Thud!

his face glow briefly. “Shall we follow where magic leads us? Wave a wand, eh, to find out who’s guilty, and what of? Magic men good? The innocent would have nothing to fear, d’you think? I wouldn’t bet tuppence, Mr. Pessimal. Magic’s a little bit alive, a little bit tricky. Just when you think you’ve got it by the throat, it bites you in the arse. No magic in my Watch, Mr. Pessimal. We use good, old-fashioned policing.”
    “But there are lots of them, Commander.”
    “About a thousand altogether, I reckon,” said Vimes placidly. “Plus who knows how many more out there who’ll whale in if we let it get out of hand. This is just the hotheads and the gangs right now.”
    “B-but can’t you just, er, leave them to it?”
    “ No , Mr. Pessimal, because that’d be what we in the Watch call ‘complete and utter bloody chaos,’ and it will not stop, and it will get bigger very quickly. We have to finish it right now, so—”
    There was a thud from the direction of the plaza. It was loud enough to echo around the buildings.
    “What was that?” A. E. Pessimal said, looking around hurriedly.
    “Oh, that was to be expected,” said Vimes.
    Pessimal relaxed very slightly.
    “It was?”
    “Yes, it’s the gahanka , the troll war beat,” said Vimes. “They say that within ten minutes of hearing it, you’re dead.” Behind Pessimal, Detritus grinned, the torchlight turning his diamond teeth into rubies.
    “Is that true?”
    “I shouldn’t think so,” said Vimes. “And now please excuse me for a while, Acting Constable Pessimal, I’ll leave you in the good hands of Sergeant Detritus while I talk to my men. Stiffen their sinews, that sort of thing.”
    He moved away quickly. He told himself he shouldn’t be doing this to the inspector, who was just a clerk in the wrong place and probably wasn’t a bad man. The trouble was, the trolls up in the plaza probably weren’t bad trolls, and the dwarfs down in the square probably weren’t bad dwarfs, either. People who probably weren’t bad could kill you.
    The troll beat boomed around the city as Vimes reached Fred Colon.
    “I see they’re giving us the ol’ gahanka then, Mister Vimes,” said the sergeant, with nervous cheerfulness.
    “Yep. They’ll be charging pretty soon, I expect.” Vimes screwed up his eyes, trying to see figures around the distant glow. Trolls didn’t charge fast, but when they charged, it was like a wall getting nearer. Extending a hand and shouting “Halt” in a firm, authoritative voice probably would not be sufficient.
    “You thinking about another barricade, Mister Vimes?” said Fred.
    “Hmm?” said Vimes, dismissing the mental picture of himself laminated to the street.
    “Barricades, sir,” Colon prompted. “More’n thirty years ago?”
    Vimes gave a curt nod. Oh yes, he remembered the Glorious Revolution. It hadn’t really been a revolution, and had been glorious only if you thought an early grave was glorious. Men had died there, too, because of other men who, bar one or two, probably weren’t bad…
    “Yes,” he said. “And it seems like only yesterday.” Every day, he thought, it seems like only yesterday.
    “Remember ol’ Sergeant Keel? He pulled off a few tricks that night!” Sergeant Colon’s voice, like A. E. Pessimal’s, had a curiously hopeful tone.
    Vimes nodded.
    “I suppose you wouldn’t have one or two up your sleeve, too, sir?” Fred went on, the hope now naked and unashamed.
    “You know me, Fred, always willing to learn,” said Vimes vaguely. He strolled on, nodding to watchmen he knew, slapping others on the back, and trying not to get trapped in anyone’s gaze. Every face was in some way a reflection of the face of Fred Colon. He could practically see their thoughts, while the thud of five hundred clubs hitting the stone in unison banged on the eardrums like a hammer.
    You have got it sorted, haven’t you, Mister Vimes? We’re not really going to be stuck here like the meat in a sandwich, right? It’s a trick, yes? It is a trick, isn’t it? Sir?
    I hope it is, Vimes thought. But, one way or another, the Watch has to be here. That’s the bloody truth of it.
    Something had changed in the rhythm of the gahanka . You had to be listening, but some of the clubs were hitting the ground just ahead or just after the beat. Ah.
    He reached Cheery and Carrot, who were staring at the distant fires of the dwarfs.
    “We think we might be getting a result, sir,” said