Someone grabbed Nobby by the throat. Colon didn’t recognize the grabber. He was just one of the scarred, ill shaven regulars whose function it was, around about this time of an evening, to start opening bottles with his teeth or, if the evening was going really well, with somebody else’s teeth.
‘So we ain’t good enough for you, is that what you’re saying?’ the man demanded.
Nobby waved his scroll. His mouth opened to frame words like – Sergeant Colon just knew -‘Unhand me, you low-born oaf.’
With tremendous presence of mind and absence of any kind of common sense, Sergeant Colon said: ‘His lordship wants everyone to have a drink with him!’
Compared to the Mended Drum, the Bucket in Gleam Street was an oasis of frigid calm. The Watch had adopted it as their own, as a silent temple to the art of getting drunk. It wasn’t that it sold particularly good beer, because it didn’t. But it did serve it quickly, and quietly, and gave credit. It was one place where Watchmen didn’t have to see things or be disturbed. No one could sink alcohol in silence like a Watchman who’d just come off duty after eight hours on the street. It was as much protection as his helmet and breastplate. The world didn’t hurt so much.
And Mr Cheese the owner was a good listener. He listened to things like ‘Make that a double’ and ‘Keep them coming’. He also said the right things, like ‘Credit? Certainly, officer’. Watchmen paid their tab or got a lecture from Captain Carrot.
Vimes sat gloomily behind a glass of lemonade. He wanted one drink, and understood precisely why he wasn’t going to have one. One drink ended up arriving in a dozen glasses. But knowing this didn’t make it any better.
Most of the day shift were in here now, plus one or two men who were on their day off.
Scummy as the place was, he liked it here. With the buzz of other people around him, he didn’t seem to get in the way of his own thoughts.
One reason that Mr Cheese had allowed his pub to become practically the city’s fifth Watch House was the protection this offered. Watchmen were quiet drinkers, on the whole. They just went from vertical to horizontal with the minimum amount of fuss, without starting any major fights, and without damaging the fixtures overmuch. And no one ever tried to rob him. Watchmen got really intense about having their drinking disturbed.
And he was therefore surprised when the door was flung open and three men rushed in, flourishing crossbows.
‘Don’t nobody move! Anyone moves and they’re dead!’
The robbers stopped at the bar. To their own surprise their arrival didn’t seem to have caused much of a stir.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, will someone shut that door?’ growled Vimes. A Watchman near the door did so.
‘And bolt it,’ Vimes added.
The three thieves looked around. As their eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, they received a general impression of armourality, with strong overtones of helmetness. But none of it was moving. It was all watching them.
‘You boys new in town?’ said Mr Cheese, buffing a glass.
The boldest of the three waved his bow under the barman’s nose. ‘All the money right now!’ he screamed. ‘Otherwise,’ he said, to the room in general, ‘you’ve got a dead barman.’
‘Plenty of other bars in town, boyo,’ said a voice.
Mr Cheese didn’t look up from the glass he was polishing. ‘I know that was you, Constable Thighbiter,’ he said calmly. There’s two dollars and thirty pence on your slate, thank you very much.’
The thieves drew closer together. Bars shouldn’t act like this. And they fancied they could hear the faint sliding noises of assorted weapons being drawn from various sheaths.
‘Haven’t I seen you before?’ said Carrot.
‘Oh gods, it’s him,’ moaned one of the men. The bread-thrower!’
‘I thought Mr Ironcrust was taking you to the Thieves’ Guild,’ Carrot went on.
There was a bit of an argument about taxes . . .’
‘Don’t tell him!’
Carrot tapped his head. The tax forms!’ he said. ‘I expect Mr Ironcrust is worried I’ve forgotten about them!’
The thieves were now so close together they looked like a fat six-armed man with a very large bill for hats.
‘Er … Watchmen aren’t allowed to kill people, right?’ said one of them.
‘Not while we’re on duty,’ said Vimes.
The boldest of the three moved suddenly, grabbed Angua and pulled her upright. ‘We walk out of here unharmed or the girl gets it, all right?’ he snarled.
Someone sniggered.
‘I hope you’re not going to kill anyone,’ said Carrot.
That’s up to us!’
‘Sorry, was I talking to you?’ said Carrot.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,’ said Angua. She looked around to make sure Cheery wasn’t there, and then sighed. ‘Come on, gentlemen, let’s get it over with.’
‘Don’t play with your food!’ said a voice from the crowd.
There were one or two giggles until Carrot turned in his seat, whereupon everyone was suddenly intensely interested in their drinks.
‘It’s okay,’ said Angua quietly.
Aware that something was out of kilter, but not quite sure what it was, the thieves edged back to the door. No one moved as they unbolted it and, still holding Angua, stepped out into the fog, shutting the door behind them.
‘Hadn’t we better help?’ said a constable who was new to the Watch.
They don’t deserve help,’ said Vimes.
There was a clank of armour and then a long, deep growl, right outside in the street.
And a scream. Ancl then another scream. And a third scream, modulated with ‘NONONOnonononononoNO! . . . aarghaargh aargh!’ Something heavy hit the door.
Vimes turned back to Carrot. ‘You and Constable Angua,’ he said. ‘You … er … get along all right?’
‘Fine, sir/ said Carrot.
‘Some people might think that, er, there might be, er, problems . . .’
There was a thud, and then a faint bubbling noise.
‘We work around them, sir,’ said Carrot, raising his voice slightly.
‘I heard that her father’s not very happy about her working here . . .’
They don’t have much law up in Uberwald, sir. They think it’s for weak societies. The baron’s not a very civic-minded man.’
‘He’s pretty bloodthirsty, from what I’ve heard.’
‘She wants to stay in the Watch, sir. She likes meeting people.’
From outside came another gurgle. Fingernails scrabbled at a windowpane. Then their owner disappeared abruptly from view.
‘Well, it’s not for me to judge,’ said Vimes.
‘No, sir.’
After a few moments of silence the door opened, slowly. Angua walked in, adjusting her clothes, and sat down. All the Watchmen in the room suddenly took a second course of advanced beer-study.
‘Er …” Carrot began.
‘Flesh wounds,’ said Angua. ‘But one of them did shoot one of the others in the leg by accident.’
I think you’d better put it in your report as “self-inflicted wounds while resisting arrest”,’ said Vimes.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Angua.
‘Not all of them,’ said Carrot.
‘They tried to rob our bar and take a werAngua hostage,’ said Vimes.
‘Oh, I see what you mean, sir,’ said Carrot. ‘Self-inflicted. Yes. Of course.’
It had gone quiet in the Mended Drum. This was because it is usually very hard to be both loud and unconscious.
Sergeant Colon was impressed at his own cleverness. Throwing a punch could stop a fight, of course, but in this case it had a quarter of rum, gin and sixteen chopped lemons floating in it.
Some people were still upright, however. They were the serious drinkers, who drank as if there was no tomorrow and rather hoped this would be the case.
Fred Colon had reached the convivial drunk stage. He turned to the man beside him. ‘ ‘S good here, isn’t it,’ he managed.
‘What’m I gonna tell me wife, that’s what I want to know . . .’ moaned the man.
‘Dunno. Say you’ve bin bin bin working late,’ said Colon. ‘An’ suck a peppermint before you goes home, that usually works’
‘Working late? Hah! I’ve bin given the sack! Me! A craftsman! Fifteen years at Spadger and Williams, right, and then they go bust ‘cos of Carry undercutting ’em and I get a job at Carry’s and, bang, I’m out of a job there, too! “Surplus to requirements”! Bloody golems! Forcing real people out of a job! What they wanna work for? They got no mouth to feed, hah. But the damn thing goes at it so fast you can’t see its bloody arms movin’!’
‘Shame.’
‘Smash ’em up, that’s what I say. I mean, we had a golem at S an’ W’s but ole Zhlob just used to plod along, y’know, not buzz away like a blue-arsed fly. You wanna watch it, mate, they’ll have yourjob next.’
‘Stoneface wouldn’t stand fr it,’ said Colon, undulating gently.
‘Any chance of a job with you lot, then?’