Night Watch

Mrs. Rutherford,” said Reg.
    “I am not a comrade, Mr. Shoe, and nor is Mr. Rutherford,” said Mrs. Rutherford. “We’ve always kept ourselves to ourselves, haven’t we, Sidney?”
    “I’ve got a question,” said someone in the crowd of onlookers. “Harry Supple’s my name. Got a shoe shop in New Cobblers…”
    Reg seized on this as an opportunity to avoid talking to Mrs. Rutherford. Revolutionaries should not have to meet someone like Mrs. Rutherford on their first day.
    “Yes, Comrade Supple?” he said.
    “Nor are we boyjoys,” said Mrs. Rutherford, not willing to let things go.
    “Er, bourgeoisie,” said Reg. “Our manifesto refers to bourgeoisie. That’s like bore, er, zhwah, er, zee.”
    “Bourgeoisie, bourgeoisie,” said Mrs. Rutherford, turning the word over on her tongue. “That…doesn’t sound too bad. What, er, sort of thing do they do?”
    “Anyway, it says here in article seven of this here list—” Mr. Supple ploughed on.
    “—People’s Declaration of the Glorious 24th of May,” said Reg.
    “Yeah, yeah, right…well, it says we’ll seize hold of the means of production, sort of thing, so what I want to know is, how does that work out regarding my shoe shop? I mean, I’m in it anyway, right? It’s not like there’s room for more’n me and my lad Garbut and maybe one customer.”
    In the dark, Vimes smiled. But Reg could never see stuff coming.
    “Ah, but after the revolution all property will be held in common by The People…er…that is, it’ll belong to you but also to everyone else, you see?”
    Comrade Supple looked puzzled.
    “But I’ll be the one making the shoes?”
    “Of course. But everything will belong to The People.”
    “So…who’s going to pay for the shoes?” said Mr Supple.
    “Everyone will pay a reasonable price for their shoes, and you won’t be guilty of living off the sweat of the common worker,” said Reg shortly. “Now, if we—”
    “You mean the cows?” said Supple.
    “What?”
    “Well, there’s only the cows, and the lads at the tannery, and, frankly, all they do is stand in a field all day, well, not the tannery boys, obviously, but—”
    “Look,” said Reg. “Everything will belong to The People and everyone will be better off. Do you understand?”
    The shoemaker’s frown grew deeper. He wasn’t certain if he was part of The People.
    “I thought we just didn’t want soldiers down our street, and mobs, and all that lot,” he said.
    Reg had a hunted look. He made a dive for safety. “Well, at least we can agree on Truth, Freedom, and Justice, yes?”
    There was a chorus of nods. Everyone wanted those. They didn’t cost anything.
    A match flared in the dark, and they turned to see Vimes light a cigar.
    “You’d like Freedom, Truth, and Justice, wouldn’t you, Comrade Sergeant?” said Reg encouragingly.
    “I’d like a hard-boiled egg,” said Vimes, shaking the match out.
    There was some nervous laughter, but Reg looked offended.
    “In the circumstances, Sergeant, I think we should set our sights a little higher—”
    “Well, yes, we could,” said Vimes, coming down the steps. He glanced at the sheets of paper in front of Reg. The man cared. He really did. And he was serious. He really was. “But…well, Reg, tomorrow the sun will come up again, and I’m pretty sure that whatever happens we won’t have found Freedom, and there won’t be a whole lot of Justice, and I’m damn sure we won’t have found Truth. But it’s just possible that I might get a hard-boiled egg. What’s this all about, Reg?”
    “The People’s Republic of Treacle Mine Road!” said Reg proudly. “We are forming a government!”
    “Oh, good,” said Vimes. “Another one. Just what we need. Now, does any one of you know where my damn barricades have gone?”
    “’Ullo, Mr. Keel,” said a glutinous voice.
    He looked down beside him. There, still wearing his hugely oversized coat but now with the addition of a helmet much too large for him, was Nobby Nobbs.
    “How did you get there, Nobby?”
    “My mum says I’m insidious,” said Nobby, grinning. A concertina sleeve rose to the vicinity of Nobby’s head, and Vimes realized that somewhere in there was a salute.
    “She’s right,” said Vimes. “So, where—”
    “’M an acting constable now, Sarge,” said Nobby. “Mr. Colon said so. Gave me a spare helmet. ’M carvin’ meself a badge out of, of—what’s that, like, waxy, kind of like candles but you can’t