SCENE: The Patrician’s Oblong Office¶

November 27th, 2025

The silence was a precise, polished thing. Ponder Stibbons stood in it, trying to think of his body as a mere collection of particles taking up space, which did nothing to stop his knees from feeling like jelly.

Lord Vetinari did not look up from the memo on his desk.

VETINARI: “Scarlet Semaphore.” A melodramatic name. One might think they were signalling something.

He moved the paper aside. His gaze, when it landed on Ponder, was not angry. It was analytical. It was worse.

VETINARI: Their recent work on the Guild routing protocols was …instructive. A masterclass in seeing the system as a set of suggestions. You would know about that, Mister Stibbons.

Ponder’s throat was very dry. “Sir, I—”

VETINARI: You are a student of the unseen logic of things. A quality I … patronise. Your membership in this spirited discussion group is hereby recognised. And redirected.

He slid a fresh sheet of paper and a pen across the desk.

VETINARI: You are now the majority shareholder and chief theorist of “Purple Lantern Practice Limited.” You will take your club’s creative experiments and turn them into a textbook. For the Department of Silent Stability.

Ponder stared at the paper. “A textbook, sir?”

VETINARI: A simulator. Your friends will document every elegant hack, every clever redirect. You will systematise it. The Department will learn from it. The city’s stability will thus improve, thanks to your hobby. This is the favourable outcome.

Vetinari steepled his fingers. The room grew colder.

VETINARI: The alternative is that I invite your club to demonstrate their techniques in a more … controlled environment. The Special Holdings facility has ample cell space, but no windows. And the only network available is the theoretical one between one’s ears.

He let the image hang.

VETINARI: You are, I trust, proficient at explaining complex concepts to slow learners. Explain this one to your associates. Choose the laboratory. Not the cellar.

Ponder’s hand, moving of its own accord, picked up the pen. It felt like a lever for the entire world.

VETINARI: Good. Dismissed. Do keep the minutes.

Ponder fled. The door clicked shut. Vetinari allowed himself a thin, satisfied smile, and returned to his paperwork. A valve had just been installed on a useful source of pressure. And it would, henceforth, report to him.