Night Watch

“Why's it such a deep shadow, d'you think?”

“Dunno, sarge.”

“'cos someone in black is standing in it, that's why. So we're going to walk a little further and then we'll just turn around and go back round the corner. We're heading back to the station like good boys because our cocoa's getting cold, see?”

“Right, sarge.”

They ambled back around the corner, and Vimes let them walk sufficiently far up the street that the footsteps died away naturally.

“Okay, this is far enough,” he said.

Give Sam his due, Vimes thought, he knew how to stand still. He'd have to teach him how to unfocus himself, too, so that you could very nearly fade out of sight on a cloudy day. Had Keel taught him that? After a certain age, memory was indeed an untrustworthy thing…

The city's clocks chimed the three-quarter-hour.

“What time's curfew?” Vimes whispered.

“Nine o'clock, sarge.”

“Must be nearly that now,” said Vimes.

“No, it's only just gone a quarter to nine, sarge.”

“Well, it's going to take me a few minutes to get back. I want you to sneak back after me and wait at the corner. When it starts, you come running and banging that bell of yours.”

“When what starts, sarge? Sarge?”

But Vimes was walking noiselessly down the road. He made a note to tip Snouty a dollar. These boots were like foot gloves.

Torches spluttered on the junction, destroying the night vision of anyone who looked in that direction. Vimes padded around its dark penumbra and sidled along the buildings on the far wall until he was level with the door. Then he swung around the frame and shouted.

“You're nicked, chum!”

“–!” said the shadow.

“And that's offensive language, sir, such as I would not wish my young lance-constable to hear!”

Behind him he heard Lance-Constable Vimes advancing at a run, ringing his bell madly and shouting, “Nine o'clock and all's not well at all!” And there were other sounds, too, the ones Vimes had been half-listening for, of doors slamming and distant footsteps hurrying away.

“You bloody fool!” said the struggling figure in black. “What the hell are you playing at!” He pushed at Vimes, who nevertheless tightened his grip.

“That, sir, is assault upon a Watch officer,” said Vimes.

“I'm a Watch officer too, you damn flatfoot! From Cable Street!”

“Where's your uniform?”

“We don't wear uniforms!”

“Where's your badge!”

“And we don't carry badges!”

“Hard to see why I shouldn't think you is a common thief then, sir. You was casing that house over there,” said Vimes, happy in the role of big, thick, but horribly unshakeable copper. “We seen you.”

“There was going to be a meeting of dangerous anarchists!”

“What kind of a religion is that, sir?” Vimes patted the man's belt. “Oh, dear, what have we here? A very nasty dagger. See this, Lance-Constable Vimes? A weapon, no doubt about it! That's against the law. Carried after dark, which is even more against the law! And it's a concealed weapon!”

“What do you mean, concealed?” screamed the twisting prisoner. “It was in a bloody sheath!”

“Bloody, eh? Used it already, have you, sir?” said Vimes. He thrust a hand into a pocket of the man's black coat. “And…what's this? A little black velvet roll with, I do believe, a complete set of lock picks? That's Going Equipped for Burglary, that is.”

“They're not mine and you know it!” the man snarled.

“Are you sure, sir?” said Vimes.

“Yes! Because I keep mine in my inside pocket, you bastard.”

“That's Using Language liable to cause a Breach of the Peace,” said Vimes.

“Huh? You idiots have scared everyone away! Who's going to be offended?”

“Well, I might be. I'm sure you don't want that, sir.”

“You're that stupid sergeant we've been told about, aren't you,” growled the man. “Too thick to see what's going on, right? Well, this is where you find out, mister…”

He twisted out of Vimes's grip, and there were a couple of sliding, metallic noises in the gloom. Wrist knives, thought Vimes. Even Assassins think they're an idiot's weapon.

He took a couple of steps back as the man danced towards him, both knives waving.

“Can't think of a dumb answer to this one, eh, brownjob?”

To his horror Vimes saw, behind the man, the shape of Sam raising his bell very slowly.

“Don't hit him!” he shouted, and then lashed out with his boot as the man's head turned.

“If you're going to fight, fight,” he said, as the man toppled forward. “If you're going to talk, talk. Don't try to talk and fight. And right now, I caution you to do neither.”

“I could have got him easily, sarge,” Sam complained, as Vimes fished out his handcuffs and knelt down. “I could have blown him out like a light.”

“Head injuries can be fatal, lance-constable. We serve the public trust.”

“But you kicked him in the privates, sarge!”

Because I don't want you to be a target, thought Vimes, as he tightened the cuffs. That means you don't belt one of them over the head. You stay as the dim sidekick, in the background. That way you survive, and that way, maybe I do too.

“You don't have to fight the way the other bloke wants you to fight,” he said, hefting the man on to his shoulders. “Give me a hand here…up we go. Okay, I've got him. You lead the way.”

“Back to the Watch House?” said Sam. “You're arresting an Unmentionable?”

“Yes. I just hope we'll meet some of our lads on the way. Let this be a lesson, lad. There aren't any rules. Not when there's knives out. You take him down, quietly if possible, without hurting him much if possible, but you take him down. He comes at you with a knife, you bring your stick down on his arm. He comes at you with his hands, you use your knee or your boot or your helmet. Your job is to keep the peace. You make it peaceful as quickly as you can.”

“Yes, sir. But there's going to be trouble, sarge.”

“Straightforward arrest. Even coppers have to obey the law, what there is of it…”

“Yes, sarge, but I mean there's going to be trouble right now, sarge.”

They'd neared the end of the street, and there was a group of figures there. They looked like men with a purpose; there was something about the stance, the way they were standing in the road, and, of course, the occasional glint of light on a weapon also gave a hint. There was a snapping of little doors as dark lanterns were opened.

Of course he wouldn't have been alone, Vimes scolded himself. His job was just to watch until they'd all gone in. And then he'd just shlep away to call in the heavy gang. There must be a dozen of 'em. We're going to get cheesed!”7

“What'll we do, sarge?” whispered Sam.

“Ring your bell.”

“But they've spotted us!”

“Ring the damn bell, will you? And keep walking! And don't stop ringing!”

The Unmentionables spread out now, and as Vimes trudged towards them he saw several figures at each end of the line slip around behind him. That's how it'd go. They'd be like the muggers up in Scoone Avenue, talking nice and friendly while their eyes said, hey, you know our mates are right behind you and we know you know and