Men at Arms

in his breastplate.”
    “Granted. Tell him not to do it again.”
    “Yes, sir. Well, I think that’s about it. Except for a new kettle.”
    The Patrician’s hand moved in front of his lips. He was trying not to smile.
    “Dear me. Another kettle as well? What happened to the old one?”
    “Oh, we still use it, sir, we still use it. But we’re going to need another because of the new arrangements.”
    “I’m sorry? What new arrangements?”
    Carrot unfolded a second, and rather larger, piece of paper.
    “The Watch to be brought up to an establishment strength of fifty-six; the old Watch Houses at the River Gate, the Deosil Gate and the Hubwards Gate to be re-opened and manned on a twenty-four hour basis—”
    The Patrician’s smile remained, but his face seemed to pull away from it, leaving it stranded and all alone in the world.
    “—a department for, well, we haven’t got a name for it yet, but for looking at clues and things like dead bodies, e.g., how long they’ve been dead, and to start with we’ll need an alchemist and possibly a ghoul provided they promise not to take anything home and eat it; a special unit using dogs, which could be very useful, and Lance-Constable Angua can deal with that since she can, um, be her own handler a lot of the time; a request here from Corporal Nobbs that Watchmen be allowed all the weapons they can carry, although I’d be obliged if you said no to that; a—”
    Lord Vetinari waved a hand.
    “All right, all right,” he said. “I can see how this is going. And supposing I say no?”
    There was another of those long, long pauses, wherein may be seen the possibilities of several different futures.
    “Do you know, sir, I never even considered that you’d say no?”
    “You didn’t?”
    “No, sir.”
    “I’m intrigued. Why not?”
    “It’s all for the good of the city, sir. Do you know where the word ‘policeman’ comes from? It means ‘man of the city’, sir. From the old word polis .”
    “Yes. I do know.”
    The Patrician looked at Carrot. He seemed to be shuffling futures in his head. Then:
    “Yes. I accede to all the requests, except the one involving Corporal Nobbs. And you, I think, should be promoted to Captain.”
    “Ye-es. I agree, sir. That would be a good thing for Ankh-Morpork. But I will not command the Watch, if that’s what you mean.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because I could command the Watch. Because…people should do things because an officer tells them. They shouldn’t do it just because Corporal Carrot says so. Just because Corporal Carrot is…good at being obeyed.” Carrot’s face was carefully blank.
    “An interesting point.”
    “But there used to be a rank, in the old days. Commander of the Watch. I suggest Samuel Vimes.”
    The Patrician leaned back. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Commander of the Watch. Of course, that became a rather unpopular job, after all that business with Lorenzo the Kind. It was a Vimes who held the post in those days. I’ve never liked to ask him if he was an ancestor.”
    “He was, sir. I looked it up.”
    “Would he accept?”
    “Is the High Priest an Offlian? Does a dragon explode in the woods?”
    The Patrician steepled his fingers and looked at Carrot over the top of them. It was a mannerism that had unnerved many.
    “But, you see, captain, the trouble with Sam Vimes is that he upsets a lot of important people. And I think that a Commander of the Watch would have to move in very exalted circles, attend Guild functions…”
    They exchanged glances. The Patrician got the best of the bargain, since Carrot’s face was bigger. Both of them were trying not to grin.
    “An excellent choice, in fact,” said the Patrician.
    “I’d taken the liberty, sir, of drafting a letter to the cap—to Mr. Vimes on your behalf. Just to save you trouble, sir. Perhaps you’d care to have a look?”
    “You think of everything, don’t you?”
    “I hope so, sir.”
    Lord Vetinari read the letter. He smiled once or twice. Then he picked up his pen, signed at the bottom, and handed it back.
    “And is that the last of your dema—requests?”
    Carrot scratched his ear.
    “There is one, actually. I need a home for a small dog. It must have a large garden, a warm spot by the fire, and happy laughing children.”
    “Good heavens. Really? Well, I suppose we can find one.”
    “Thank you, sir. That’s all, I think.”
    The Patrician stood up and limped over to the window. It was dusk. Lights were being lit