A story for @fanficisalegitimatefieldofstudy, who is down with the flu.Â
Prompt:Â Something with Drumnkot and Vetinari. It's Drumknot's birthday and he thinks nobody knows, but of course Vetinari knows all.
He allowed himself a new sharpened pencil today. The last one had been worn down to a stub, but would probably still have some miles in it. However, since one should treat oneself at least one day of the year, he enjoyed the feeling of a fresh pencil from the cupboard. He always took his time selecting a pencil. Before he knew there would be a jolly slogan printed on one. He didn’t like jolly slogans. They usually had such poor grammar. One particular slogan he hated was “happiness is like a butterfly” unseeing, he had once picked a pencil with that slogan on it, and felt miserable for the entire time he had used it, because every time he read the slogan he couldn’t help thinking about the fact that butterflies die after two weeks. He had not felt comfortable until the pencil had worn down, until the only word left on it was the word “fly”. He then had respected the pencils wishes, and had thrown it out of the window.
He finally found a pencil to his liking, and returned to his desk. A fresh batch of numbers was waiting for him, and his hands were itching to get to work. His brain, however, had other things on its mind.
Lord Vetinari probably wouldn’t know about today. Would he? No. Of course not. Lord Vetinari had more important things to worry about. The Clowns Guild had been fooling around with taxes and the Thieves Guild was worried about reaching its quota, since many newcomers had taken one look at the Watch’s werewolf and had gone to a grandmothers funeral. All in all, Lord Vetinari had other business on his mind than the birthday of his secretary. Even if his secretary sometimes… No. Don’t think about that, he told his brain. Banishing the thoughts about his boss and his birthday from his mind, he got on with his work.
The city was dark when he headed on home. There were a few drunkards looking for trouble, but they changed their minds as soon as the light from a lantern outside a shop shone on his face. Gargoyles turned their heads slowly as the little man walked by, unknown that he was being protected from work to home. Drumknott didn’t know about this, but being the secretary (and, may the author even suggest, best friend) of the most powerful man in Ankh-Morpork does come with its perks.
As he opened the door to his little apartment, it seemed a little too… normal. As if someone had broken in, but had decided not to take anything after all. He went to turn on the lights, but suddenly saw that there was already a source of light in the room. Being a sensible man, he turned on the lights a little, making sure that he could still see the source of light, but wouldn’t break his neck looking for it. On the sidetable, next to his favourite chair by the fireplace was a perfect, frosted chocolate cupcake, from Wienrich and Boettcher of Zephire Street, the best of the best. Stuck inside it was a birthday candle. Next to it was a small parcel. When he opened it by candlelight, he saw inside a beautifully crafted pocket watch, gleaming and glittering luxuriously golden in the light. When he opened it, there was only one inscription:
