‘Vimes–’
‘It’s Sir Samuel, my lord.’
Rust seemed to think for a moment.
‘Very well, then,’ he said. ‘Then you and your… regiment come under my command–’
‘Strangely, no,’ said Vimes swiftly. ‘Under the command of the King or his duly appointed representative, it says in Scavone’s Chivalric Law and Usage. And, of course, there has been no duly appointed representative ever since some complete bastard cut off the last king’s head. Oh, assorted beds appeared to have been ruling the city, but according to the chivalric tradition–’
Rust stopped to think again. He had the look of a lawnmower just after the grass has organized a workers’ collective. There was a definite suggestion that, deep inside, he knew this was not really happening. It could not be happening because this sort of thing did not happen. Any contradictory evidence could be safely ignored. However, it might be necessary to find some motions to go through.
‘I think you’ll find that, legally, your position–’ he began, and his eyes bulged for a moment as Vimes interrupted him cheerfully.
‘Oh, there might be a few problems, I grant you. But if you ask Mr Slant he’ll say “This is a very interesting case”, which as you know is lawyer–talk for “One thousand dollars a day plus expenses and it’ll take months.” So I’ll leave you go get on with it, shall P Cot such a lot of things to do, you know. I think the swatches for the new uniforms should be in my office about now, it’s so important to look right on the battlefield, isn’t it?’
Rust gave Vimes another look, and then strode away.
Detritus stamped to attention beside Vimes and his salute clanged smartly off his helmet.
‘What we doin’ now, sir?’
‘We can pack up now, I think. All the lads have joined up?’
‘Yessir!’
‘You told them it wasn’t compulsory?’
‘Yessir! I said, “It ain’t compuls’ry, you just gotta,” sir.’
‘Detritus, I wanted volunteers.’
‘ ‘sright, sir. They volunteered all right, I saw to that.’
Vimes sighed as he walked back to his office. But they were probably safe. He was pretty sure he was legally sound and if he knew anything about Rust, the man would respect the letter of the law. Such men did, in a chilly way. Besides, thirty men in the Watch simply didn’t figure in the great scheme of things. Rust could ignore them.
Suddenly there’s a war brewing, Vimes thought, and they all come back. Civil order is turned upside down, because that’s the rules. And people like Rust are at the top of the heap again. You have these aristocrats lazing around for years, and suddenly the old armour’s out and the sword is being taken down from over the fireplace. They think there’s going to be a war and all they can think about is that wars can be won or lost…
Someone’s behind this. Someone wants to see a war. Someone paid to have Ossie and Snowy killed. Someone wanted the Prince dead. I’ve got to remember that. This isn’t a war. This is a crime.
And then he realized he was wondering if the attack on Goriffs shop had been organized by the same people, and whether those same people had set fire to the embassy.
And then he realized why he was thinking like this.
It was because he wanted there to be conspirators. It was much better to imagine men in some smoky room somewhere, made mad and cynical by privilege and power, plotting over the brandy. You had to cling to this sort of image, because if you didn’t then you might have to face the fact that bad things happened because ordinary people, the kind who brushed the dog and told their children bedtime stories, were capable of then going out and doing horrible things to other ordinary people. It was so much easier to blame it on Them. It was bleakly depressing to think that They were Us. If it was Them, then nothing was anyone’s fault. If it was Us, what did that make Me? After all, Im one of Us. I must be. I’ve certainly never thought of myself as one of Them. No-one ever thinks of themselves as one of Them. We’re always one of Us. It’s Them that do the bad things.
Around about this time, in his former life, Vimes would be taking the cap off a bottle, and wouldn’t be too bothered about the bottle’s contents so long as they crinkled paint
‘Ook?’
‘Oh, hello. What can I do for – oh, yes, I asked about books on Klatch… Is that all?’
The librarian shyly held out a small, battered green book. Vimes had been expecting something bigger, but he took it anyway. It paid to look at any book the orang–utan gave you. He matched you up to books. Vimes supposed it was a knack, in the same way that an undertaker was very good at judging heights.
On the spine, in very faded gold lettering, were the words ‘VENI VIDI VICI: A Soldier’s Life by Gen. A. Tacticus’.
Nobby and Sergeant Colon edged along the alley.
‘I know who he is!’ Fred hissed. ‘That’s Leonard of Quirm, that is! He went missing five years ago!’
‘So he’s called Leonard and he’s from Quirm, so what?’ said Nobby.
‘He’s a raving genius!’
‘He’s a loony.’
‘Yeah, well, they say there’s a thin line between genius and madness…’
‘He’s fallen off it, then.’
The voice behind them said, ‘Oh, dear, this won’t do at all, will it… ? I can’t deny it, you were quite right, the accuracy would be quite unacceptable at any reasonable range. Could you bear to stop a moment, please?’
They turned. Leonard was already dismantling the tube.
‘If you could just hang on to this bit, corporal… and, sergeant, if you would be so good as to hold this piece steady… some sort of fins should do it, Im sure I had a suitable piece of wood somewhere
Leonard began to pat his pockets.
The watchmen realized that the man holding them up had paused to redesign his weapon and had given it to them to hold while he looked for a screwdriver. This was a thing that did not often happen.
Nobby silently took the rocket from Colon and pushed it into the tube.
‘What’s this bit here, mister?’ he said.
Leonard glanced up briefly in between patting his pockets.
‘Oh, that is the trigger,’ he said. ‘Which, as you can see, rubs against the flint and–’
‘Good.’
There was a short burst of flame and rather more black smoke.
‘Oh, dear,’ said Leonard.
The watchmen turned, like men dreading what they were about to see. The rocket had shot the length of the alley and through the window of a house.
‘Ah… putting “This Way Up” on the projectile would be an important safety point to bear in mind for the new design.’ said Leonard. ‘Now, where’s that notebook… ?’
‘I think we’d better leave,’ said Colon, moving backwards. ‘Very fast.’
Inside the house there was an explosion of stars and balls to delight young and old but not the troll who had just opened the door.
‘Ah, really?’ said Leonard. ‘Well, if speed is required, I have this very interesting design for a two–wheeled–’
Acting on an unspoken agreement, the watchmen each put a hand under a shoulder, lifted him off the ground, and ran for it.
‘Oh, dear,’ said Leonard, as he was dragged backwards.
The watchmen dived into a side alley, and then jinked and dodged along several others with quiet professionalism. Finally they leaned Leonard against a wall and peered round the end of the alley.
‘All clear,’ said Nobby. ‘They went the other way.’
‘Right,’ said Colon. ‘Now, what was you doing? I mean, you might be a genius like I heard, Mister da Quirm, but when it comes to threatening people you’re as clever as an inflatable dartboard.’
‘I appear to have been a bit of a juggins, don’t I?’ Leonard agreed. ‘But I do implore you to come with me. I’m afraid I thought that as warriors you would be more inclined to understand force ‘
‘Well, yes, we’re warriors,’ said Sergeant Colon. ‘But–’
‘ ‘ere, have you got another one of these rockets?’ said Nobby, hefting the tube onto his shoulder again. He had the special gleam in his eye that a small man gets when he’s laid his hands on a big, big weapon.
‘I may have,’ said Leonard, and the gleam in his eye was the mad twinkle of the naturally innocent when they think they’re being cunning. ‘Why don’t we go and see? You see, I was told to fetch you by any means necessary.
‘Bribery sounds good,’ said Nobby. He put his eye to the tube’s sights and started making ‘whoosh’ noises.
‘Who told you to fetch us?’ said Colon.
‘Lord Vetinari.’
‘The Patrician wants us?’