venturi shared.

"Their lordships have thrown all the Guild heads, except for the Assassins of course, off the city council," Simon Vimes continued in his cool voice. "Mr. Boggis - that's the head of the Thieves' Guild, Saul - and his officers have been thrown into the Tanty."

Vetinari winced. Oh gods! It was hard to believe anyone could be so completely lacking political sense.

"Excellent," said Saul Vimes unexpectedly. "That means you will have the legitimate government square behind you, my lord."

The same thought had, of course, occurred to Vetinari. It was not one that would have struck Sam Vimes. Clearly his elder brother was rather more politically savvy. Interesting but perhaps not surprising given his past.

"Our people are seriously pi - annoyed," Mr. Spearchucker put in. "They are, I am told, taking what retribution they can off of any soldier who strays into the back-streets and alleys."

"And sooner or later their lordships will notice that too," Sam Vimes said grimly. "I think we can count on them doing something stupid and violent."

Oh yes. Vetinari nodded to himself. Vimes - his Vimes - might not have a political mind but he could read people like a book.

"So we've got to move fast," Saul resumed. "Happily the leadership of this fiasco of a coup is all in one place, all we have to do is take the palace."

Vetinari was forced to clear his throat. "That might be somewhat difficult. I have of course taken normal precautions against infiltration or invasion. I promise you there is no unguarded postern or convenient underground tunnel."

"Unless you're a rat," said Sam Vimes.

The Patrician nodded. "As you say, Sir Samuel."

Saul Vimes gave him the raised eyebrow. "What, no bolt holes or hidden escape routes."

"Filled in, I fear," Vetinari answered.

"But a very secure dungeon," said Sam Vimes dryly. "Lord Vetinari's has his heart in his job."

The Patrician gave him a quick smile of appreciation. Surprising Vimes remembered that conversation, he'd been quite distraught at the time - with excellent reason of course.

Simon Vimes cleared his throat gently. "Some of us have made a careful study of his lordship's precautions and come up with various strategies for getting round them." He gave Vetinari the Look. "Quite a lot of nice loot in the palace, my lord."

"So there is," Vetinari agreed. Not that anybody but Stony Sim would have even dreamed of trying to lift any of it! "How very fortunate."

"Isn't it though."

The Patrician drifted a few paces back so as to get a better view of the Vimes brothers bent intently over the map. Three expert craftsmen planning a complicated but not particularly difficult job of work. The sense of tightly leashed power about to be unleashed was tangible, filling the small room with a frisson of tense excitement.

Vetinari controlled a sigh. There would undoubtedly be any number of pieces needing picking up after these three were through with his city. Fortunate they were on his side, or rather on Ankh-Morpork's.

He remembered clearly the first time the Vimes family had thrust themselves upon his notice. It had been a dozen or more years ago, shortly after he'd become Patrician. In those days there'd been a second soi-disant 'Assassin's Guild' an assemblage of murderers and thugs without style or principle, whose use of the proud and ancient name had appalled all genuine Assassins. But they had been too useful to the likes of Winder and Snapcase for anything to be done about it. A young Vetinari had been revolving various schemes in his mind when the problem had, rather abruptly, been taken out of his hands.

It seemed the sons and daughters of Watch Corporal Thomas Vimes finally found out how their father had really died. The consequences had been appalling, even to Vetinari.

A Master Thief, a Watch sergeant and four respectable matrons had taken on more than a hundred vicious killers. The final reckoning had taken place in the Guild's own subterranean headquarters. Sixty-one of the murderers had been killed outright. Half again as many severely wounded and those few who managed to escape the massacre ran fast and far. Certainly Vetinari had failed to find any of them. Ever.

Vetinari could still see at will the sight that had met his eyes all those years ago; the cavernous cellar awash with blood and bodies, some still moaning. The red print of a woman's hand upon a post had particularly impressed itself upon his mind's eye. He often wondered just which of the Vimes sisters had left it.

Vetinari been young, and badly shaken, but that was no excuse for what he'd done. The women, he'd decided, were unlikely to let loose their inner demons again. They were wives and mothers and respectable business women. Stony Sim could be controlled through the new Thieves' Guild, that left Sergeant Samuel Vimes of the Watch to be dealt with. And deal with him Vetinari had - by destroying the Watch. He'd assigned incompetents to officer it and subtly encouraged malfeasance in the ranks. Good men resigned in droves - all but Sam Vimes.

Sam Vimes who couldn't imagine being anything but a copper, who'd hung on with the dogged strength Vetinari was coming to recognize as little short of a force of nature - but at a price. He'd turned to drink to numb the pain, to more drink to help him forget what he'd fallen to and even more drink to forget that he wanted to forget.

But Sam Vimes could survive anything, even despair. He'd risen from his own whiskey soaked ashes as powerful and elemental as Ankh-Morpork herself and gone from strength to strength since. And Vetinari had found him useful. No, more than useful, vital to his plans for their city.

Granted those years in gutter had contributed in no small part to Vimes' value. Vetinari could have forgiven himself, easily, had he hurled Vimes there with that intent - but he hadn't. He had acted out of fear out of sheer animal emotion rather than rational thought. He'd been no better than Snapcase who'd sentenced John Keel to death for the crime of being a genius in managing men.

Vetinari had tried to save Keel and failed, it was one of the two genuine regrets of his life. A valuable man had been thrown away in a moment of fear or pique. He'd sworn to himself that he would never do such a thing. And then he had. That was his second regret. Every May he silently asked John Keel's forgiveness for being too slow and too late. Someday, perhaps, he'd ask for Sam Vimes' - preferably from behind a thick wall!

"You gentlemen won't be needing me," he said. "I believe I will have a look outside."

---

Havelock Vetinari stopped dead in the doorway of the 'Lilac Bush'. Kicklebury Street was packed solid, and this wasn't Ankh-Morpork's famous roaming mob looking for entertainment this mob was armed with sporting bows and swords, rusty military souvenirs and sharp or pointy kitchen utensils. Oh dear, a popular uprising on top of a military coup - this simply was not his day. Then somebody in the crowd caught sight of him and raised a cheer, the next moment the entire mass of people was in full roar.

They couldn't be cheering him. His entire system of government was based on being feared and disliked. Was that really his name they were chanting? He didn't need a mob. He didn't want a mob. Whatever was he going to do with them?

"Better the devil you know," said Sam Vimes at his side.

Vetinari turned to him in something close to desperation. "This is most inconvenient, Sir Samuel. Fighting in the streets is what we are trying to avoid!"

"Agreed. Been there, done that, got the singlet." Vimes threw down his dog-end and ground it into the cobbles with a heel before striding forward. The attention of the mob shifted from Vetinari to Vimes as he marched to the center of the street and raised his truncheon like a scepter - a simile he most definitely would NOT have appreciated.

Silence rippled backwards through the crowd, every eye fixed attentively on Sam Vimes. He lowered the truncheon slowly, not taking his thousand yard stare from the front ranks, who were beginning to wilt slightly. "Sergeant Major!"

"SIR!"

"Where did these people come from?"

"THE CITY, SIR! THEY ARE VOLUNTEERS, SIR!"

"Right!" said a brave soul a few rows back and out immediate range of the Vimes eyeball. "We're city militia we are."

"We're not having any mincing lordships telling US what to do!" declared a woman with very wide spaced eyes and an apron full of fish scales waving a formidable cleaver. A general mutter of agreement rose from the masses behind.

"Well put, Verity!" said Sam Vimes, getting a bit of a laugh. Then he tucked his truncheon under his arm took out a cigar and a match. The crowd watched respectfully as he lit up and blew a small, white smoke ring. "Right. A bunch of fancy-pants lordships from the Ankh side of the river think they can tell Morporkians what to do, do they? 'Course you won't take that lying down, neither would I. Neither AM I." He freighted the last two words with enough emphasis to sink a ship - even in the Ankh.

Complete silence.

"Thing is Lord Vetinari here and I don't want any more bloodshed than we can help. We aim to go right to the top and put these upstart lordships in their place before people start getting hurt. Isn't that so, my lord?"

Vetinari recognized his cue. "Exactly right, Sir Samuel," he answered pitching his voice to carry.

People shifted and looked at each other, agreeing it would be better if nobody got hurt - especially them.

"Lord Vetinari brought Colonel Vimes and his men here specifically to take care of this problem for him. I say we all stand back and let the professionals do their job," said Sir Samuel.

"Sir!" It was Verity Pushpram again. "Sir, Nobby told me this Colonel Vimes is a brother of yours."

"That's right, a real Cockbill Street tough!" Another titter riffled through the crowd that was beginning to look less and less like a mob and more and more like a mass of understandably concerned citizens "You call yourself city militia do you?" Vimes continued. "Well fine. I'm the Commander of the Watch and I'm giving you your orders. I want the lot of you to go home and hold yourselves ready if we should call on you. Got that?"

There were nods, even some salutes. Vimes turned his back on them and strolled towards Vetinari. Behind him the crowd milled as it dispersed down various side streets and alleys.

"Very nicely done, Sir Samuel," Vetinari said, quite sincerely.

Vimes cracked a grin. "Never thought I'd hear you being cheered - my lord."

"Nor I, Sir Samuel." Nor, Vetinari continued in the privacy of his own thoughts, did I expect to see a man handle a potentially violent mob so expertly ever again. It had been like watching Keel at work all those years ago. The same genius combination of instinct and reason.

He watched Vimes go back into the tearoom. Strange, he'd never noticed before how like Keel, Vimes was. The way he moved and the way he stood still. The way he looked into shadows instead of letting his eye slide by them.... Even his voice had the same steely rasp when raised in command. Interesting. Vimes had been something of a protege of Keel's hadn't he? He would seem to have learned a great deal in those few days.