Night Watch

needed something else to tell you that it wasn't just a job.

“Snouty, nip up to the captain's office and get the Shilling, will you?” said Vimes. “Let's get this lot sworn in. And where's Sergeant Knock?”

“Pushed off, sarge,” said Wiglet. “Dunno if it helps, but he said ‘to hell with him’ when he went out the door.”

Vimes counted heads.

It'd be said, later on, that all the Watch House stayed on. They hadn't, of course. Some had slipped away, some hadn't come back on duty at all. But it was true about Keel and the Line.

“Okay, lads,” he said, “it's like this. We know what's been going on. I don't know about you, but I don't like it. Once you get troops on the streets, it's only a matter of time before it goes bad. Some kid throws a stone, next minute there's houses on fire and people getting killed. What we're going to do is keep the peace. That's our job. We're not going to be heroes, we're just going to be…normal. Now,” he shifted position, “it might just be that someone will say we're doing something wrong. So I'm not going to order you.”

He drew his sword and scratched a line across the mud and stones.

“If you step over the line, then you're in,” he said. “If you don't, then that's fine. You didn't sign up for this and I doubt that there'll be any medals, whatever happens. I'll just ask you to go, and the best of luck to you.”

It was almost depressing how quickly Lance-Constable Vimes crossed the line. Fred Colon came next, and Waddy, and Billy Wiglet. And Spatchcock, Culweather and Moist and Leggy Gaskin and Horace Nancyball and…Curry, wasn't it?…and Evans and Pounce…

A dozen crossed the line, the last few with the reluctance caused by a battle between peer pressure and a healthy regard for their skin. A few others, more than Vimes had hoped, evaporated at the back.

That left Ned Coates. He crossed his arms. “You're all bloody mad,” he said.

“We could use you, Ned,” said Vimes.

“I don't want to die,” said Ned, “and I don't intend to. This is stupid. There's barely a dozen of you. What can you do? All that stuff about ‘keeping the peace’—it's rubbish, lads. Coppers do what they're told by the men in charge. It's always like that. What'll you do when the new captain comes in, eh? And who're you doing this for? The people? They attacked the other Houses, and what's the Night Watch ever done to hurt them?”

“Nothing,” said Vimes.

“There you are, then.”

“I mean the Watch did nothing, and that's what hurt them,” said Vimes.

“What could you do, then? Arrest Winder?”

Vimes felt he was building a bridge of matchsticks over a yawning abyss, and now he could feel the chilly winds below him.

He'd arrested Vetinari, back in the future. Admittedly the man had walked free, after what passed for the due process of law, but the City Watch had bee—was going to be big enough and strong enough and well-connected enough to actually arrest the ruler of the city. How had they ever got to that stage? How had he even dreamed that a bunch of coppers could slam the cell door on the boss?

Well, perhaps it had started here. Lance-Constable Vimes was watching him intently.

“Of course we can't,” he said, “but we ought to be able to. Maybe one day we will. If we can't then the law isn't the law, it's just a way of keeping people down.”

“Looks like you've woken up and smelled the cacky,” said Coates, “because that's exactly what you're in. Sorry, lads, but you're going to die. That's what'll happen if you tangle with real soldiers. Hear about Dolly Sisters last night? Three dead and they weren't even trying.”

“Come on, Ned, no one's going to have a go at us if we're just patrolling,” mumbled Colon.

“Patrolling for what?” said Coates. “To keep the peace? What'll you do when there's no peace left to keep? Well, I'm not going to stand around and see you get killed. I'm off.”

He turned and strode out of the yard and into the Watch House. You bloody fool, you're right, Vimes thought. I just wish you weren't so right.

“Still with us, lads?” he said, to the group caught behind the line.

“That's right, sarge!” said Lance-Constable Vimes. The rest of the volunteers seemed slightly less certain.

“Are we gonna get killed?” said Wiglet.

“Who said it's going to come to a fight?” said Vimes, watching Coates's retreating back. “Wait a moment, I want a word with Ned—”

“Got the Shilling, sarge,” Snouty announced, advancing across the yard. “And the captain wants a word with you.”

“Tell him I'll be up in just a few—”

“It's the new captain,” said Snouty quickly. “He's here already, hnah. Keen. Milit'ry. Not the patient type, sarge.”

I used to have Carrot and Detritus and Angua and Cheery for this, Vimes thought bitterly. I'd say you do this, and you do that, and all I had to do was fret and deal with the soddin' politics…

“Get Fred to swear the men in,” he said. “And tell the officer I'll be with him shortly.”

He ran through the Watch House and out of the front door. There were a lot of people in the street, more than usual. It wasn't a mob as such, but it was Ankh-Morpork's famous ur-mob, the state you got just before a real mob happened. It spread across the city like web and spider and, when some triggering event happened, twanged its urgent message through the streets and thickened and tightened around the spot. The Dolly Sisters Massacre had got around and the numbers had grown in the telling. Vimes could sense the tension in the web. It was just waiting for some idiot to do the wrong thing, and Nature is bountiful where idiots are concerned.

“Coates!” he yelled.

To his surprise, the man stopped and turned.

“Yeah?”

“I know you're with the revolutionaries.”

“You're just guessing.”

“No, you had the password in your notebook,” said Vimes. “The same one Dibbler was passing out in pies. You must know I was able to get into the lockers. Look, do you think you and Dibbler'd still be walking around if I was a spy for Swing?”

“Sure. You're not after us, we can be mopped up later. Swing wants the leaders.”

Vimes stood back. “Okay. Why haven't you told the lads?”

“Things are moving, that's why. It's all starting,” said Ned. “Who you are doesn't matter any more. But you're going to get the lads killed. They'd have been on our side, if it wasn't for you. I was working on 'em. You know Spatchcock always drops his sword on his foot and Nancyball wets himself when he's threatened and Vimesy is simple, and now you're going to stick 'em all right in the middle and they're gonna die. And all for no reason!”

“Why haven't you told them?” Vimes repeated.

“Maybe you've got friends in high places,” Ned snarled.

Vimes glanced up at the rooftops.

“Have we finished?” said Ned.

“Give me your badge,” said Vimes.

“You what?”

“You're quitting. Fair enough. Give me your badge.”

Coates recoiled as if he'd been stung. “Blow that!”

“Then leave the city,” said Vimes. “It'd be for your own good.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Not from me. But here's some advice, boy. Don't put your trust in revolutions. They always come around again. That's why they're called revolutions. People die, and nothing changes. I'll see you later.”

He turned his back and hurried away, so that the man wouldn't see his face.

Okay. Now it was time. It had to be now, or he'd burst like Mr Salciferous. He had wanted to do this, hadn't dared try it, because those monks could probably do a man a lot of no good if he crossed them, but it had all gone too far now…