A lot of the professionals didn't like them, but Vimes had lately taken the view that
when push came to shove it was better to have your fellow citizens shoving alongside
you and, that being the case, you might as well teach them how to hold a sword right,
lest the arm they clumsily removed was yours.
Vimes pulled A. E. Pessimal through the press of bodies until he found Fred Colon,
who was handing out one-size- doesn't-fitanybody helmets.
'New man for you, Fred,' he said loudly. 'Mr A. E. Pessimal, plain A. E. if he ever
makes friends. He's the government inspector. Kit him out, full fig, and don't forget
the riot shield. A. E. here wants to understand coppering, so he's kindly volunteered
to be an actingconstable on the barricades with us.' Over the top of A. E. Pessimal's
head he gave Fred a big wink.
'Oh, er, right,' said Fred, and his face, in the flickering light of the flares, acquired the
innocent smile of one about to make someone's life a little pot of bubbling dread. He
leaned over the trestle table.
'Know how to use a sword, Acting-Constable Pessimal?' he said, and dropped a
helmet on the man's head, where it spun.
'Well, I didn't exactly-' the inspector began, as a very elderly sword was shoved
across the planks, followed by a heavy truncheon.
'A shield, then? Any good with a shield?' said Fred, pushing a large such item after
the sword.
'Actually, I didn't mean-' said A. E. Pessimal, trying to hold both the sword and the
truncheon and dropping both, and then the sword and the truncheon and the shield
and dropping all three.
'Any good at running a hundred yards in ten seconds? In this?' Fred went on. A
ragged chain mail coat dropped slowly off the table like a parcel of snakes and
landed on A. E. Pessimal's bright little shoes.
'Uh, I don't think-'
'Standing still and going to the toilet really, really quickly?' said Fred. 'Oh well, you'll
learn soon enough.'
Vimes turned the man round, picked up 35lb of rust-eaten chain mail and dropped it
into his arms, causing A. E. Pessimal to bend double. 'I'll introduce you to some of
the citizens who will be fighting alongside you tonight, shall I?' he said, as the little
man hobbled after him. 'This is Willikins, my butler. No sharpened pennies in your
cap tonight, Willikins?'
'No, sir,' said Willikins, staring at the struggling A. E. Pessimal.
'Glad to hear it. This is Acting-Constable Pessimal, Willikins.' Vimes winked.
'Honoured to meet you, acting-constable, sir,' said Willikins gravely. 'Now that sir is
with us I am sure the miscreants will just melt away. Has sir by any chance gone siron-
one with a troll before? No? A little advice, sir. The important thing is to get in front
of them and dodge the first blow. They always leave themselves open and sir may
then step smartly forward and select sir's target of choice.'
'Er, what if if I'm not in front of one when it tries to hit me?' A. E. Pessimal said,
hypnotized by the description and dropping the sword again. 'What if it is in fact
behind me?'
'Ah, well, I am afraid that in that case sir has to go back and start all over again, sir.'
'And, er, how do I do that?
'Being born is traditionally the first step, sir,' said Willikins, shaking his head.
Vimes gave him a nod and moved the trembling Pessimal on through the chattering
crowd, while the fine rain fell and the mists rose and the torches flickered.
'Good evening, sir!' said a cheerful voice and there, yes, was Special Constable
Hancock, an amiable bearded man with an amiable smile and more cutlery about his
person than was good for Vimes's mental health. That was the trouble with some of
the Specials. They really got into it. They bought their own gear and it was always
better than Watch issue. Some of them clanged even more than dwarfs, with patent
handcuffs and complicated nightsticks and comfy padded helmets and pencils that
wrote underwater and, in the case of Special Constable Hancock, two curved
Agatean swords strapped across his back. Those who'd dared to venture into the
training yard when he was using them said they looked rather impressive. Vimes had
heard that an Agatean ninja could give a fly a shave and a haircut in mid-flight, but
this didn't make him feel any better.
'Oh, hello Andy,' he said. 'I think-'
'Captain Carrot's had a word with me,' said Special Constable Hancock, giving him a
huge wink. 'I'll see to it!'
'Oh, good,' said Vimes, horribly aware that he'd put himself in a tricky position vis a
vis suggesting that maybe one sword might be enough. 'Er You'll be up against the
trolls, at least to start with,' he said. 'Just remember that there's our people around
you, will you? Remember Special Constable Piggle, eh?'
'But in fairness it was a clean cut, sir!' said Hancock. 'Igor said he'd never done such
an easy re-attachment!'
'Nevertheless, it's truncheons only tonight, Andy, unless I give any other order,
okay?'
'Understood, Commander Vimes. I've just got a new truncheon, as a matter of fact.'
Some sixth sense made Vimes say: 'Oh, really? May I see?'
'Right here, sir. Hancock pulled out what looked to Vimes like two truncheons, joined
together with a length of chain.
'They're Agatean numknuts, sir. No sharp edges at all.'
Vimes gave them an experimental swing and hit his own elbow. He handed them
back quickly. 'Rather you than me, lad. Still, I suppose they'll make a troll stop and
think.'
Mr Pessimal was staring in horror, not least because wayward wood had just missed
him.
'Oh, this is Mr Pessimal, Andy,' said Vimes. 'He's finding out how we do things. Mr
Hancock is one of our keenest special constables, Mr Pessimal.'
'Nice to meet you, Mr Pessimal!' said Hancock. 'If you need any catalogues, I'm your
man!'
Vimes moved on quickly, just in case the man drew those swords again, and ran up
against a slightly more reassuring figure.
'And here we have Mr Boggis,' he said. 'Good to see you. Mr Boggis is president of
the Guild of Thieves, Mr Pessimal.'
Mr Boggis saluted proudly. He had accepted a chain mail jacket from Fred, but no
power in the world would have parted him from his brown bowler hat. Any power
nevertheless inclined to try would in any case have to contend with the narrow-eyed,
stony-jawed men on either side of him, who had eschewed any weapons or armour.
One of them was cleaning his fingernails with a cut-throat razor. In a strange but very
definite way they looked much more dangerous than Special Constable Hancock.
'And also Vinny "No Ears" Ludd and Harry "Can't Remember His Nickname" Jones, I
see,' Vimes went on. 'You've brought your bodyguards, Mr Boggis?'
'Vinny and Harry like to get out in the fresh air, Mister Vimes,' said Mr Boggis. 'And
you've got your own bodyguard, then?' He beamed down on A. E. Pessimal and then
grinned at Vimes. 'You have to watch them little bantam fighters, Mister Vimes, they
can have the nose off'f your face quicker'n wink. I can tell a killing cove when I see
one, eh? Best of luck to you, Mr Pessimal!'
Vimes bustled the astonished man away before Mr Boggis was killed on the spot by
the God of Over-Acting, and almost walked into the one Special who could be
guaranteed not to talk too much.
'And here, Mr Pessimal, here we have the University Librarian,' he said. 'Good man
in a melee, eh?'
'But that- that's not a man! That's an orangutan, Pongo pongo, native of
BhangBhangduc and nearby islands!'
'Ook!' said the Librarian, patting A. E. Pessimal on the head and handing him a
banana skin.
'Well done, A. E.!' said Vimes. 'Not many people get that right!'
And so Vimes dragged the inspector back through the crowd of damp, armoured
men, introducing him right and left. Then he pushed him into a corner and, to faint
stunned protestations, dragged the mail shirt over his head.
'You stick close behind me, Mr Pessimal,' he said, as the man tried to move. 'It could
get a bit sticky later on. The trolls are up in the plaza and the dwarfs are down in the
square, and both of 'em are drinking up enough courage to have a good scrap. That's
why we'll be lining up in the Cham, right between 'em, the thin brown streak, haha.
The dwarfs favour battle-axes, the trolls go in for clubs. Our weapon of first resort will
be our truncheons, and our weapon of last resort is our feet. That is to say, we'll run
like hell.'
'But, but, you have swords!' A. E. Pessimal managed.
'We have swords, acting-constable. Yes, that is a fact, but poking holes in citizens is
Watch brutality, and we don't want any of that now, do we? Let's get going; I wouldn't
like you to miss anything.'
He harried the man again, out into the street and the stream of watchmen heading for
the Cham. Apart from them, the street was empty. Ankh-Morpork people had an
instinct for staying indoors when there were too many battle-axes and spiky clubs out
there.
The Cham was simply a very, very wide road, once intended for ceremonial parades,
a hangover from the days when the city had much to be ceremonious about. Drizzle
filled it now and did not do much more than wet the pavements and reflect the light of
the flares along the barricades.
Barricades well, that's what they were called on the Watch inventory. Ha! Lengths of
wood painted in black and yellow stripes and mounted on trestles were not
barricades, not to anyone who'd been behind a real one, which was built of rubbish
and furniture and barrels and fear and bowel-knotting defiance. No, these simple
things were the physical symbol of an idea. It was a line in the sand. It said: thus far,
and no further. It said: this is where the law is. Step over this line and you've gone
beyond the law. Step over this line, with your massive axes and huge morningstars
and heavy, heavy spiky clubs, and we few, we happy few, who stand here with our
wooden truncheons, we'll we'll
... well, you just better not step over the line, okay?
The yellow and black edges of the Law had been set about twelve feet apart, giving
plenty of room for two lines of watchmen standing back to back, facing outwards.
Vimes dragged Mr Pessimal into the centre of the Cham, between the lines, and let
him go.
'Any questions?' he said, as latecomers jostled past them to take up their positions.
The little man stared towards the distant plaza, where the trolls had lit a big fire, and
then turned to look the other way, at the square, where the dwarfs had lit several
fires. There was the sound of distant singing.
'Oh, yes, we'll get the singing first. At this point it's all about getting the blood
pounding, you see,' Vimes added helpfully. 'Songs about heroes, great victories,
killing your enemies and drinking out of their warm skulls, that sort of thing.'
'And then, er, they'll attack us?' said A. E. Pessimal.
'Well, not as such,' Vimes conceded. 'They'll try to attack the other bunch, and we're
in the way.'
'They won't go around us, perhaps?' said A. E. Pessimal hopefully.
'I doubt it. They won't be in the mood for narrow alleys. They'll be thinking in straight
lines. Charge and yell, they'll say, that's the way.'
'Ah, there's the university over there!' said A. E. Pessimal, as if noticing the huge bulk
of Unseen University for the very first time. 'Surely the wizards could-'
'-magic their weapons out of their hands, possibly leaving them with all their fingers?
Magic them into the cells? Turn them all into ferrets? And what then, Mr Pessimal?'
Vimes lit a cigar, cupping the match in his hand so that the flame made 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.'