Jingo

“—and that was a woman…”

“We did it!” This time the voice was a lot higher. “Now please can we come out?”

Carrot stood up and raised the megaphone. “If you gentlemen would care to step out with your hands up?”

“Are you joking?” whimpered someone, against the background of another growl.

“Well, at least with your hands where I can see them.”

“You bet, mister!”

Four men stumbled out into the street. Their tom clothing fluttered in the breeze. The apparent leader pointed an angry finger back at the doorway as Carrot walked towards them.

“The owner of that place ought to be prosecuted!” he shouted. “Keeping a wild animal like that in his strongroom, it's disgraceful! We broke in perfectly peacefully and it just attacked us for no reason at all!”

“You shot at Constable Shoe here,” said Carrot.

“Only to miss! Only to miss!”

Constable Shoe pointed at the arrow sticking into his breastplate.

“Right where it shows!” he complained. “It's a welding job and we have to pay for our own armour repairs and there'll always be a mark, you know, no matter what I do.”

Their horrified gaze took in the stitch marks around his neck and on his hands, and it dawned on them that although the human race came in a variety of colours, very few living people were grey with a hint of green.

“Here, you're a zombie!”

“That's right, kick a man when he's dead,” said Constable Shoe sharply.

“And you took Corporal Angua hostage. A lady,” said Carrot, in the same level voice. It was very polite. But it simply suggested that somewhere a fuse was burning, and it would be a good idea not to wait for it to reach the barrel.

“Yes… sort of… but she must've got away when that creature turned up…”

“So you left her in there?” said Carrot, still very calm.

The men dropped to their knees. The leader raised his hand imploringly.

“Please! We're just robbers and thieves! We're not bad men!”

Carrot nodded to Constable Shoe. “Take them down to the Yard, constable.”

“Right!” said Reg. There was a mean look in his eye as he cocked his crossbow. “I'm down ten dollars thanks to you. So you'd better not try to escape.”

“No, sir. Not us.”

Carrot wandered into the gloom of the building. Fearful faces peered out of doorways. He gave them a reassuring smile as he walked towards the strongroom.

Corporal Angua was adjusting her uniform.

“I didn't bite anyone, before you start,” she said, as he appeared in the doorway. “Not even flesh wounds. I just tore at their trousers. And that was no bed of roses, I might add.”

A frightened face appeared round the door.

“Ah, Mr Vortin,” said Carrot. “I think you will find that all is in order. They seem to have dropped everything.”

The diamond merchant looked at him in amazement.

“But they had a hostage—”

“They saw the error of their ways,” said Carrot.

“And… and there were snarling noises… sounded like a wolf…”

“Ah, yes,” said Carrot. “Well, you know, when thieves fall out…” Which was no kind of explanation, but because the tone of voice suggested that it was, Mr Vortin accepted it as such for fully five minutes after Carrot and Angua had left.

“Well, that's a nice start to the day,” said Carrot.

“Thank you, yes, I wasn't hurt,” said Angua.

“It makes it all seem worthwhile, somehow.”

“Just my hair messed up and another shirt ruined.”

“Well done.”

“Sometimes I might suspect that you don't listen to anything I say,” said Angua.

“Glad to hear it,” said Carrot.

The entire Watch was mustering. Vimes looked down at the sea of faces.

My gods, he thought. How many have we got now? A few years ago you could count the Watch on the fingers of a blind butcher's hand, and now…

There's more coming in!

He leaned sideways to Captain Carrot. “Who're all these people?”

“Watchmen, sir. You appointed them.”

“Did I? I haven't even met some of them!”

“You signed the paperwork, sir. And you sign the wage bill every month. Eventually.”

There was a hint of criticism in his voice. Vimes's approach to paperwork was not to touch it until someone was shouting, and then at least there would be someone to help him sort through the stacks.

“But how did they join?”

“Usual way, sir. Swore them in, gave them each a helmet—”

“Hey, that's Reg Shoe!^{19} He's a zombie! He falls to bits all the time!”

“Very big man in the undead community, sir,” said Carrot.

“How come he joined?”

“He came round last week to complain about the Watch harassing some bogeymen, sir. He was very, er, vehement, sir. So I persuaded him that what the Watch needed was some expertise, and so he joined up, sir.”

“No more complaints?”

“Twice as many, sir. All from undead, sir, and all against Mr Shoe. Funny, that.”

Vimes gave his captain a sideways look.

“He's very hurt about it, sir. He says he's found that the undead just don't understand the difficulties of policing in a multi-vital society, sir.”

Good gods, thought Vimes, that's just what I would have done. But I'd have done it because I'm not a nice person. Carrot is a nice person, he's practially got medals for it, surely he wouldn't have…

And he knew that he would never know. Somewhere behind Carrot's innocent stare was a steel door.

“You enrolled him, did you?”

“Nossir. You did, sir. You signed his joining orders and his kit chitty and his posting orders, sir.”

Vimes had another vision of too many documents, hurriedly signed. But he must have signed them and they needed the men, true enough. It was just that it ought to be him who—

“And anyone of sergeant rank or above can recruit, sir,” said Carrot, as if reading his mind. “It's in the General Orders. Page twenty-two, sir. Just below the tea stain.”

“And you've recruited… how many?”

“Oh, just one or two. We're still very short-handed, sir.”

“We are with Reg. His arms keep falling off.”

“Aren't you going to talk to the men, sir?”

Vimes looked at the assembled… well, multitude. There was no other word. Well, there were plenty, but none that it would be fair to use.

Big ones, short ones, fat ones, troll ones with the lichen still on, bearded dwarf ones, the looming pottery presence of the golem Constable Dorfl, undead ones… and even now he wasn't certain if that term should include Corporal Angua, an intelligent girl and a very useful wolf when she had to be. Waifs and strays, Colon had said once. Waifs and bloody strays, because normal people wouldn't be coppers.

Technically they were all in uniform, too, except that mostly they weren't wearing the same uniform as