'That's Using Language liable to cause a Breach of the Peace,' said Vimes. 'Huh? You idiots have scared everyone away! Who's going to be offended?'
'Well, I might be. I'm sure you don't want that, sir.'
'You're that stupid sergeant we've been told about, aren't you,' growled the man. 'Too thick to see what's going on, right? Well, this is where you find out, mister . . .'
He twisted out of Vimes's grip, and there were a couple of sliding, metallic noises in the gloom. Wrist knives, thought Vimes. Even Assassins think they're an idiot's weapon. He took a couple of steps back as the man danced towards him, both knives waving. 'Can't think of a dumb answer to this one, eh, brownjob?' To his horror Vimes saw, behind the man, the shape of Sam raising his bell very slowly. 'Don't hit him!' he shouted, and then lashed out with his boot as the man's head turned. 'If you're going to fight, fight,' he said, as the man toppled forward. 'If you're going to talk, talk. Don't try to talk and fight. And right now, I caution you to do neither.'
'I could have got him easily, sarge,' Sam complained, as Vimes fished out his handcuffs and knelt down. 'I could have blown him out like a light.'
'Head injuries can be fatal, lance-constable. We serve the public trust.'
'But you kicked him in the privates, sarge!' Because I don't want you to be a target, thought Vimes, as he tightened the cuffs. That means you don't belt one of them over the head. You stay as the dim sidekick, in the background. That way you survive, and that way, maybe I do too. 'You don't have to fight the way the other bloke wants you to fight,' he said, hefting the man on to his shoulders. 'Give me a hand here ... up weee go. Okay, I've got him. You lead the way.'
'Back to the Watch House?' said Sam. 'You're arresting an Unmentionable?'
'Yes. I just hope we'll meet some of our lads on the way. Let this be a lesson, lad. There aren't any rules. Not when there's knives out. You take him down, quietly if possible, without hurting him much if possible, but you take him down. He comes at you with a knife, you bring your stick down on his arm. He comes at you with his hands, you use your knee or your boot or your helmet. Your job is to keep the peace. You make it peaceful as quickly as you can.'
'Yes, sir. But there's going to be trouble, sarge.'
'Straightforward arrest. Even coppers have to obey the law, what there is of it. . .'
'Yes, sarge, but I mean there's going to be trouble right now, sarge.' They'd neared the end of the street, and there was a group of figures there. They looked like men with a purpose; there was something about the stance, the way they were standing in the road, and, of course, the occasional glint of light on a weapon also gave a hint. There was a snapping of little doors as dark lanterns were opened.
Of course he wouldn't have been alone, Vimes scolded himself. His job was just to watch until they'd all gone in. And then he'd just shlep away to call in the heavy gang. There must be a dozen of 'em. We're going to get cheesed!' * * Like creamed, but it goes on for a lot longer. 'What'll we do, sarge?' whispered Sam. 'Ring your bell.'
'But they've spotted us!'
'Ring the damn bell, will you? And keep walking! And don't stop ringing!' The Unmentionables spread out now, and as Vimes trudged towards them he saw several figures at each end of the line slip around behind him. That's how it'd go. They'd be like the muggers up in Scoone Avenue, talking nice and friendly while their eyes said, hey, you know our mates are right behind you and we know you know and it's fun watching you trying to pretend that this is just a civilized conversation when you know that any minute you're going to get it right in the kidneys. We feel your pain. And we like it... He stopped walking. It was that or walk into someone. And all along the street doors and windows were opening as the clanging of the bell roused the neighbourhood. "evenin',' he said. '
'evenin', your grace,' said a voice out of history. 'Nice to see an old friend, eh?' Vimes groaned. The worst that could happen had happened. 'Carcer?'
'That's Sergeant Carcer, thank you. Funny how things work out, eh? Turns out I'm prime copper material, haha. They gave me a new suit and a sword and twenty-five dollars a month, just like that. Lads, this is the man I told you about.'
'Why d'you call him your grace, sarge?' said one of the shadowy men. Carcer's eyes never left Vimes's face. 'It's a joke. Where we come from, everyone used to call him Duke,' he said. Vimes saw him slip a hand into a pocket. It came out holding something that had a brassy glint. 'It was a sort of nickname, eh ... Duke? Stop the kid ringing the damn bell, will you?'
'Knock it off, lance-constable,' Vimes muttered. The noise had worked, anyway. This little tableau had a silent audience now. Not that an audience would make any difference to Carcer. He'd cheerfully stab you to death in the centre of a crowded arena and then look around and say, 'Who, me?' But the men behind him were edgy, like cockroaches wondering when the light was going to go on. 'Don't you worry, Duke,' Carcer said, sliding his fingers into the brass knuckles, 'I've told the boys about you and me. How we, hah, go back a long way and all that, haha.'
'Yeah?' said Vimes. It wasn't prizewinning repartee, but Carcer obviously wanted to talk. 'And how did you get made a sergeant, Carcer?'
'I heard where they were looking for coppers with fresh ideas,' said Carcer. 'And that nice Captain Swing hisself talked to me and said he was in no doubt I was an honest man who had been unlucky. Measured me up, he did, with his calipers and his rules and jommetry and he said it proved I was not a criminal type. It was all the fault of my environment, he said.'
'What, you mean all those dead bodies everywhere you went?' said Vimes. 'Nice one, Duke, haha.'
'And you had fresh ideas, did you?'
'Well, he liked one of 'em,' said Carcer, narrowing his eyes. "Turned out he didn't know the ginger beer trick.' The ginger beer trick. Well, that just about put the tin lid on it. Torturers down the ages hadn't found the ginger beer trick, and Carcer had handed it over to a patent maniac like Captain Swing. 'The ginger beer trick,' said Vimes. 'Well done. Carcer. You're just what Swing's been looking for. The complete bastard.' Carcer grinned as if he'd been awarded a small prize. 'Yeah, I already told 'em how you got a down on me for stealing a loaf of bread.'
'Come on, Carcer,' said Vimes. That's not you. You never pinched a loaf of bread in your life. Murdering the baker and stealing the bakery, that'd be your style.'
'He's a card, eh?' said Carcer, winking at his men and nodding towards Vimes. Then, in one movement, he spun around and punched the man beside him in the stomach. 'You don't call me sarge,' he hissed. It's sergeant, understand?' On the floor, the man groaned. I'll take that as a yes, then, haha,' said Carcer, slipping the brass knuckles back into his pocket. 'Now the thing is ... Duke . . . what you have there is one of my men, so how about you hand him over and we'll say no more about it?'
'What's happening, sarge?' The voice was coming from some way behind Vimes. He turned. It was Wiglet and Scutts. They looked like men who'd been running but were now trying to affect a nonchalant swagger. It was getting less nonchalant and considerably less swaggery as they eyed up the Unmentionables. The frantically ringing bell. That's what they'd always used. All the coppers who heard it would converge on it, because an Officer was in Trouble.
Of course, they wouldn't necessarily help him get out of trouble, not if the odds weren 't right. This was the old Night Watch, after all. But at least they could fish him out of the river or cut him down and see he got a decent burial. There was a rumble from further up the street and the rattling bulk of the hurry-up turned the corner, with Fred Colon at the reins and Constable Waddy hanging on behind. Vimes heard the shouts. 'What's up, Bill?'
'It's Keel and Vimesy,' Wiglet called back. 'Hurry up!' Vimes tried to avoid Carcer's eyes, tried to appear as if nothing had happened, tried to pretend that the world had not suddenly cracked open and let in the cold winds of infinity. But Carcer was smart. He glanced at Vimes, looked at Sam. 'Vimesy?' he said. 'Your name Sam Vimes, mister?'
'I ain't saying anything,' said Lance-Constable Vimes stoutly. 'Well well, well, well, well,' said Carcer happily. 'Now here's a nice how-d'yer-do, eh? Something for a chap to think about, and no mistake, haha.' There was a creak as the hurry-up wagon rolled to a stop. Carcer glanced up at the round, pale face of Corporal Colon. 'You just go about your business, corporal,' said Carcer. 'You just leave now.' Colon swallowed. Vimes could see his Adam's apple bob as it tried to hide. 'Er . . . we heard the ringing,' he said. 'Just a bit of high spirits,' said Carcer. 'Nothing that need worry you. We're all coppers here, right? I wouldn't like there to be any trouble. There's just been a bit of a misunderstanding, that's all. Sergeant Keel here was just going to hand over my friend there, right, sergeant? No hard feelings, eh? You just happened to blunder into a little operation of ours. Best not to talk about it. Just you hand him over and we'll call it quits.' Every head turned to Vimes. The sensible thing would be to hand the man over. He knew it. And then - probably - Carcer would go away, and he didn't want that man any closer to young Sam than he could help. But Carcer would come back. Oh, yes. Things like Carcer always came back, especially when they thought they'd found a weakness. That wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that Vimes had changed things.