He moved away quickly. He told himself he shouldn’t be doing this to the inspector, who was just a clerk in the wrong place and probably wasn’t a bad man. The trouble was, the trolls up in the plaza probably weren’t bad trolls, and the dwarfs down in the square probably weren’t bad dwarfs, either. People who probably weren’t bad could kill you.
The troll beat boomed around the city as Vimes reached Fred Colon.
‘I see they’re giving us the ol’ gahanka then, Mister Vimes,’ said the sergeant, with nervous cheerfulness.
‘Yep. They’ll be charging pretty soon, I expect.’ Vimes screwed up his eyes, trying to see figures around the distant glow. Trolls didn’t charge fast, but when they charged it was like a wall getting nearer. Extending a hand and shouting ‘Halt!’ in a firm, authoritative voice probably would not be sufficient.
‘You thinking about another barricade, Mister Vimes?’ said Fred.
‘Hmm?’ said Vimes, dismissing the mental picture of himself laminated to the street.
‘Barricades, sir,’ Colon prompted. ‘More’n thirty years ago?’
Vimes gave a curt nod. Oh yes, he remembered the Glorious Revolution. It hadn’t really been a revolution and had been glorious only if you thought an early grave was glorious. Men had died there, too, because of other men who, bar one or two, probably weren’t bad…
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And it seems like only yesterday.’ Every day, he thought, it seems like only yesterday.
‘Remember ol’ Sergeant Keel? He pulled off a few tricks that night!’ Sergeant Colon’s voice, like A. E. Pessimal’s, had a curiously hopeful tone.
Vimes nodded.
‘I suppose you wouldn’t have one or two up your sleeve too, sir?’ Fred went on, the hope now naked and unashamed.
‘You know me, Fred, always willing to learn,’ said Vimes vaguely. He strolled on, nodding to watchmen he knew, slapping others on the back, and trying not to get trapped in anyone’s gaze. Every face was in some way a reflection of the face of Fred Colon. He could practically see their thoughts, while the thud of five hundred clubs hitting the stone in unison banged on the eardrums like a hammer.
You have got it sorted, haven’t you, Mister Vimes? We’re not really going to be stuck here like the meat in a sandwich, right? It’s a trick, yes? It is a trick, isn’t it? Sir?
I hope it is, Vimes thought. But, one way or another, the Watch has to be here. That’s the bloody truth of it.
Something had changed in the rhythm of the gahanka. You had to be listening, but some of the clubs were hitting the ground just ahead or just after the beat. Ah.
He reached Cheery and Carrot, who were staring at the distant fires of the dwarfs.
‘We think we might be getting a result, sir,’ said Carrot.
‘I damn well hope so! What’s happening with the dwarfs?’
‘Not so much singing, sir,’ Cheery reported.
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘We could handle them, though, couldn’t we, sir?’ said Carrot. ‘With the golem officers on our side too? If it came to it?’
Of course we couldn’t, Vimes’s mind supplied, not if they mean it. What we could do is die valiantly. I’ve seen men die valiantly. There’s no future in it.
‘I don’t want it to come to it, captain—’ Vimes stopped. A deeper shadow had moved amongst the shadows.
‘What’s the password?’ he said quickly.
The shadowy figure, who was cloaked and hooded, hesitated.
‘Pathword? Ecthcuthe me, I’ve got it written down thomewhere—’ it began.
‘Okay, Igor, come on in,’ said Carrot.
‘How did you know it wath me, thur?’ said Igor, ducking under the barricade.
‘Your aftershave,’ said Vimes, winking at the captain. ‘How did it go?’
‘Jutht ath you thaid, thur,’ said Igor, pushing his hood back. ‘Inthidentally, thur, I have thcrubbed the thlab well and my couthin Igor ith thtanding by to lend a hand. In cathe of any little acthidenth, thur…’
‘Thank you for thinking of that, Igor,’ said Vimes, as if Igors ever thought of anything else. ‘I hope it won’t be needed.’
He looked up and down the Cham. The rain was falling harder now. Just for once, the copper’s friend had turned up when he really needed it. Rain tended to dampen martial enthusiasm.
‘Anyone seen Nobby?’ he said.
A voice from the shadows said: ‘Here, Mister Vimes! Been here five minutes!’
‘Why didn’t you sing out, then?’
‘Couldn’t remember the password, sir! I thought I’d wait till I heard Igor say it!’
‘Oh, come on in. Did it work?’
‘Better’n you’d imagine, sir!’ said Nobby, rain pouring down his cloak.
Vimes stood back. ‘Okay, lads, then this is it. Carrot and Cheery, you head for the dwarfs, me and Detritus will take the trolls. You know the drill. Lines to advance slowly, and no edged weapons. I repeat, no edged weapons until it’s that or die. Let’s do this like coppers, okay? On the signal!’
He hurried back up the line of barricades as fast as the stir ran along the ranks of the watchmen. Detritus was waiting stoically. He grunted when Vimes arrived.
‘Clubs have jus’ about stopped, sir,’ he reported.
‘I heard, sergeant.’ Vimes took off his oiled leather cloak and hung it on the barricade. He needed his arms free.
‘By the way, how did it go in Turn Again Lane?’ he said, stretching and breathing deeply.
‘Oh, wonnerful, sir,’ said Detritus happily. ‘Six alchemists an’ fifty pound o’ fresh Slide. In an’ out, quick an’ sweet, all banged up in the Tanty.’
‘Didn’t know what’d hit ’em, eh?’ said Vimes.
Detritus looked mildly offended at this. ‘Oh no, sir,’ he said, ‘I made sure they knew I hit ’em.’
And then Vimes spotted Mr Pessimal, still where he had left him, his face a pale disc in shadows. Well, enough of that game. Maybe the little tit would have learned something, standing here in the rain, waiting to be caught between a couple of screaming mobs. Maybe he’d had time to wonder what it was like to spend your life going through moments like that. A bit harder than pushing paper, eh?
‘If I was you, I’d just wait here, Mr Pessimal,’ he said, as kindly as he could manage. ‘This might be a bit rough in parts.’
‘No, commander,’ said A. E. Pessimal, looking up.
‘What?’
‘I have been paying attention to what has been said, and intend to face the foe, commander,’ said A. E. Pessimal.
‘Now see here, Mr Pessi— er, see here, A. E.,’ said Vimes, putting his hand on the little man’s shoulder. He stopped. A. E. Pessimal was trembling so much that his chain mail was faintly jingling. Vimes persevered. ‘Look, go on home, eh? This isn’t where you belong.’ He patted the shoulder a few times, totally nonplussed.
‘Commander Vimes!’ snapped the inspector.
‘Er, yes?’
A. E. Pessimal turned up to Vimes a face wetter than the drizzle rightly accounted for. ‘I am an acting-constable, am I not?’
‘Well, yes, I know I said that, but I did not expect you to take it seriously…’
‘I am a serious man, Commander Vimes. And there is no place I would rather be now than here!’ Acting-Constable Pessimal said, his teeth chattering. ‘And no time I’d rather be here than now! Let’s do this, shall we?’
Vimes looked at Detritus, who shrugged his massive shoulders. Something was happening here, in the mind of a little man whose back he could probably break with one hand.