Night Watch

moment of uncertainty.

“I get it,” said the prisoner. “Good Cop, Bad Cop, eh?”

“If you like,” said Vimes. “But we're a bit short staffed, so if I give you a cigarette would you mind kicking yourself in the teeth?”

“Look, this is a game, right?” said the prisoner. “You know I'm one of the Particulars. And you're new in town and want to impress us. Well, you have. Big laugh all round, haha. Anyway, I was only on stake-out.”

“Yes, but that's not how it works, is it,” said Vimes. “Now we've got you, we can decide what you're guilty of. You know how it's done. Fancy a ginger beer?”

The man's face froze.

“Y'know,” said Vimes, “it turns out that after the riot this evening we've been warned to expect revolutionary attacks on the Watch Houses. Now personally I wouldn't expect that. What I'd expect is a bunch of ordinary people turning up, you know, because they've heard what happened. But—and you can call me Mr Suspicious if you like—I've got a feeling that there will be something a bit worse. You see, apparently we've got to be mindful of the curfew regulations. What that means, I suppose, is that if we get people coming to complain about unarmed citizens being attacked by soldiers, which personally I would consider to be Assault With A Deadly Weapon, we've got to arrest them. I find that rather—”

There was a commotion from above. Vimes nodded to young Sam, who disappeared up the stairs.

“Now that my impressionable assistant has gone,” said Vimes quietly, “I'll add if any of my men get hurt tonight then I'll see to it that for the rest of your life you scream at the sight of a bottle.”

“I haven't done anything to you! You don't even know me!”

“Yes. Like I said, we're doing it your way,” said Vimes.

Sam reappeared, in a hurry. “Someone's fallen in the privy!” he announced. “They were climbing on the roof and it had been sawn through and gave way!”

“It must be one of those revolutionary elements,” said Vimes, watching the prisoner's face. “We've been warned about them.”

“He says he's from Cable Street, sarge!”

“That's just the kind of thing I'd say, if I was a revolutionary element,” said Vimes. “All right, let's take a look at him.”

Upstairs, the front door was still open. There were a few people outside, just visible in the lamplight. There was also Sergeant Knock inside, and he was not happy.

“Who said we open up like this?” he was saying. “It looks nasty out on those streets! Very dangerous —”

“I said we stay open,” said Vimes, coming up the stairs. “Is there a problem, sergeant?”

“Well…look, sarge, I heard on the way over, they're throwing stones at the Dimwell Street House,” said Knock, deflating. “There's people in the streets! Mobs! I hate to think what's happening downtown.”

“So?”

“We're coppers! We should be getting prepared!”

“What? To bar the doors and listen to the stones rattle off the roof?” said Vimes. “Or maybe we should go out and arrest everyone? Any volunteers? No? I'll tell you what, sergeant, if you want to do some coppering you can go and arrest the man in the privy. Do him for Breaking and Entering—”

There was a scream from upstairs.

Vimes glanced up.

“And I reckon if you go up on to the attic landing you'll find there's a man who dropped through the skylight right on to a doorful of nails that was accidentally left there,” he went on. He looked at Knock's puzzled face. “It's the Cable Street boys, sergeant,” he said. “They thought they could come across the roofs and scare the dumb brownjobs. Chuck 'em both in the cells.”

“You're arresting Unmentionables?”

“No uniform. No badge. Carrying weapons. Let's have a bit of law around here, shall we?” said Vimes. “Snouty, where's that cocoa?”

“We'll get into trouble!” Knock shouted.

Vimes let Knock wait until he'd lit a cigar. “We're in trouble anyway, Winsborough,” he said, shaking out the match. “It's just a case of deciding what kind we want. Thanks, Snouty.”

He took the mug of cocoa from the jailer and nodded at Sam. “Let's take a stroll outside,” he said.

He was aware of the sudden silence in the room, except for the whimpering coming from upstairs and the distant yelling from the privy.

“What're you all standing around for, gentlemen?” he said. “Want to ring your bells? Anyone fancy shouting out that all's well?”

With those words hanging in the room all big and pink, Vimes stepped out into the evening air.

There were people hanging around out there, in little groups of three or four, talking among themselves and occasionally turning to look at the Watch House.

Vimes sat down on the steps, and took a sip of his cocoa.

He might as well have dropped his breeches. The groups opened up, became an audience. No man drinking a nonalcoholic chocolate beverage had ever been the centre of so much attention.

He'd been right. A closed door is an incitement to bravery. A man drinking from a mug, under a light, and apparently enjoying the cool night air, is an incitement to pause.

“We're breaking curfew, you know,” said a young man, with a quick dart forward, dart back movement.

“Is that right?” said Vimes.

“Are you going to arrest us, then?”

“Not me,” said Vimes cheerfully. “I'm on my break.”

“Yeah?” said the man. He pointed to Colon and Waddy. “They on their break too?”

“They are now.” Vimes half turned. “Brew's up, lads. Off you go. No, no need to run, there's enough for everyone. And come back out when you've got it…”

When the sound of pounding boots had died away, Vimes turned back and smiled at the group again.

“So when do you come off your break?” said the man.

Vimes paid him some extra attention. The stance was a giveaway. He was ready to fight, even though he didn't look like a fighter. If this were a bar room, the bartender would be taking the more expensive bottles off the shelf, because amateurs like that tended to spread the glass around. Ah, yes…and now he could see why the words “bar room” had occurred to him. There was a bottle sticking out of the man's pocket. He'd been drinking his defiance.

“Oh, around Thursday, I reckon,” said Vimes, eyeing the bottle. There was laughter from somewhere in the growing crowd.

“Why Thursday?” said the drinker.

“Got my day off on Thursday.”

There were a few more laughs this time. When the tension is drawing out, it doesn't take much to snap it.

“I demand you arrest me!” said the drinker. “Come on, try it!”

“You're not drunk enough,” said Vimes. “I should go home and sleep it off, if I was you.”

The man's hand grasped the neck of the bottle. Here it comes, thought Vimes. By the look of him, the man had one chance in five…

Fortunately, the crowd wasn't too big yet. What you didn't need at a time like this was people at the back, craning to see and asking what was going on. And the lit-up Watch House was fully illuminating the lit-up man.

“Friend, if you take my advice you'll not consider that,” said Vimes. He took another sip of his cocoa. It was only lukewarm now, but along with the cigar it meant that both his hands were occupied. That was important. He wasn't holding a weapon. No one could say afterwards that he had a weapon.

“I'm no friend to you people!” snapped the man, and smashed the bottle on the wall by the steps.

The glass tinkled to the ground. Vimes watched the man's face, watched the expression change from drink-fuelled anger to agonizing pain, watched the mouth open…