“That's what I said. I want to keep you out of trouble.”
Vimes looked at him in astonishment. “But it's my badge!”
“And you're going to give it to me,” said Wonse grimly. “By order of the king.”
“What d'you mean? He doesn't even know!” Vimes heard the wailing in his own voice.
Wonse scowled. “But he will,” he said. “And I don't expect he'll even bother to appoint a successor.”
Vimes slowly undipped the verdigrised disc of copper, weighed it in his hand, and then tossed it to Wonse without a word.
For a moment he considered pleading, but something rebelled. He turned, and stalked off through the crowd.
So that was it.
As simple as that. After half a lifetime of service. No more City Watch. Huh. Vimes kicked at the pavement. It'd be some sort of Royal Guard now.
With plumes in their damn helmets.
Well, he'd had enough. It wasn't a proper life anyway, in the Watch. You didn't meet people in the best of circumstances. There must be hundreds of other things he could do, and if he thought for long enough he could probably remember what some of them were.
Pseudopolis Yard was off the route of the procession, and as he stumbled into the Watch House he could hear the distant cheering beyond the rooftops. Across the city the temple gongs were being sounded.
Now they are ringing the gongs, thought Vimes, but soon they will-they will-they will not be ringing the gongs. Not much of an aphorism, he thought, but he could work on it. He had the time, now.
Vimes noticed the mess.
Errol had started eating again. He'd eaten most of the table, the grate, the coal scuttle, several lamps and the squeaky rubber hippo. Now he lay in his box again, skin twitching, whimpering in his sleep.
“A right mess you've made,” said Vimes enigmatically. Still, at least he wouldn't have to tidy it up.
He opened his desk drawer.
Someone had eaten into that, too. All that was left was a few shards of glass.
...
Sergeant Colon hauled himself on to the parapet around the Temple of Small Gods. He was too old for this sort of thing. He'd joined for the bell ringing, not sitting around on high places waiting for dragons to find him.
He got his breath back, and peered through the fog.
“Anyone human still up here?” he whispered.
Carrot's voice sounded dead and featureless in the dull air.
“Here I am, Sergeant,” he said.
“I was just checking if you were still here,” said Colon.
“I'm still here, Sergeant,” said Carrot, obediently.
Colon joined him.
“Just checking you were not et,” he said, trying to grin.
“I haven't been et,” said Carrot.
“Oh,” said Colon. “Good, then.” He tapped his fingers on the damp stonework, feeling he ought to make his position absolutely clear.