Night Watch

waving weapons around when you’re not going to use them?”
    “You laid him out, Sarge!” Sam squeaked, still staring at the sleeping captain.
    Vimes shook some life back into his hand.
    “Let the record show that I took command after the captain’s sudden attack of obvious insanity,” he said. “Waddy, Wiglet…drag him back to the house and lock him up, will you?”
    “What we gonna do , Sarge?” wailed Colon.
    Ah…
    Keep the peace. That was the thing. People often failed to understand what that meant. You’d go to some life-threatening disturbance, like a couple of neighbors scrapping in the street over who owned the hedge between their properties, and they’d both be bursting with aggrieved self-righteousness, both yelling, their wives would either be having a private scrap on the side or would have adjourned to a kitchen for a shared pot of tea and a chat, and they all expected you to sort it out.
    And they could never understand that it wasn’t your job. Sorting it out was a job for a good surveyor and a couple of lawyers, maybe. Your job was to quell the impulse to bang their stupid fat heads together, to ignore the affronted speeches of dodgy self-justification, to get them to stop shouting, and to get them off the street. Once that had been achieved, you job was over. You weren’t some walking god, dispensing finely tuned natural justice. Your job was simply to bring back peace.
    Of course, if your few strict words didn’t work, and Mr. Smith subsequently clambered over the disputed fence and stabbed Mr. Jones to death with a pair of gardening shears, then you had a different job, sorting out the notorious Hedge-Argument Murder. But at least it was one you were trained to do.
    People expected all kinds of things from coppers, but there was one thing that sooner or later they all wanted: make this not be happening.
    Make this not be happening…
    “What?” he said, suddenly noticing a voice that had, in fact, been on the edge of awareness for some time.
    “I said, was he insane, Sarge?”
    But when you’re falling off the cliff, it’s too late to wonder if there might have been a better way up the mountain…
    “He asked you to shoot at people who weren’t shooting back,” growled Vimes, striding forward. “That makes him insane, wouldn’t you say?”
    “They are throwing stones, Sarge,” said Colon.
    “So? Stay out of range. They’ll get tired before we do.”
    In fact, the barrage of missiles from the barricade had ceased; even in a time of crisis, the people of Ankh-Morpork would stop for a decent piece of street theater. Vimes walked back toward them, stopping on the way to retrieve Rust’s bent megaphone.
    As he approached, he cast his eye over faces just visible through the chair legs and junk. There would be Unmentionables somewhere, he knew, helping matters along. With luck, they wouldn’t have bothered with Whalebone Lane.
    There was muttering from the defenders. Most of them had a look Vimes recognized, because it was the one he was trying to keep off his own face. It was the look of people whose world had suddenly been swept from under them, and now they were trying to tap-dance on quicksand.
    He tossed away the stupid pompous megaphone. He cupped his hands.
    “Some of you know me!” he shouted. “I’m Sergeant Keel, currently in command of the Treacle Mine Road Watch House! And I order you to dismantle this barricade—”
    There was a chorus of jeers and one or two badly thrown missiles. Vimes waited, stock-still, until they’d died away. Then he raised his hands again.
    “I repeat, I order you to dismantle this barricade.” He took a breath, and went on: “And rebuild it on the other side, oh the corner with Cable Street! And put up another one at the top of Sheer Street! Properly built! Good grief, you don’t just pile stuff up, for gods’ sake! A barricade is something you construct! Who’s in charge here?”
    There were sounds of consternation behind the overturned furniture, but a voice called out: “You?” There was nervous laughter.
    “Very funny! Now laugh this one off! No one’s interested in us yet! This is a quiet part of town! But when things really go bad, you’re going to have cavalry on your backs! With sabers! How long would you last? If you shut off this end of Treacle Mine and the end of Sheer, then they’re left with alleyways, and they don’t like that! It’s up to you, of course! We’d like to protect you, but me and my