Night Watch

to fight, fight,” he said, as the man toppled forward. “If you’re going to talk, talk. Don’t try to talk and fight. And right now, I caution you to do neither.”
    “I could have got him easily, Sarge,” Sam complained, as Vimes fished out his handcuffs and knelt down. “I could have blown him out like a light.”
    “Head injuries can be fatal, Lance Constable. We serve the public trust.”
    “But you kicked him in the privates, Sarge!”
    Because I don’t want you to be a target, thought Vimes, as he tightened the cuffs. That means you don’t belt one of them over the head. You stay as the dim sidekick, in the background. That way you survive, and that way, maybe, I do, too.
    “You don’t have to fight the way the other bloke wants you to fight,” he said, hefting the man onto his shoulders. “Give me a hand here…up we go . Okay, I’ve got him. You lead the way.”
    “Back to the Watch House?” said Sam. “You’re arresting an Unmentionable? ”
    “Yes. I just hope we’ll meet some of our lads on the way. Let this be a lesson, lad. There aren’t any rules. Not when there’s knives out. You take him down, quietly if possible, without hurting him much, if possible, but you take him down. He comes at you with a knife, your bring your stick down on his arm. He comes at you with his hands, you use your knee or your boot or your helmet. Your job is to keep the peace. You make it peaceful as quickly as you can.”
    “Yes, sir. But there’s going to be trouble, Sarge.”
    “Straightforward arrest. Even coppers have to obey the law, what there is of it…”
    “Yes, Sarge, but I mean there’s going to be trouble right now, Sarge.”
    They’d reached the end of the road, and there was a group of figures there. They looked like men with a purpose; there was something about the stance, the way they were standing in the road, and, of course, the occasional glint of light on a weapon also gave a hint. There was a snapping of little doors as dark lanterns were opened.
    Of course, he wouldn’t have been alone, Vimes scolded himself. His job was just to watch until they’d all gone in. And then he’d just schlep away to call in the heavy gang.
    There must be a dozen of ’em. We’re going to get cheesed. *
    “What’ll we do, Sarge?” whispered Sam.
    “Ring your bell.”
    “But they’ve spotted us!”
    “Ring the damn bell, will you? And keep walking! And don’t stop ringing!”
    The Unmentionables spread out now, and as Vimes trudged toward them, he saw several figures at each end of the line slip around behind him. That’s how it’d go. They’d be like the muggers up in Scoone Avenue, talking nice and friendly while their eyes said, hey, you know our mates are right behind you and we know you know, and it’s fun watching you trying to pretend that this is just a civilized conversation when you know that any minute you’re going to get it right in the kidneys. We feel your pain. And we like it…
    He stopped walking. It was that or walk into someone. And all along the street doors and windows were opening, as the clanging of the bell roused the neighborhood.
    “Evenin’,” he said.
    “Evenin’, Your Grace,” said a voice out of history. “Nice to see an old friend, eh?”
    Vimes groaned. The worst that could happen had happened.
    “Carcer?”
    “That’s Sergeant Carcer, thank you. Funny how things work out, eh? Turns out I’m prime copper material, haha. They gave me a new suit and a sword and twenty-five dollars a month, just like that. Lads, this is the man I told you about.”
    “Why’d you call him ‘Your Grace,’ Sarge?” said one of the shadowy men.
    Carcer’s eyes never left Vimes’s face.
    “It’s a joke. Where we come from, everyone used to call him Duke,” said Carcer. Vimes saw him slip a hand into a pocket. It came out holding something that had a brassy glint. “It was a sort of nickname, eh…Duke? Stop the kid ringing the damn bell, will you?”
    “Knock it off, Lance Constable,” Vimes muttered. The noise had worked, anyway. This little tableau had a silent audience now. Not that an audience would make any difference to Carcer. He’d cheerfully stab you to death in the center of a crowded arena and then look around and say, “Who, me?” But the men behind him were edgy, like cockroaches wondering when the light was going to go on.
    “Don’t you worry, Duke,” Carcer said, sliding his fingers into the brass knuckles, “I’ve told the