Chapter 1
The Watch Commander stood before the desk of the Patrician, back straight, boots planted firmly, staring straight ahead. The Patrician sat at the desk, writing a letter, and ignoring the Commander.
Sarah inwardly seethed as she stood and waited. The woman just bloody sat there, pen scratching away at the parchment, like she hadn’t sent for the Watch half an hour ago, like she hadn’t explicitly said it was urgent.
She’d hated the Patrician on first sight. She hated her on principle. The Duncans were one of Ankh-Morpork’s oldest and wealthiest families. Rachel Duncan had been brought up with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth. (Although, knowing Rachel Duncan, she’d probably spat it out and demanded a spoon made of platinum and diamond as soon as she could talk.)
It wasn’t just the Patricians nobby background that made the Commander loathe her - she’d also been trained at the Assassins Guild. Most of the young ladies and gentlemen of what passed as ‘high society’ on the Discworld studied at the Guild. They were the only ones who could afford the fees, for a start.
The uneasy knowledge that Duncan could kill her ten different ways right now without even trying made Sarah’s skin tight and her fists itch. But she stood, and waited, and concentrated on staring at the wall.
Finally, the pen stopped moving and was laid on the desk. The Patrician carefully blotted the wet ink, folded the paper, then painstakingly applied her seal. The letter joined a short pile on the side of the desk.
She glanced up at Sarah as if just realising she was there, and gave a lightning-fast smile.
“Ah, Commander Manning. What can I do for you?” She saw the flash of anger in the Commander's eyes and she almost smiled again.
“You sent for me, Ma’am.” Sarah answered in a civil tone. “You said it was an emergency.”
Rachel gave her a blank look, and tapped a finger on her lips, painted in her usual blood red.
“Oh, yes.” she said. “Of course. Chickens.”
“Chickens, ma’am?” Sarah said blandly. Inwardly she thought ‘oh no not again’.
“Yes, Commander. Chickens. Specifically, two chickens belonging to a Mr Bottler of Shamlegger Street. He claims they were stolen by a - what was it - a giant blonde wolf.”
The Commander winced slightly. The Patrician noted this.
“We can’t have wolves roaming the city, stealing innocent citizens chickens, can we, Commander?”
Sarah scoffed inwardly at the word ‘innocent’. Innocence in Ankh-Morpork was verging on an unknown concept. But she kept her voice emotionless.
“No, ma’am.”
“So, you’re going to do something about this, aren’t you, Commander?”
Sarah kept staring straight ahead.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll get my best men right on the case, ma’am.”
The Patrician tilted her head slightly to the left.
“Perhaps your...sister can handle this one, Commander.”
Sarah’s eyes shot down to the Patricians face. Her perfectly unreadable face.
“Yes, ma’am.” Her voice was possibly even more wooden now.
Duncan stared at her a moment too long, then smiled brightly
“Well, don’t let me keep you, Commander. Ankh-Morpork is full of stolen chickens, and worse, I am sure.”
Sarah sighed. “Yes, ma’am.” She turned to go. The Patrician had already started writing another letter, the noise of the quill nib managing to sound imperiously dismissive.
The Commander shut the door softly behind her, swore under her breath, strode a few steps, then slammed her fist against the wall. There was already a series of dents from the Commanders previous visits to the palace.
The Patrician heard the thump from inside her office, and paused in her writing. She smiled as she ran the swan feather quill through her fingers and thought about all that rage that Commander Manning kept pent up inside. The sister - now, there was a sore spot. All she had to do was keep poking at it, and one day, the dam would break, the Commander would be gone and the real Sarah Manning would be there, fists raised and snarling.
And what a sight that would be.