Guards! Guards!

there wasn’t one member of the entire squad who hadn’t, at some time, been at the wrong end of Detritus’s fists. Nobby had merely tried to play catch-up in the very best traditions of policemen everywhere.
    “He went and kicked him inna rocks, sir,” he said.
    “Disgraceful,” said the captain vaguely. He hesitated. “Do trolls have rocks?” he said.
    “Take it from me, sir.”
    “Good grief,” Vimes said. “Dame Nature moves in strange ways, doesn’t she.”
    “Right you are, sir,” said the sergeant obediently.
    “And now,” said the captain, drawing his sword, “forward!”
    “Yessir.”
    “This means you too, Sergeant,” the captain added.
    “Yessir.”

    It was possibly the most circumspect advance in the history of military maneuvers, right down at the bottom end of the scale that things like the Charge of the Light Brigade are at the top of.
    They peered cautiously around the ravished doorway.
    There were a number of people sprawled across the tables, or what remained of the tables. Those who were still conscious looked unhappy about it.
    Carrot stood in the middle of the floor. His rusty chain mail was torn, his helmet was missing, he was swaying a little from side to side and one eye was already starting to swell, but he recognized the captain, dropped the feebly-protesting customer he was holding, and threw a salute.
    “Beg to report thirty-one offenses of Making an Affray, sir, and fifty-six cases of Riotous Behavior, forty-one offenses of Obstructing an Officer of the Watch in the Execution of his Duty, thirteen offenses of Assault with a Deadly Weapon, six cases of Malicious Lingering, and—and—Corporal Nobby hasn’t even shown me one rope yet—”
    He fell backward, breaking a table.
    Captain Vimes coughed. He wasn’t at all sure what you were supposed to do next. As far as he knew, the Watch had never been in this position before.
    “I think you should get him a drink, Sergeant,” he said.
    “Yessir.”
    “And get me one, too.”
    “Yessir.”
    “Have one yourself, why don’t you.”
    “Yessir.”
    “And you, Corporal, will you please— what are you doing?”
    “Searchingthebodiesir,” said Nobby quickly, straightening up. “For incriminating evidence, and that.”
    “In their money pouches?”
    Nobby thrust his hands behind his back. “You never know, sir,” he said.
    The sergeant had located a miraculously unbroken bottle of spirits in the wreckage and forced a lot of its contents between Carrot’s lips.
    “What we going to do with all this lot, Captain?” he said over his shoulder.
    “I haven’t the faintest idea,” said Vimes, sitting down. The Watch jail was just about big enough for six very small people, which were usually the only sort to be put in it. Whereas these—
    He looked around him desperately. There was Nork the Impaler, lying under a table and making bubbling noises. There was Big Henri. There was Grabber Simmons, one of the most feared barroom fighters in the city. All in all, there were a lot of people it wouldn’t pay to be near when they woke up.
    “We could cut their froats, sir,” said Nobby, veteran of a score of residual battlefields. He had found an unconscious fighter who was about the right size and was speculatively removing his boots, which looked quite new and about the right size.
    “That would be entirely wrong,” said Vimes. He wasn’t sure how you actually went about cutting a throat. It had never hitherto been an option.
    “No,” he said, “I think perhaps we’ll let them off with a caution.”
    There was a groan from under the bench.
    “Besides,” he went on quickly, “we should get our fallen comrade to a place of safety as soon as possible.”
    “Good point,” said the sergeant. He took a swig of the spirits, for the sake of his nerves.
    The two of them managed to sling Carrot between them and guide his wobbling legs up the steps. Vimes, collapsing under the weight, looked around for Nobby.
    “Corporal Nobbs,” he rasped, “why are you kicking people when they’re down?”
    “Safest way, sir,” said Nobby.
    Nobby had long ago been told about fighting fair and not striking a fallen opponent, and had then given some creative thought to how these rules applied to someone four feet tall with the muscle tone of an elastic band.
    “Well, stop it. I want you to caution the felons,” said the captain.
    “How, sir?”
    “Well, you—” Captain Vimes stopped. He was blowed if he knew. He’d