“What say we have a game of cards?” said Nobby, brightly. He produced a greasy pack from somewhere in the noisome recesses of his uniform.
“You won everyone’s wages off them yesterday,” said Sergeant Colon.
“Now’s the chance to win ’em back, then.”
“Yeah, but there were five kings in your hand, Nobby.”
Nobby shuffled the cards.
“’S’funny, that,” he said, “there’s kings everywhere, when you look.”
“There certainly is if you look up
your
sleeve.”
“No, I mean, there’s Kings Way in Ankh, and kings in cards, and we get the King’s Shilling when we join up,” said Nobby. “We got kings all over the place except on that gold throne in the Palace. I’ll tell you…there wouldn’t be all this trouble around the place if we had a king.”
Carrot was staring at the ceiling, his eyebrows locked in concentration. Detritus was counting on his fingers.
“Oh,
yes
,” said Sergeant Colon. “Beer’d be a penny a pint, the trees’d bloom again. Oh, yeah. Every time someone stubs a toe in this town, turns out it wouldn’t have happened if there’d been a king. Vimes’d go spare to hear you talk like that.”
“People’d listen to a king, though,” said Nobby.
“Vimes’d say that’s the trouble,” said Colon. “It’s like that thing of his about using magic. That stuff makes him angry.”
“How you get king inna first place?” said Detritus.
“Someone sawed up a stone,” said Colon.
“Hah! Anti-siliconism!”
“Nah, someone
pulled
a sword
out
of a stone,” said Nobby.
“How’d he know it was in there, then?” Colon demanded.
“It…it was sticking out, wasn’t it?”
“Where anyone could’ve grabbed it? In
this
town?”
“Only the
rightful
king could do it, see,” said Nobby.
“Oh,
right
,” said Colon. “I
understand
. Oh,
yes
. So what you’re saying
is
, someone’d decided who the rightful king was
before
he pulled it out? Sounds like a fix to me. Prob’ly someone had a fake hollow stone and some dwarf inside hanging on the other end with a pair of pliers until the right guy came along—”
A fly bounced on the window pane for a while, then zigzagged across the room and settled on a beam, where Cuddy’s idly thrown axe cut it in half.
“You got no soul, Fred,” said Nobby. “I wouldn’t’ve minded being a knight in shining armor. That’s what a king does if you’re useful. He makes you a knight.”
“A night watchman in crappy armor is about your métier,” said Colon, who looked around proudly to see if anyone had noticed the slanty thing over the e. “Nah, catch me being respectful to some bloke because he just pulled a sword out of a stone. That don’t make you a king. Mind you,” he said, “someone who could shove a sword
into
a stone…a man like
that
, now,
he’s
a king.”
“A man like that’d be an ace,” said Nobby.
Angua yawned.
Ding-ding a-ding-ding
—
“What the hell’s that?” said Colon.
Carrot’s chair thumped forward. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a velvet bag, which he upended on to the table. Out slid a golden disc about three inches across. When he pressed a catch on one side it opened like a clamshell.
The stopped Watch peered at it.
“It’s a clock?” said Angua.
“A watch,” said Carrot.
“It’s very big.”
“That’s because of the clockwork. There has to be room for all the little wheels. The small watches just have those little time demons in and they don’t last and anyway they keep rotten time—”
Ding-ding a-ding-ding, ding dingle ding ding
…
“And it plays a tune!” said Angua.
“Every hour,” said Carrot. “It’s part of the clockwork.”
Ding. Ding. Ding
.
“And it chimes the hours afterwards,” said Carrot.
“It’s slow, then,” said Sergeant Colon. “All the others just struck, you couldn’t miss ’em.”
“My cousin Jorgen makes ones like these,” said Cuddy. “They keep better time than demons or water clocks or candles. Or those big pendulum things.”
“There’s a spring and wheels,” said Carrot.
“The important bit,” said Cuddy, taking an eyeglass from somewhere in his beard and examining the watch carefully, “is a little rocking thingummy that stops the wheels from going too fast.”
“How does it know if they’re going too fast?” said Angua.
“It’s kind of built-in,” said Cuddy. “Don’t understand it much myself. What’s this inscription here…”
He read it aloud.
“‘A Watch From, Your Old Freinds in the Watch’?”
“It’s a play on words,” said Carrot.
There was a long, embarrassed silence.
“Um. I chipped in a few dollars each from you new recruits,” he added, blushing. “I mean…you can pay me back when you like. If you want to. I mean…you’d be bound to
be
friends. Once you got to know him.”
The rest of the Watch exchanged glances.
He could lead armies, Angua thought. He really could. Some people have inspired whole countries to great deeds because of the power of their vision. And so could he. Not because he dreams about marching hordes, or world domination, or an empire of a thousand years. Just because he thinks that everyone’s really decent underneath and would get along just fine if only they made the effort, and he believes that so strongly it burns like a flame which is bigger than he is. He’s got a dream and we’re all part of it, so that it shapes the world around him. And the weird thing is that no one wants to disappoint him. It’d be like kicking the biggest puppy in the universe. It’s a kind of magic.
“The gold’s rubbing off,” said Cuddy. “But it’s a good watch,” he added quickly.
“I was hoping we could give it to him tonight,” said Carrot. “And all go out for a…drink…”
“Not a good idea,” said Angua.
“Leave it until tomorrow,” said Colon. “We’ll form a guard of honor at the wedding. That’s traditional. Everyone holds their swords up in a kind of arch.”
“We’ve only got one sword between us,” said Carrot glumly.
They all stared at the floor.
“It’s not fair,” said Angua. “I don’t care who stole whatever they stole from the Assassins, but he was right to try to find out who killed Mr. Hammerhock. And no one cares about Lettice Knibbs.”
“I like to find out who shoot me,” said Detritus.
“Beats me why anyone’d be daft enough to steal from the Assassins,” said Carrot. “That’s what Captain Vimes said. He said you’d have to be a fool to think of breaking into that place.”
They stared at the floor again.
“Like a clown or a jester?” said Detritus.
“Detritus, he didn’t mean a cap-and-bells Fool,” said Carrot, in a kindly voice. “He just meant you’d have to be some sort of idi—”
He stopped. He stared at the ceiling.
“Oh, my,” he said. “It’s as simple as
that
?”
“Simple as what?” said Angua.
Someone hammered at the door. It wasn’t a polite knock. It was the thumping of someone who was either going to have the door opened for them or break it down.
A guard stumbled into the room. Half his armor was off and he had a black eye, but he was just recognizable as Skully Muldoon of the Day Watch.
Colon helped him up.
“Been in a fight, Skully?”
Skully looked up at Detritus, and whimpered.
“The buggers attacked the Watch House!”
“Who?”
“Them!”
Carrot patted him on the shoulder.
“This isn’t a troll,” he said. “This is Lance-Constable Detritus—
don’t salute
. Trolls attacked the Day Watch?”
“They’re chucking cobbles!”
“You can’t trust ’em,” said Detritus.
“Who?” said Skully.
“Trolls. Nasty pieces of work in my opinion,” said Detritus, with all the conviction of a troll with a badge. “They need keeping a eye on.”
“What’s happened to Quirke?” said Carrot.
“I don’t know! You lot have got to do
something
!”
“We’re stood down,” said Colon. “Official.”
“Don’t give me that!”
“Ah,” said Carrot, brightly. He pulled a stub of pencil out of his pocket and made a little tick in his black book. “You still got that little house in Easy Street, Sergeant Muldoon?”
“What? What? Yes! What about it?”
“Is the rent worth more than a farthing a month?”
Muldoon stared at him with his one operating eye.
“Are you simple or what?”
Carrot gave him a big smile. “That’s right, Sergeant Muldoon. Is it, though? Worth a farthing, would you say?”
“There’s dwarfs running around the streets looking for a fight and you want to know about property prices?”
“A farthing?”
“Don’t be daft! It’s worth at least five dollars a month!”
“Ah,” said Carrot, ticking the book again. “That’d be inflation, of course. And I expect you’ve got a cooking pot…do you own at least two-and-one-third acres and more than half a cow?”
“All right, all right,” said Muldoon. “It’s some kind of joke, right?”
“I think probably the property qualification can be waived,” said Carrot. “It says here that it can be waived for a citizen in good standing. Finally, has there been, in your opinion, an irreparable breakdown of law and order in the city?”
“They turned over Throat Dibbler’s barrow and made him eat two of his sausages-inna-bun!”
“Oh, I say!” said Colon.
“Without mustard!”
“I think we can call that a Yes,” said Carrot. He ticked the page again, and closed the book with a definite snap.
“We’d better be going,” he said.
“We were told—” Colon began.
“According to the Laws and Ordinances of Ankh-Morpork,” said Carrot, “
any
residents of the city, in times of the irreparable breakdown of law and order, shall, at the request of an officer of the city who is a citizen in good standing—there’s a lot of stuff here about property and stuff, and then it goes on—form themselves into a militia for city defense.”
“What does that mean?” said Angua.
“Militia…” mused Sergeant Colon.
“Hang on, you can’t do that!” said Muldoon. “That’s nonsense!”
“It’s the law. Never been repealed,” said Carrot.
“We’ve never had a militia! Never needed one!”
“Until now, I think.”
“Now look here,” said Muldoon, “you come back with me to the Palace. You’re men of the Watch—”
“And we’re going to defend the city,” said Carrot.
People were streaming past the Watch House. Carrot stopped a couple by the simple expedient of sticking out his hand.
“Mr. Poppley, isn’t it?” he said. “How’s the grocery business? Hello, Mrs. Poppley.”
“Ain’t you heard?” said the flustered man. “The trolls have set fire to the Palace!”
He followed Carrot’s gaze up Broad Way, to where the Palace stood squat and dark in the early evening light. Ungovernable flames failed to billow from every window.
“My word,” said Carrot.
“And there’s dwarfs breaking windows and everything!” said the grocer. “A dog’s not safe!”
“You can’t trust ’em,” said Cuddy.
The grocer stared at him. “Are you a dwarf?” he said.
“Amazing! How
do
people do it,” said Cuddy.
“Well, I’m off! I’m not stopping to see Mrs. Poppley ravished by the little devils! You know what they say about dwarfs!”
The Watch watched the couple head off into the crowd again.
“Well,
I
don’t,” said Cuddy, to no one in particular. “What is it they say about dwarfs?”
Carrot fielded a man pushing a barrow.
“Would you mind telling me what’s going on, sir?” he said.
“And do you know what it is they say about dwarfs?” said a voice behind him.
“That’s not a sir, that’s Throat,” said Colon. “And will you look at the color of him!”
“Should he be all shiny like that?” said Detritus.
“Feeling fine! Feeling fine!” said Dibbler. “Hah! So much for people importuning the standard of my merchandise!”
“What’s happening, Throat?” said Colon.
“They say—” Dibbler began, green in the face.
“Who says?” said Carrot.
“
They
say,” said Dibbler. “You know. They.
Everyone
. They say the trolls have killed someone up at Dolly Sisters and the dwarfs have smashed up Chalky the troll’s all-night pottery and they’ve broken down the Brass Bridge and—”
Carrot looked up the road.
“You just came over the Brass Bridge,” he said.
“Yeah, well…that’s what they say,” said Dibbler.
“Oh, I see.” Carrot straightened up.
“Did they happen to say…sort of, in passing…anything else about dwarfs?” said Cuddy.
“I think we’re going to have to go and have a word with the Day Watch about the arrest of Coalface,” Carrot said.
“We ain’t got no weapons,” said Colon.
“I’m certain Coalface has nothing to do with the murder of Hammerhock,” said Carrot. “We are armed with the truth. What can harm us if we are armed with the truth?”
“Well, a crossbow bolt can, e.g., go right through your eye and out the back of your head,” said Sergeant Colon.
“All right, sergeant,” said Carrot, “so where do we get some
more
weapons?”
The bulk of the Armory loomed against the sunset.
It was strange to find an armory in a city which relied on deceit, bribery and assimilation to defeat its enemies but, as Sergeant Colon said, once you’d won their weapons off ’em you needed somewhere to store the things.
Carrot rapped on the door. After a while there were footsteps, and a small window slid back. A suspicious voice said: “Yes?”
“Corporal Carrot, city militia.”
“Never heard of it. Bugger off.”
The hatch snapped back. Carrot heard Nobby snigger.
He thumped on the door again.
“Yes?”
“I’m Corporal Carrot—” The hatch moved, but hit Carrot’s truncheon as he rammed it in the hole. “—and I’m here to collect some arms for my men.”