"Er. .." A. E. Pessimal began.
"You"ll have to start as a lance-constable, but a man of your talents ought to make it to sergeant within a year. And you can have your own office," said Vimes.
A. E. Pessimal shut his eyes. "How did you know?" he breathed. "You attacked a boozed-up troll with your teeth," said Vimes.
"There"s a man born for the badge, I thought to myself." And that"s what you"ve always wanted, right? But you were always too small, too weak, too shy to be a watchman. I can buy big and strong anywhere. Right now I need a man who knows how to hold a pencil without breaking it.
"You"ll be my adjutant," he went on. "You"ll handle all my paperwork. You"ll read the reports, you"ll try to figure out what"s important. And so you can learn what is important, you"ll have to do at least two patrols a week."
A tear was running down A. E. Pessimal"s cheek. "Thank you, your grace," he said hoarsely.
If A. E. Pessimal had had enough chest to stick out, it would be sticking.
"Of course you"ll need to finish your report on the Watch first," Vimes added. "That is a matter between you and his lordship. And now, if you will excuse me, I really must get on. I look forward to seeing you working for me, Lance-Constable Pessimal."
"Thank you, your grace!"
"Oh, and you won"t call me "your grace"," said Vimes. He thought for a moment, and decided that the man had earned this, all in one go, and added: ""Mister Vimes" will do."
And so we make progress, he said to himself, after A. E. Pessimal had floated away. And his lordship won"t like it, so as far as I can see there"s no downside. Quis custodiet ipsos custodes, er, qui custodes custodient? Was that right for "Who watches the watcher that watches the watchmen?"? Probably not. Still ... your move, my lord.
He was just puzzling over his notebook again when the door opened without an introductory knock.
Sybil entered, with a plate.
"You"re not eating enough, Sam," she announced. "And the canteen here is a disgrace. It"s all grease and stodge!"
"That"s what the men like, I"m afraid," said Vimes guiltily.
"I"ve cleaned out the tea urn, at least," Sybil went on, with satisfaction.
"You cleaned out the tea urn?" said Vimes in a hollow voice. It was like being told that someone had wiped the patina off a fine old work of art.
"Yes, it was like tar in there. There really wasn"t much proper food in the store, but I managed to make you a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich."
"Thank you, dear." Vimes cautiously lifted a corner of the bread with his stricken pencil. There seemed to be too much lettuce, which was to say, there was some lettuce.
"There"s a lot of dwarfs come to see you, Sam," said Sibyl, as if this was preying on her mind.
Vimes stood up so fast that his chair fell over. "Is Young Sam all right?" he said.
"Yes, Sam. They"re city dwarfs. You know them all, I think. They say they want to talk to you about-"
But Vimes was already clattering down the stairs, drawing his sword as he did so.
The dwarfs were clustered nervously by the duty officer"s desk. They had that opulence of metalwork, sleekness of beard and thickness of girth that marked them out as dwarfs who were doing very well for themselves, or who had been right up until now.
Vimes appeared in front of them like a whirlwind of wrath.
You scum, you rat-sucking little worm eaters! You headsdown little scurriers in the dark! What did you bring to my city? What were you thinking? Did you want the deep-downers here? Did you dare deplore what Hamcrusher said, all that bile and ancient lies? Or did you say "Well, I don"t agree with him, of course, but he"s got a point"? Did you say, "Oh he goes too far but it"s about time somebody said it"?And now, have you come here to wring your hands and say how dreadful, it was nothing to do with you? Who were the dwarfs in the mobs, then? Aren"t you community leaders? Were you leading them? And why are you here now, you ugly snivelling grubbers? Is it possible, is it possible, that now, after that bastard"s bodyguards tried to kill my family, you"re here to complain? Have I broken some code, trodden on some ancient toe? To hell with it. To hell with you.
He could feel the words straining, fighting to get out, and the effort of restraining them filled his stomach with acid and made his temples throb. Just one whine, he thought. Just one pompous moan. Go on.
"Well?" he demanded.
The dwarfs had perceptibly moved backwards. Vimes wondered if they"d read his thoughts; they"d echoed in his brain loudly enough.
A dwarf cleared his throat. "Commander Vimes-"he began. "You"re Pors Stronginthearm, aren"t you?" Vimes demanded. "One half of Burleigh & Stronginthearm? You make crossbows." "Yes, commander, and-"