Night Watch

chat to him about this and that…you know how it is. A man can get quite chatty after a cup of tea. Or carbonated beverage of his choice, of course.”

There was a snigger from among the members of the Night Watch, although Vimes hoped none of them knew what the last sentence meant.

Carcer's smile dissolved. “I said he's one of my men, on official business, and I am a sergeant,” he said.

“And I am Sergeant-at-Arms and I said we'll hand him over to you at the nick, Sergeant Carcer. Officially.”

Carcer nodded towards the lance-constable, so imperceptibly that only Vimes saw it. And he lowered his voice.

“But suddenly I've got all the aces, Duke,” he said.

“But suddenly I'm not playing cards, Carcer. Now, we could have a barney right here and now and, y'know, I'm not sure which way it'd go. But I'm sure as hell that you wouldn't be a sergeant tomorrow. And if you think you've got all the aces, you can afford to raise the stakes.”

Carcer stared at him for a moment. Then he winked, and half turned away.

“I told you he's a caution, eh?” he said to the multitude. He gave Vimes a conspiratorial dig in the ribs. “Always trying it on! Okay, sergeant…at-arms, we'll do it your way. Got to give you brownjobs something to do, haha, eh? I'll send a couple of the lads down for him in an hour or so.”

That's right, give me time to sweat on whether I'll pop into non-existence if you cut the lad's throat, Vimes thought. Trouble is, I am sweating.

He straightened up, and beckoned to the hurry-up wagon.

“Me and my lads will all take him back,” he said. “Time for our cocoa break, see? Give me a hand up with him, Waddy. Got any other passengers, Fred?”

“Just a drunk, sarge. Been spewing everywhere.”

“Okay. We'll put the prisoner in the back and we'll all hang on to the outside.” Vimes nodded at Carcer. “I'm sure we'll meet again soon, sergeant.”

“Yeah,” said Carcer, and there was that impish grin again. “And you be sure to look after yourself, d'you hear?”

Vimes leapt on to the side of the wagon as it rattled past, and didn't even look back. That was one thing about Carcer, at least—he wouldn't shoot you in the back if he thought there was a reasonable chance, pretty soon, of cutting your throat.

After a while, Constable Wiglet, hanging on beside him as the wagon rocked, said: “What happened back there, sarge? You know that bloke?”

“Yes. He's killed two coppers. One that tried to arrest him and one who was off duty and eating a pie. Killed other people, too.”

“But he's a copper!”

“Swing gave him a job, Wiglet.”

Suddenly, the rattle of the wheels sounded much louder. All the other watchmen were listening very intently.

“You been in the Watch long, constable?” said Vimes.

“Two years, sarge,” said Wiglet. “Used to be a fruit porter down the market but I got a bad back and a bad chest what with all the cold mornings.”

“I never heard about coppers being killed,” said Lance-Constable Vimes.

“It wasn't here, kid. It was a long way away.”

“You were there?”

“They were coppers I knew, yes.”

Again, the mood on the cart changed. There was no obvious sound from the watchmen but over the wagon hung the word: “Ah-hah…”

“So you came here to track him down…?” said Wiglet.

“Something like that.”

“We heard you came from Pseudopolis, sarge,” said Sam.

“I've come from a lot of places.”

“Wow!” said Sam.

“He killed a copper who was eating a pie?” said Fred Colon, from the box.

“Yep.”

“What a bastard! What kind of pie was it?”

“Witnesses didn't say,” Vimes lied. This was old Ankh-Morpork. The dwarfs here right now were a tiny minority who kept their heads down…well, further down than usual. There certainly were no all-night rat pie shops.

Wiglet had something on his mind. “They're going to come for that bloke you picked up,” he said.

“Want the rest of the night off, constable?” said Vimes. There was some nervous laughter from the rest of the crew. Poor devils, thought Vimes. You joined up '@cos the wages were good and there was no heavy lifting, and suddenly it's going to be difficult.

“What're you going to charge our man with, sarge?” said Sam.

“Attempted assault on a copper. You saw the knives.”

“You did kick him, though.”

“Right, I forgot. We'll do him for resisting arrest, too.”

There was some more laughter. We who think we are about to die will laugh at anything.

What a bunch. I know you well, gentlemen. You're in it for the quiet life and the pension, you don't hurry too much in case the danger is still around when you get there, and the most you ever expected to face was an obstreperous drunk or a particularly difficult cow. Most of you aren't even coppers, not in your head. In the sea of adventure, you're bottom-feeders.

And now, it's war…and you're in the middle. Not on either side. You're the stupid little band of brownjobs. You're beneath contempt. But believe me, boys—you'll rise.

For a minute or two after Morphic Street went quiet nothing moved and nothing happened.

Then a coach came around the corner. It was a particularly fine one, drawn by two horses. Its lamps were torches, and as the coach bounced on the cobbles the zig-zagging flames seemed to trail for a moment in the air, and appeared to have a smoky quality.

In so far as they revealed anything, these suggested that the coach had been done up in purple livery. It also seemed to be rather heavy on its wheels.

It pulled to a halt at the next doorway down from the one where Vimes had performed his arrest. Vimes, who thought he knew a lot about being a shadow, would have been surprised to see two dark figures step out of the doorway's darkness into the light of the torch.

The coach door swung open.

“Strange news, kind lady,” said one of the shadows.

“Very strange news, dearie,” said the other shadow.

They climbed up into the coach, which sped off.

Vimes was impressed at the way the men reacted back at the Watch House, despite the lack of any command from him. Wiglet and Scutts jumped down as soon as the wagon was in the yard and dragged the gates across.

Inside, Colon and Waddy pulled the shutters across the windows. Waddy went into the armoury and came out with an armful of crossbows. It was all done with speed and, for the men concerned, precision.

Vimes nudged his younger self. “Make the cocoa, will you, kid?” he said. “I don't want to miss the