Night Watch

a—”
    “It’s, hnah, in the bottom drawer, sir,” said Snouty helpfully. “On the bit of string.”
    “Oh yes,” said Tilden, beaming. “It’s a long time since we used that, what?”
    “Is it?” said Vimes.
    After some rummaging, Tilden produced the coin. It was a genuine old shilling, probably worth half a dollar now just for its silver, and thus, coppers being coppers, it had always been dropped into the new copper’s hand and then tugged away before it was pinched.
    Vimes had taken the oath once. He wondered if taking it twice canceled it out. But it needed to be done and you had to at least touch the shilling. He felt the weight in his palm and took a small shameful pleasure in closing his fingers on it before the captain had time to drag it back. Then, point made, he released the grip.
    With a final salute, he turned and tapped Snouty on the shoulder.
    “With the captain’s permission, I’d like a chat with you outside, please.”
    And Vimes strode out.
    Snouty looked at Tilden, who was still sitting as though hypnotized, the shilling dangling from his fist. The captain managed to say, “Good man, that. Ver’ good…got backbone…”
    “Hnah, I’ll just go an’ see what he wants, sir,” said Snouty and scuttled out.
    He reached the end of the corridor when a hand came out of the shadows and pulled him close.
    “You’re a useful man to know, Snouty,” hissed Vimes. “I can tell.”
    “Yessir,” said Snouty, held half on tiptoe.
    “You’ve got your ear to the ground, eh?”
    “Yessir!”
    “There’s someone in every nick who knows all that’s going on and can lay his hands on just about anything, Snouty, and I think you are that man.”
    “Hnah, yessir!”
    “Then listen here,” said Vimes. “Size eight boots, size seven-and-a-quarter helmet, a good leather cape. The boots should be a good make but secondhand. Got that?”
    “Secondhand?”
    “Yes. Soles pretty nearly worn through.”
    “Soles pretty nearly worn through, hnah, check,” said Snouty.
    “Breastplate not to have any rust on it but a few dents will be okay. A good sword, Snouty, and believe me I know a good sword when I hold one. As for all the rest of the stuff, well, I know a man like you can get hold of the very best and have it delivered to Dr. Lawn’s place on Twinkle Street by ten tomorrow. And there’ll be something in it for you, Snouty.”
    “What’ll that be, sir?” said Snouty, who was finding the grip uncomfortable.
    “My undying friendship, Snouty,” said Vimes. “Which is going to be an extremely rare coin in these parts, let me tell you.”
    “Right you are, Sarge,” said Snouty. “And a bell, sir?”
    “A bell?”
    “For ringing and shouting, hnah, ‘All’s well!’ with, Sarge.”
    Vimes considered this. A bell. Well, every copper still got a bell, it was down there in the regulations, but Vimes had banned its use on anything but ceremonial occasions…
    “No bell for me, Snouty,” said Vimes. “Do you think things are well?”
    Snouty swallowed.
    “Could go either way, Sarge,” he managed.
    “Good man. See you tomorrow.”
    There was a glow of dawn in the sky when Vimes strode out, but the city was still a pattern of shadows.
    In his pocket was the reassuring heaviness of the badge. And in his mind the huge, huge freedom of the oath. Ruler after ruler had failed to notice what a devious oath it was…
    He walked as steadily as he could down to Twinkle Street. A couple of watchmen tried to waylay him, but he showed them the badge and, more important, he had the voice now, it had come back to him. It was night and he was walking the streets and he owned the damn streets and somehow that came out in the way he spoke. They’ve hurried off. He wasn’t sure they’d believed him, but at least they’d pretended to; the voice had told them he could be the kind of trouble they weren’t paid enough to deal with.
    At one point he had to step aside as a very thin horse dragged a huge and familiar four-wheeled wagon over the cobbles. Frightened faces looked out at him from between the wide metal strips that covered most of it, and then it disappeared into the gloom. Curfew was claiming its nightly harvest.
    These were not good times. Everyone knew Lord Winder was insane. And then some kid who was equally mad had tried to knock him off and would have done, too, if the man hadn’t moved at the wrong moment. His lordship had taken the arrow in the arm, and they said— they being