Night Watch

Vimes held up Nobby. “See this?” he said.

“Is it a monkey?” said the woman.

“Har har, very funny,” moaned Nobby, as Vimes lowered him again.

“He's going to come in here for one square meal every day,” said Vimes. “All he can eat for ten pence.”

“Yes? And who's paying, may I ask?”

“Me.” Vimes plonked a half-dollar on the table. “That's five days in advance. What's the special today? Slumgullet? It'll put hairs on his chest, when he gets a chest. Give him a big bowl. You might make a loss on this deal.”

He shoved Nobby on to a bench, placed the greasy bowl in front of him, and sat down opposite.

“You said a lady,” he said. “Don't mess me about, Nobby.”

“Have I got to share this, sarge?” said Nobby, picking up a wooden spoon.

“It's all yours. Make sure you eat up every bit. There may be a test later,” said Vimes. “A woman, you said.”

“Lady Meserole, sarge,” said Nobby indistinctly, through a mouthful of mixed vegetables and grease. “Posh lady. Everyone calls her Madam. Come from Genua a few months ago.”

“When did she ask you?”

“This morning, sarge.”

“What? She just stopped you in the street?”

“Er…I've got a kind of gen'ral contract with her, sarge.”

Vimes glared. It was better than speaking. Nobby wriggled uneasily.

“Fact is, sarge, she…er, caught me snickering her nolly last month. Hell's bells, sarge, she's got a punch on her like a mule! When I come round, we got to talking, and she said a keen young lad like me could be useful as, like, an ear on the street.”

Vimes continued to glare, but he was impressed. Young Nobby had been a gifted pickpocket. Anyone who caught him in the act was quick indeed. He turned up the ferocity of the glare.

“All right, sarge, she said she'd turn me over to the Day Watch if I didn't,” Nobby confessed, “and you go straight to the Tanty if a nob lays a complaint against you.”

That's bloody true, thought Vimes. Private law again.

“I don't want to go to the Tanty, sarge. Sconner's in there.”

And he used to break your arms, Vimes remembered. “So why's a fine lady interested in me, Nobby?” he said aloud.

“Didn't ask. I told 'er about you an' the hurry-up wagon and the Unmentionables and everything. She said you sounded fascinatin'. An' Rosie Palm's paying me a measly penny a day to keep an eye on you, too. Oh, an' Corporal Snubbs at Cable Street, he's payin' me one half-penny to watch you, but what is a half-penny these days, say I, so I don't watch you much on his account. Oh, and Lance-Corporal Coates, I'm getting a penny from him, too.”

“Why?”

“Dunno. He asked me this morning, too. A penny job.” Nobby belched hugely. “Better out than in, eh? Who d'you want me to watch for you, sarge?”

“Me,” said Vimes. “If you can fit me into your busy schedule.”

“You want me to follow you?”

“No, just tell me what people are saying about me. Keep an eye on who else is following me. Watch my back, sort of thing.”

“Right!”

“Good. Just one more thing, Nobby…”

“Yes, sarge?” said Nobby, still spooning.

“Give me back my notebook, my handkerchief and the four pennies you whizzed from my pockets, will you?”

Nobby opened his mouth to protest, dribbling slumgullet, but closed it when he saw the glint in Vimes's eye. Silently, he produced the items from various horrible pockets.

“Well done,” said Vimes, getting up. “I'm sure I don't have to tell you what'll happen to you if you try the old dippitydoodah on me again, do I, Nobby?”

“No, sarge,” said Nobby, looking down.

“Want another bowl? Have fun. I've got to go to work.”

“You can rely on me, sarge!”

Oddly enough, thought Vimes as he walked back to the Watch House, I probably can. Nobby would nick anything and dodge anything but he wasn't bad. You could trust him with your life, although you'd be daft to trust him with a dollar.

He purchased a packet of Pantweed's Slim Panatellas from another street trader. Carrying them around in their cardboard packet didn't feel right at all.

There was a buzz in the main office as he strolled in. Watchmen were standing around in little groups. Sergeant Knock spotted Vimes and trotted over.

“Bit of a do, sir. Had a break-in last night,” he reported, with just a hint of smirk.

“Really?” said Vimes. “What did they steal?”

“Did I say they stole anything, sir?” said the sergeant innocently.

“Well, no, you didn't,” said Vimes. “That was me jumping to what we call a conclusion. Did they steal anything, then, or did they break in to deliver a box of chocolates and a small complimentary basket of fruit?”

“They stole the captain's silver inkstand,” said Knock, impervious to sarcasm. “And it was an inside job, if you want my opinion. The door upstairs was forced but the main doors weren't. Must've been a copper what done it!”

Vimes was amazed at the forensic expertise shown here. “My word, a copper stealing?” he said.

“Yes, a terrible thing,” said Knock earnestly. “Especially since you showed us the way yesterday, about being honest and everything.” He glanced past Vimes, and shouted. “Attention! Officer present!”

Tilden was coming down the stairs. The room fell silent, except for his hesitant steps.

“No luck, sergeant?” he said.

“Not so far, sir,” said Knock. “I was just telling Sergeant Keel here what a terrible thing has happened.”

“It was engraved, you know,” said Tilden mournfully. “Everyone in the regiment chipped in what they could afford. This really is very…upsetting.”

“A man'd have to be a right bastard to steal something like that, eh, sergeant?” said Knock.

“Absolutely,” said Vimes. “I see you're pretty well organized on this one, sergeant. Have you looked everywhere?”

“Everywhere except the lockers,” said Knock. “That's not something we'd do lightly, rummaging through a man's locker. But we're all here now, and Captain Tilden's here to see fair play, so although it's very distasteful I'll ask you, captain, for permission to rummage.”

“Yes, yes, if you must,” said Tilden. “I don't like the idea. It is really quite dishonourable, you know.”

“Then I think, sir, to show that we're doing this fairly,” said Knock, “us sergeants ought to be searched first. That way no one can say we don't take it seriously.”

“Come now, sergeant,” said Tilden, with a little smile, “I hardly think you are suspected.”

“No, sir, fair's fair,” said Knock. “We'll set a good example, eh, Sergeant Keel?”

Vimes shrugged. Knock grinned at him, pulled out a bundle of keys and beckoned to Lance-Corporal Coates.

“You do the honours, Ned,” he said, beaming. “Me first, o'course.”

The door was unlocked. The contents of Knock's locker were the usual unsavoury mess of lockers everywhere, but there was certainly no silver inkstand. If there were, it would have turned black after a single