‘I’m sure you did,’ said Carrot, while Angua entertained cynical thoughts about the actual distance of Fred’s vantage point. ‘Your distinguished military career has obviously given you many pleasant memories.’
‘The ladies liked the uniform,’ said Fred Colon, with the unspoken rider that sometimes a growing lad needed all the help he could get. ‘An’ it… weelll…’
‘Yes, sarge?’
Colon looked awkward, as if the bunched underwear of the past was tangling itself in the crotch of recollection.
‘It was… more easier, sir. Than being a copper, I mean. I mean, you’re a soldier, right, and the other buggers is the enemy. You march into some big field somewhere and all form up into them oblongs, and then a bloke with the feathery helmet gives the order, and you all forms up into big arrows–’
‘Good gods, do people really do that? I thought it was just how they drew the battle plans!’
‘Well, the old duke, sir, he did it by the book… anyway, it’s just a case of watching your back and walloping any bloke in the wrong uniform. But…’ Fred Colon’s face screwed up in agonized thought, I well, when you’re a copper, well, you dunno the good guys from the bad guys without a map, miss, and that’s a fact.’
‘But… there’s military law, isn’t there?’
‘Well, yes… but when it’s pissing with rain and you’re up to your tonk– your waist in dead horses and someone gives you an order, that ain’t the time to look up the book of rules, miss. Anyway, most of it’s about when you’re allowed to get shot, sir.’
‘Oh, Im sure there’s more to it than that, sergeant.’
‘Oh, prob’ly, sir,’ Colon conceded diplomatically.
‘I’m sure there’s lots of stuff about not killing enemy soldiers who’ve surrendered, for instance.’
‘Oh, yerss, there’s that, captain. Doesn’t say you can’t duff ’em up a bit, of course. Give ’em a little something to remember you by.’
‘Not torture?’ said Angua.
‘Oh, no, miss. But…’ Memory Lane for Colon had turned into a bad road through a dark valley ‘… well, when your best mate’s got an arrow in his eye an’ there’s blokes and horses screamin’ all round you and you’re scared shi––you’re really scared, an’ you come across one of the enemy… well, for some reason or other you’ve got this kinda urge to give him a bit of a… nudge, sort of thing. Just… you know… like, maybe in twenty years’ time his leg’ll twinge a bit on frosty days and he’ll remember what he done, that’s all.
He rummaged in a pocket and produced a very small book, which he held up for inspection.
‘This belonged to my great–grandad,’ he said. ‘He was in the scrap we had against Pseudopolis and my great–gran gave him this book of prayers for soldiers, ,cos you need all the prayers you can get, believe you me, and he stuck it in the top pocket of his jerkin, ‘cos he couldn’t afford armour, and next day in battle whoosh, this arrow came out of nowhere, wham, straight into this book and it went all the way through to the last page before stopping, look. You can see the hole.’
‘Pretty miraculous,’ Carrot agreed.
‘Yeah, it was, I s’pose,’ said the sergeant. He looked ruefully at the battered volume. ‘Shame about the other seventeen arrows, really.’
The drumming died away. The remnant of the Watch tried to avoid one another’s gaze.
Then an imperious voice said, ‘Why aren’t you in uniform, young man?’
Nobby turned. He was being addressed by an elderly lady with a certain turkey–like cast of feature and a capital punishment expression.
‘Me? Got one, missus,’ said Nobby, pointing to his battered helmet.
‘A proper uniform,’ snapped the woman, handing him a white feather. ‘What will you be doing when the Klatchians are ravishing us in our beds?’
She glared at the rest of the guards and swept on. Angua saw several others like her passing along the crowds of spectators. Here and there was a flash of white.
‘I’ll be thinking: those Klatchians are jolly brave,’ said Carrot. ‘I’m afraid, Nobby, that the white feather is to shame you into joining up.’
‘Oh, that’s all right, then,’ said Nobby, a man for whom shame held no shame. ‘What am I supposed to do with it?’
‘That reminds me… did I tell you what I scud to Lord Rust?’ said Sergeant Colon, nervously.
‘Seventeen times so far,’ said Angua, watching the women with the feathers. She added, apparently to herself, ‘ “Come back with your shield or on it.” ‘
‘I wonder if I can get the lady to give me any more?’ said Nobby.
‘What was that?’ said Carrot.
‘These feathers,’ said Nobby. ‘They look like real goose. I’ve got a use for a lot more of these–’
‘I meant what was it that Angua said?’ said Carrot.
‘What? Oh… it’s just something women used to say when they sent their men off to war. Come back with your shield, or on it.’
‘On your shield?’ said Nobby. ‘You mean like… sledging, sort of thing?’
‘Like dead,’ said Angua. ‘It meant come back a winner or not at all.’
‘Well, I always came back with my shield,’ said Nobby. ‘No problem there.’
‘Nobby,’ sighed Colon, ‘you used to come back with your shield, everyone else’s shield, a sack of teeth and fifteen pairs of still–warm boots. On a cart.’
‘We–ell, no point in going to war unless you’re on the winning side,’ said Nobby, sticking the white feather in his helmet.
‘Nobby, you was always on the winning side, the reason bein’, you used to lurk aroun’ the edges to see who was winning and then pull the right uniform off’f some poor dead sod. I used to hear where the generals kept an eye on what you were wearin’ so they’d know how the battle was going.’
‘Lots of soldiers have served in lots of regiments,’ said Nobby.
‘Right, what you say is true. Only not usually during the same battle,’ said Sergeant Colon.
They trooped back into the Watch House. Most of the shift had taken the day off. After all, who was in charge? What were they supposed to be doing today? The only ones left were those who never thought of themselves as off duty, and the new recruits who hadn’t had their keen edge blunted.
‘I’m sure Mr Vimes’ll think of something,’ said Carrot. ‘Look, I’d better take the Goriffs back to their shop. Mr Goriff says he’s going to pack up and leave. A lot of Klatchians are leaving. You can’t blame them, either.’
Dreams rising with him like bubbles, Vimes surfaced from the black fathoms of sleep.
Normally, these days, he treasured the moment of waking. It was when solutions presented themselves. He assumed bits of his brain came out at night and worked on the problems of the previous day, handing him the result just as he opened his eyes.
All that arrived now were memories. He winced. Another memory turned up. He groaned. The sound of his badge bouncing on the table replayed itself. He swore.
He swung his legs off the covers and groped for the bedside table.
‘Bingeley–bingeley beep!’
‘Oh, no… All right, what’s the time?’
‘One o’clock pee em! Hello, Insert Name Here!’
Vimes looked blearily at the Dis–organizer. One day, he knew, he really would have to try to understand the manual for the damn thing. Either that or drop it off a cliff.[9]
‘What–’ he began, and then groaned again. The twanging sound made by the unwound turban as it
One of the universal rules of happiness is: always be wary of any helpful item that weighs less than its operating manual.
took his weight had just come back to haunt him.
‘Sam?’ The bedroom door was pushed open and Sybil came in carrying a cup.
‘Yes, dear?’
‘How do you feel?’
‘I’ve got bruises on my brui–’ Another memory crawled up from the pit of guilt. ‘Oh, good grief, did I really call him a long streak of–?’
‘Yes,’ said his wife. ‘Fred Colon came round this morning and told me all about it. And a very good description, I’d say. I went out with Ronnie Rust once. Bit of a cold fish.’
Another recollection burst like a ball of marsh gas in Vimes’s head.
‘Did Fred tell you where he said Rust could put his badge?’
‘Yes. Three times. It seems to be weighing on his mind. Anyway, knowing Ronnie, he’d have to use a hammer.’
Vimes had long ago got used to the fact that the aristocracy all seemed to know one another by their first name.
‘And did Fred tell you anything else?’ he said timidly.
‘Yes. About the shop and the fire and everything. I’m proud of you.’ She gave him a kiss.
‘What do I do now?’ he said.
‘Drink your tea and have a wash and a shave.’
‘I ought to go down to the Watch House and