Night Watch

had not been taking part. He’d been leaning against the wall in a sort of stationary swagger, watching the sad show with disdain.
    “Sarge?” he said, propelling himself up with the minimum of effort.
    “Show Wiglet how it’s done.”
    Coates pulled out his truncheon. It was, Vimes saw, custom-made, slightly longer than the general issue. Coates took up station in front of the constable, with his back very expressively toward Vimes.
    “What do you want me to do, Sarge?” he said over his shoulder.
    “Show him a few decent moves. Take him by surprise.”
    “Right you are, Sarge.”
    Vimes watched the desultory clatter of sticks. One, two, three…
    —and around Ned came, truncheon whistling through the air.
    But Vimes ducked under the blow and caught the man’s arm in both hands, twisting it up behind his back and bringing his ear into immediate conjunction with Vimes’s mouth.
    “Not quite unexpected, sunshine,” he whispered. “Now, we’ll both keep grinning because the lads are laughing at our Ned, isn’t he a card, who keeps having another go at the ol’ Sarge, and we don’t want to spoil their fun. I’m letting you go now, but you try it on one more time and you’ll have to use both hands to pick up a spoon and you’ll need to pick up a spoon, Ned, ’cos of living off soup by reason of having no damn teeth! ” He relaxed his grip. “Who taught you all this stuff, anyway?”
    “Sergeant Keel, Sarge,” said Ned.
    “You’re doing a good job, Sergeant Keel!”
    Vimes turned to see Captain Swing advancing across the yard, while some Unmentionables lurked at the back gates.
    Swing was smaller and slimmer in daylight, and he looked like a clerk, and a clerk who was only erratically careful about his appearance: his hair was lank, and the thick black strands plastered across a central bald spot suggested that the man had either no mirror or completely lacked a sense of humor.
    His coat, in the light, was old-fashioned but well cared for, but his buckled shoes were scuffed and generally downtrodden. Vimes’s mother would have had something to say about that. A man ought to look after his boots, she always said. You could tell a man by the shine of his shoes.
    Swing also carried a walking stick, or, rather, an opera cane. It was just possible that he thought it made him look sophisticated rather than, say, like a man carrying an unnecessary length of wood. It was certainly a swordstick, because it rattled when it hit the pavement, and it did so now as he primly picked his way through the old targets and straw debris.
    “Keeping the menup to scratch, I see,” he said. “Very well done. Is your captain here?”
    “I believe not,” said Vimes, letting Coates go, “sir.”
    “Ah? Well, perhaps you will give him this, Sergeant Keel.” Swing gave him a faint smile. “You had a successfulnight…I am given to understand.”
    “We had a few visitors,” said Vimes, “sir.”
    “Ah, yes. Misplaced zeal. It does not payto…underestimate you, Sergeant. You are a man of resource. Alas, the other houses were not so—”
    “—resourceful?”
    “Ah. Yes. I am afraid, Sergeant, that some of my keener men feel you are anobstacle…to our very needful work. I, onthecontrary…believe that you are a man of iron adherence to the law and, while this hasledto…elements of friction because of your lack of full understanding of the exigencies of the situation, I know that you are a man after my own heart.”
    Vimes considered the anatomical choices.
    “That would be broadly correct, sir,” he said, “although I would not aspire that high.”
    “Capital. I lookforwardto…our future cooperation, Sergeant. Your new captain willundoubtedly…inform you of other matters as he sees fit. Good day.”
    Swing swiveled and walked his jerky walk back to the gate. His men turned to follow him but one of them, who was wearing a plaster cast on one arm, made a gesture.
    “Morning, Henry,” said Vimes.
    He examined the letter. It was quite thick, and had a big embossed seal. But Vimes had spent too much time in the company of bad men, and knew exactly what to do with a sealed envelope.
    He also knew how to listen. New captain. So…it was starting.
    The men were watching him.
    “They calling in more, hnah, soldiers, Sarge?” said Snouty.
    “I expect so,” said Vimes.
    “They gave Captain Tilden the push, didn’t they…”
    “Yes.”
    “He was a good captain! ”
    “Yes,” said Vimes. No, he