There were thunderstorms out on the plain. Carrot could see lightning flashes stitching the horizon, and he could smell rain. But the air of the city was still and baking, all the hotter for the distant prospect of storms.
The University's Tower of Art loomed in front of him. He saw it every day. It dominated half the city.
Behind him, the bed went glink.
'I think there's going to be—' he began, and turned.
As he turned away, he missed the glint of moonlight on metal from the top of the tower.
Sergeant Colon sat on the bench outside the baking air of the Watch House.
There was a hammering noise from somewhere inside. Cuddy had come in ten minutes before with a bag of tools, a couple of helmets and a determined expression. Colon was damned if he knew what the little devil was working on.
He counted again, very slowly, ticking off names on his clipboard.
No doubt about it. The Night Watch had almost twenty members now. Maybe more. Detritus had gone critical, and had sworn in a further two men, another troll and a wooden dummy from outside Corksock's Natty Clothing Co.[27] If this went on they'd be able to open up the old Watch Houses near the main gates, just like the old days.
He couldn't remember when the Watch last had twenty men.
It had all seemed a good idea at the time. It was certainly keeping the lid on things. But in the morning the Patrician was going to get to hear about it, and demand to see the superior officer.
Now, Sergeant Colon was not entirely clear in his own mind who was the superior officer at the moment. He felt that it should be either Captain Vimes or, in some way he couldn't quite define, Corporal Carrot. But the captain wasn't around and Corporal Carrot was only a corporal, and Fred Colon had a dreadful apprehension that when Lord Vetinari summoned someone in order to be ironical at them and say things like 'Who's going to pay their wages, pray?' it would be him, Fred Colon, well and truly up the Ankh without a paddle.
They were also running out of ranks. There were only four ranks below the rank of sergeant. Nobby was getting stroppy about anyone else being promoted to corporal, so there was a certain amount of career congestion taking place. Besides, some of the Watch had got it into their heads that the way you got promoted was to conscript half a dozen other guards. At Detritus' current rate of progress, he was going to be High Supreme Major General by the end of the month.
And what made it all strange was that Carrot was still only a—
Colon looked up when he heard the tinkle of broken glass. Something golden and indistinct crashed through an upper window, landed in the shadows and fled before he could make out what it was.
The Watch House door slammed open and Carrot emerged, sword in hand.
'Where'd it go? Where'd it go?'
'Dunno. What the hell was it?'
Carrot stopped.
'Uh. Not sure,' he said.
'Carrot?'
'Sarge?'
'I should put some clothes on if I was you, lad.'
Carrot stayed looking into the pre-dawn gloom.
'I mean, I turned around and there it was, and—'
He looked down at the sword in his hand as if he hadn't realized that he was carrying it.
'Oh, damn!' he said.
He ran back to his room and grabbed his britches. As he struggled into them, he was suddenly aware of a thought in his head, clear as ice.
You are a pillock, what are you? Picked up the sword automatically, didn't you? Did it all wrong! Now she's run off and you'll never see her again!
He turned. A small grey dog was watching him intently from the doorway.