[Lord Vetinari wakes suddenly, but without even a twitch of movement to betray the fact. Something is... off. His eyes crack open. The bed is too soft, that is the first thing he notices. The sounds are subtly wrong.
[He stretches a hand out to the bedside, fingers curling around the cane which is inexplicably there; inexplicably because it is not his, and yet, if someone had kidnapped him, and was blind enough to leave him anything, even a cane, that could be used as a weapon, they would have been imbecilic enough to have left his own, not this simple curve of polished wood.
[He eases himself to his feet, gripping his support lightly. He walks with feather-light tread easily through the darkened room, which, unsurprisingly is not his chamber in the Palace. He finds the door and eases it open with his cane, just in case. The lack of death attempts was slightly unsettling. Why would someone go through all this trouble to capture him, and then leave the door unsecured? It made no sense.
[And things that made no sense grated on his nerves.
[He slowly moves down the stairs, eyes scanning the shadows on either side. It is definitely not his palace. It is also nowhere he's ever seen before.
[Vetinari's lips tighten. This is not optimal in any sense.
[At the foot of the stairs, he finds a door which obviously leads outside. He walks up to it, pauses for a long moment, listening, then pulls it open and takes a few steps out onto the porch.
[The streetlights illuminate a street that is distinctly alien to anything he's ever seen, and he's traveled most of the Disc. He is very far from Ankh-Morpork. The very air is wrong; much too clean, and yet with an overtone of smoke and oil that is extremely unpleasant. He stands there, utterly motionless, only the white-knuckled grip on his cane displaying his agitation in the least.]