Men at Arms

nervously and stopped as the sergeant, without apparently shifting position, grabbed one of his arms and twisted it gently but meaningfully up his back.
    “—and what good’s it all been? What good have I done? I’ve just worn out a lot of boots. There’s no place in Ankh-Morpork for policemen! Who cares what’s right or wrong? Assassins and thieves and trolls and dwarfs! Might as well have a bloody king and have done with it!”
    The rest of the Night Watch stood looking at their feet in mute embarrassment. Then Carrot said, “It’s better to light a candle than curse the darkness, captain. That’s what they say.”
    “ What ?” Vimes’ sudden rage was like a thunderclap. “Who says that? When has that ever been true? It’s never been true! It’s the kind of thing people without power say to make it all seem less bloody awful, but it’s just words , it never makes any difference —”
    Someone hammered at the door.
    “That’ll be Quirke,” said Vimes. “You’re to hand over your weapons. The Night Watch is being stood down for a day. Can’t have coppers running around upsetting things, can we? Open the door, Carrot.”
    “But—” Carrot began.
    “That was an order. I might not be any good for anything else, but I can bloody well order you to open the door, so open the door!”
    Quirke was accompanied by half a dozen members of the Day Watch. They had crossbows. In deference to the fact that they were doing a mildly unpleasant job involving fellow officers, they had them pointing slightly downward. In deference to the fact that they weren’t damn fools, they had the safety catches off.
    Quirke wasn’t actually a bad man. He didn’t have the imagination. He dealt more in that sort of generalized low-grade unpleasantness which slightly tarnishes the soul of all who come into contact with it. * Many people are in jobs that are a little beyond them, but there are ways of reacting to the situation. Sometimes they’re flustered and nice, sometimes they’re Quirke. Quirke handled them with the maxim: it doesn’t matter if you’re right or wrong, so long as you’re definite. There was, on the whole, no real racial prejudice in Ankh-Morpork; when you’ve got dwarfs and trolls, the mere color of other humans is not a major item. But Quirke was the kind of man to whom it comes naturally to pronounce the word negro with two gs.
    He had a hat with plumes in it.
    “Come in, come in,” said Vimes. “It wasn’t as if we were doing anything.”
    “Captain Vimes—”
    “It’s all right. We know. Give him your weapons, people. That’s an order, Carrot. One official issue sword, one pike or halberd, one night stick or truncheon, one crossbow. That’s right, isn’t it, Sergeant Colon?”
    “Yessir.”
    Carrot hesitated only a moment.
    “Oh, well,” he said. “My official sword is in the rack.”
    “What’s that one in your belt?”
    Carrot said nothing. However, he shifted position slightly. His biceps strained against the leather of his jerkin.
    “Official sword. Right,” said Quirke. He turned. He was one of those people who would recoil from an assault on strength, but attack weakness without mercy. “Where’s the gritsucker?” he said. “And the rock?”
    “Ah,” said Vimes, “you are referring to those representative members of our fellow sapient races who have chosen to throw in their lots with the people of this city?”
    “I mean the dwarf and the troll,” said Quirke.
    “Haven’t the faintest idea,” said Vimes cheerfully. It seemed to Angua that he was drunk again, if people could get drunk on despair.
    “We dunno, sir,” said Colon. “Haven’t seen ’em all day.”
    “Probably fighting up in Quarry Lane with the rest of them,” said Quirke. “You can’t trust people of their type. You ought to know that.”
    And it also seemed to Angua that although words like halfpint and gritsucker were offensive, they were as terms of universal brotherhood compared to words like “people of their type” in the mouth of men like Quirke. Much to her shock, she found her gaze concentrating on the man’s jugular vein.
    “Fighting?” said Carrot. “Why?”
    Quirke shrugged.
    “Who knows?”
    “Let me think now,” said Vimes. “It could be something to do with a wrongful arrest. It could be something to do with some of the more restless dwarfs just needing any excuse to have a go at the trolls. What do you think, Quirke?”
    “I don’t think,