Night Watch

formed on Rust’s forehead.
    Vimes drew himself up.
    “Squad diiiiismiss!” he shouted, and then leaned toward Rust as the men scuttled away. “A quiet word, sir?”
    “Did that man really say—” Rust began.
    “Yes, sir. These are simple men, sir,” said Vimes, thinking quickly. “Best not to disturb them, if you take my meaning.”
    Rust inserted this into his range of options. Vimes could see him thinking. It was a way out, and it suited his opinion of the Watch in general. It meant that he hadn’t been cheeked by a constable, he’d merely dealt with a simpleton.
    “They know their duty, sir,” Vimes added for reinforcement.
    “Their duty, Sergeant, is to do what they are told.”
    “Exactly, sir.”
    Rust stroked his mustache.
    “There is something in what you say, Sergeant. And you trust them?”
    “As a matter of fact, sir, yes.”
    “Hmm. We will make a circuit of the surrounding streets in ten minutes. This is a time for action. Reports are disturbing. We must hold the line, Sergeant.”
    And he believes it, thought Vimes. He really does.

    The watchmen marched out into the afternoon sunshine, and did so badly. They were not used to marching. Their normal method of progress was the stroll, which is not a recognized military maneuver, or the frantic withdrawal, which is.
    In addition, the convection currents of prudent cowardice were operating in the ranks. There was a definite sideways component to each man’s progress as he sought to be in the middle. The watchmen had shields, but they were light wickerwork things intended to turn blows and deflect stones; they wouldn’t stand up to anything with an edge. The advance, therefore, was by means of a slowly elongating huddle.
    Rust didn’t notice. He had a gift for not seeing things he did not want to see and not hearing things he did not want to hear. And what he saw was a barricade.
    Ankh-Morpork these days wasn’t really a city, not when the chips were down. Places like Dolly Sisters and Nap Hill and Seven Sleepers had been villages once, before they were absorbed by the urban sprawl. On some level, they still held themselves separate. As for the rest…well, once you got off the main streets it was all down to neighborhoods. People didn’t move around much. When tension was high, you relied on your mates and your family. Whatever was going down, you tried to make sure wasn’t going down your street. It wasn’t revolution. It was quite the reverse. It was defending your doorstep.
    They were building a barricade in Whalebone Lane. It wasn’t a particularly good one, made up mostly of overturned market stalls, a small cart, and quite a lot of household furniture, but it was a Symbol.
    Rust’s mustache bristled.
    “Right in our faces,” he snapped. “Absolute defiance of constituted authority, Sergeant. Do your duty!”
    “And what would that be at this point, sir?” said Vimes.
    “Arrest the ringleaders! And your men will pull the barricade down!”
    Vimes sighed.
    “Very well, sir. If you will stand back…”
    He walked up to the domestic clutter, aware of eyes watching him before and behind.
    When he was a few feet away, he cupped his hands.
    “All right, all right, what’s going on here?” he shouted.
    He was aware of whispering. And he was ready for what happened next. When the stone flew over the top of the furniture he caught it in both hands.
    “I asked a civil question,” he said. “Come on!”
    There was more whispering. He distinctly heard “—that’s the sergeant from last night—” and some sort of sotto voce argument. Then a voice shouted, “Death to the Fascist Oppressors!”
    This time the argument was more frantic. He heard someone say, “Oh, all right,” and then, “Death to the Fascist Oppressors, Present Company Excepted! There, is everyone happy now?”
    He knew that voice.
    “Mr. Reginald Shoe, is it?” he said.
    “I regret that I have only one life to lay down for Whalebone Lane!” the voice shouted from somewhere behind a wardrobe.
    If only you knew, Vimes thought.
    “I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said. “Come on , ladies and gentlemen. Is this any way to behave? You can’t take…the law…into your own…hands…”
    His voice faltered.
    Sometimes it takes the brain a little while to catch up with the mouth.
    Vimes turned and looked at the squad, who’d needed no prompting at all to hang back. And then he turned to look at the barricade.
    Where, exactly, was the