Night Watch

Constable Vimes.
    “It wasn’t here, kid. It was a long way away.”
    “You were there?”
    “They were coppers I knew, yes.”
    Again, the mood on the cart changed. There was no obvious sound from the watchmen but over the wagon hung the word “Ah- hah …”
    “So you came here to track him down…?” said Wiglet.
    “Something like that.”
    “ We heard you came from Pseudopolis, Sarge,” said Sam.
    “I’ve come from a lot of places.”
    “Wow!” said Sam.
    “He killed a copper who was eating a pie?” said Fred Colon, from the box.
    “Yep.”
    “What a bastard! What kind of pie was it?”
    “Witnesses didn’t say,” Vimes lied. This was old Ankh-Morpork. The dwarfs here right now were a tiny minority who kept their heads down…well, further down than usual. There certainly were no all-night ratpie shops.
    Wiglet had something on his mind.
    “They’re going to come for that bloke you picked up,” he said.
    “Want the rest of the night off, Constable?” said Vimes. There was some nervous laughter from the rest of the crew. Poor devils, thought Vimes. You joined up ’cos the wages were good and there was no heavy lifting, and suddenly it’s going to be difficult.
    “What’re you going to charge our man with, Sarge?” said Sam.
    “Attempted assault on a copper. You saw the knives.”
    “You did kick him, though.”
    “Right, I forgot. We’ll do him for resisting arrest, too.”
    There was some more laughter. We who think we are about to die will laugh at anything.
    What a bunch. I know you well, gentlemen. You’re in it for the quiet life and the pension, you don’t hurry too much in case the danger is still around when you get there, and the most you ever expected to face was an obstreperous drunk or a particularly difficult cow. Most of you aren’t even coppers, not in your head. In the sea of adventure, you’re bottom-feeders.
    And now, it’s war…and you’re in the middle. Not on either side. You’re the stupid little band of brownjobs. You’re beneath contempt. But believe me, boys—you’ll rise.

    For a minute of two after Morphic Street went quiet, nothing moved and nothing happened.
    Then a coach came around the corner. It was a particularly fine one, drawn by two horses. Its lamps were torches, and as the coach bounced on the cobbles, the zigzagging flames seemed to trail for a moment in the air.
    Insofar as they revealed anything, they suggested that the coach had been done up in purple livery. It also seemed to be rather heavy on its wheels.
    It pulled to a halt at the next doorway down from the one where Vimes had performed his arrest. Vimes, who thought he knew a lot about being a shadow, would have been surprised to see two dark figures step out of the doorway’s darkness into the light of the torch.
    The coach door swung open.
    “Strange news, kind lady,” said one of the shadows.
    “Very strange news, dearie,” said the other shadow.
    They climbed up into the coach, which sped off.

    Vimes was impressed at the way the men reacted back at the Watch House, despite the lack of any command from him. Wiglet and Scutts jumped down as soon as the wagon was in the yard and dragged the gates across.
    Inside, Colon and Waddy pulled the shutters across the windows. Waddy went into the armory and came out with an armful of crossbows. It was all done with speed and, for the men concerned, precision.
    Vimes nudged his younger self. “Make the cocoa, will you, kid?” he said. “I don’t want to miss the show.”
    He sat down at his desk and put his feet up as Colon locked the door and Waddy pulled the bar across.
    This is happening, he thought, but it didn’t happen before. Not exactly like this. This time, the Morphic Street mob did a runner. They weren’t ambushed in their meeting. There wasn’t a fight. The sight of all those coppers must’ve scared them rigid. They weren’t much anyway, just sloganeers and skivers and me-too-ists, the people who crowd behind the poor slob who’s the spokesman, shouting “yea, right,” and leg it up an alley when the law gets rough. But some had died in the ambush, and some fought back, and one thing led, as always, to another. Except, this time, there was no ambush, because some thick sergeant made too much noise…
    Two different presents. One past, one future…
    I don’t know what’s going to happen next.
    However, I’ve got a damn good idea .
    “Well done, lads,” he said, standing up. “You finish trapping