Night Watch

you haven’t got ’em.”
    He shinned down the ladder. Well, then, that was it. It was over. Ring out bells, dance in the streets…
    “Sarge, did you mean that about helping them others with their wounded?” said Sam, who was standing at the bottom of the ladder.
    “Well, it makes as much sense as anything else that’s been happening,” said Vimes. “They’re city lads just like us, not our fault they were given the wrong orders.” And it messes with their heads, he thought, makes ’em wonder why all this is happening…
    “Only…Nancyball’s dead, Sarge.”
    Vimes took a deep breath. He’d known it anyway, up there on the wobbling ramparts, but hearing it said aloud was still a shock.
    “I daresay there’s a few of theirs who didn’t make it through the morning,” he said.
    “Yes, but they were the enemy, Sarge.”
    “It’s always worth thinking about who your enemy is,” said Vimes, tugging at the barricade.
    “How about the man who’s trying to stick a sword into you?” said Sam.
    “That’s a good start,” said Vimes. “But there are times when it pays to be a little less tightly focused.”

    In the Oblong Office, Snapcase put his hands together and tapped his front teeth with his index fingers. Quite a lot of paperwork was spread in front of him.
    “What to do, what to do,” he said thoughtfully.
    “A general amnesty is usual, my lord,” said Mr. Slant. Mr. Slant, as head of the Guild of Lawyers, had advised many leaders of the city. He was also a zombie, although this had, if anything, benefited his career. He was precedent. He knew how things should go.
    “Yes, yes, of course,” said Snapcase. “A clean start. Of course. No doubt there is a traditional form of words?”
    “In fact, my lord, I happen to have a copy right here—”
    “Yes, yes. Tell me about this barricade, though, will you? The one that was still standing?” He looked up at the crowd assembled in the office.
    “You know about that, sir?” said Doctor Follett.
    “I do have my own informants, you know,” said Snapcase. “It has caused rather a stir, has it not? Some fellow put together a rather smart defense force, cut us off from the vital organs of the city, broke up Captain Swing’s organization, and has withstood the best attacks that could be made against him. And he is a sergeant, I hear.”
    “May I suggest that a promotion is in order?” said Madam.
    “I was thinking exactly the same thing,” said Snapcase, his little eyes gleaming. “And then there is the question of his men. Loyal, are they?”
    “Apparently, sir,” said Madam. She exchanged a puzzled glance with Doctor Follett.
    Snapcase sighed. “On the other hand, a soldier can hardly be punished for loyalty to a senior officer, especially in these difficult times. There is no reason to take formal action against them.”
    Eyes met again. They all felt it, the sense of the world slipping.
    “But not Keel, however,” said Snapcase, standing up and removing a snuffbox from his waistcoat. “ Think about it, I pray you. What ruler could tolerate the existence of such a man? He did all that in just a few days? I dread to think what he might take it into his head to do tomorrow. These are delicate times. Are we to be hostage to every whim of a mere sergeant? We do not need someone like Keel doing things his way. Besides, you know, the Particulars could have been useful to us. Suitably reeducated, obviously.”
    “I thought you said you wanted to promote him?” said Doctor Follett bluntly.
    Lord Snapcase took a pinch of snuff and blinked once or twice.
    “Yes,” he said. “Promote him, as they say, to glory.”
    The crowd in the room was silent. One or two of its members were horrified. Some were impressed. You didn’t stay at the top in Ankh-Morpork without developing a certain pragmatic approach to life, and Snapcase seemed to have got a grip on that with commendable speed.
    “The barricade is coming down?” said the Patrician, shutting the snuffbox with a click.
    “Yes, my lord,” said Doctor Follett. “Because of the general amnesty,” he added, just to make sure the word was repeated. The Guild of Assassins had a code of honor as well as rules; it was an odd code, carefully constructed to fit their needs, but it was a code nonetheless. You didn’t kill the unprotected or the servants, you did it up close, and you kept your word. This was appalling.
    “Capital,” said Snapcase. “Ideal time. Streets full. Much