Night Watch

He met young Sam coming the other way as he headed for the cells. The boy's face was white in the gloom.

“Found anyone?” said Vimes.

“Oh, sarge…”

“Yes?”

“Oh, sarge…sarge…” Tears were running down the lance-constable's face.

Vimes reached out and steadied himself. Sam felt as though there were no bones left in his body. He was trembling.

“There's a woman in the last cell, and she…sarge…oh, sarge—”

“Try taking deep breaths,” said Vimes. “Not that this air is fit to breathe.”

“And there's a room right at the end, sarge…oh, sarge… Nancyball fainted again, sarge…”

“You didn't,” said Vimes, patting him gently on the back.

“But there's—”

“Let's rescue what we can, shall we, lad?”

“But we were on the hurry-up wagon, sarge!”

“What?” said Vimes, and then it dawned. Oh, yes…

“But we didn't hand anyone over, lad,” he said. “Remember?”

“But I've been on it before, sarge! All the lads have! We just handed people over and went back to the Watch House for cocoa, sarge!”

“Well, you'd had orders…” said Vimes, for what good that did.

“We didn't know!”

Not exactly, thought Vimes. We didn't ask. We just shut our minds to it. People went in through that front door and some of the poor devils came out through the secret door, not always in one box.

They hadn't measured up.

Nor did we.

He heard a low, visceral sound from the boy. Sam had spotted the torturer in the chair. He shook himself away from Vimes, ran over to the rack, and snatched up a club.

Vimes was ready. He grabbed the boy, swung him round, and twisted the thing out of his hand before murder was done.

“No! That's not the way! This is not the time! Hold it back! Tame it! Don't waste it! Send it back! It'll come when you call!”

“You know he did those things!” shouted Sam, kicking at his legs. “You said we had to take the law into our own hands!”

Ah, thought Vimes. This is just the time for a long debate about the theory and practice of justice. Here comes the shortened version.

“You don't bash a man's brains out when he's tied to a chair!”

“He did!”

“And you don't. That's because you're not him!”

“But they—”

“Stand to attention, lance-constable!” shouted Vimes, and the straw-covered ceiling drank and deadened the sound. Sam blinked through reddened eyes.

“Okay, sarge, but—”

“Are you going to snivel all day? Forget about this one. Let's get the living out, right?”

“Hard to tell with—” Sam began, wiping his nose.

“Do it! Follow me!”

He knew what was going to be in the dark arches of the cell tunnels, but that didn't make it any better. Some people could walk, or maybe hop. One or two had just been beaten up, but not so badly that they couldn't hear what was going on just out of sight, and dwell on it. They cringed when the gates were opened, and whimpered as he touched them. No wonder Swing got his confessions.

And some were dead. Others were…well, if they weren't dead, if they'd just gone somewhere in their heads, it was as sure as hell that there was nothing for them to come back to. The chair had broken them again and again. They were beyond the help of any man.

Just in case, and without any feeling of guilt, Vimes removed his knife, and…gave what help he could. There was not a twitch, not a sigh.

He stood up, black and red stormclouds in his head.

You could almost understand a thug, simple as a fist, being paid decent money for doing something he didn't mind doing. But Swing had brains…

Who really knew what evil lurked in the heart of men?

@ME.

Who knew what sane men were capable of?

STILL ME, I'M AFRAID.

Vimes glanced at the door of the last room. No, he wasn't going in there again. No wonder it stank here.

YOU CAN'T HEAR ME, CAN YOU? OH I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT, said Death, and waited.

Vimes went to help young Sam bring Nancyball round. Then they half carried, half walked the prisoners out along the passage up into the warehouse. They laid them down, and went back and dragged out the clerk, whose name was Trebilcock. Vimes explained to him the advantages of turning King's Evidence. They were not major advantages, except when they were compared with the huge disadvantages that would follow swiftly if he refused to do so.

And Vimes stepped out into the early evening. Colon and the squad were still waiting; the whole business had taken only twenty minutes or so.

The corporal saluted, and then his nose wrinkled.

“Yes, we stink,” said Vimes. He unbuckled his belt and pulled off his breastplate and chain-mail undershirt. The filth of the place had crawled everywhere. “Okay,” he said, when he no longer felt that he was standing in a sewer, “I want a couple of men at the entrance over there in the warehouse, a couple round the back with truncheons, and the rest ready out here. Just like we talked about, okay? Wallop them first, arrest them later.”

“Right, sir.” Colon nodded. Men set off.

“And now give me that brandy,” Vimes added.

He unwrapped his neckerchief, soaked it in spirit, and tied it around the neck of the bottle. He heard the angry murmur from the squad. They'd just seen Sam and Nancyball bringing out some of the prisoners.

“There was worse,” said Vimes, “believe me. Top middle window, Fred.”

“Right, sarge,” said Fred Colon, dragging his eyes away from the walking wounded. He raised his crossbow, and neatly took out two window panes and a glazing bar.

Vimes located his silver cigar case, removed a cigar, lit it, applied the match to the brandy-soaked rag, waited for it to catch, and hurled the bottle through the window.

There was a tinkle, a whoomph of exploding spirit, and a flame that rapidly grew.

“Nice one, sarge,” said Fred. “Er, I don't know if this is the right time, sarge, but we brought an extra bottle while we were about it…”

“Really, Fred? And what d'you say?”

Fred Colon glanced at the prisoners again. “I say we use it,” he said.

It went through one of the ground-floor windows. Smoke was already curling out from under the eaves.

“We haven't seen anyone go in or out apart from those guards,” said Fred, as they watched it. “I don't reckon there's many left in there.”

“Just so long as we destroy the nest,” said Vimes.

The front door opened slightly, increasing the draught to the fires. Someone was checking.

“They'll wait until the last minute and come out fighting, Fred,” Vimes warned.