'Oh, about sixty of them are deserters, as far as I can see. You tend to get that in this sort of mess. Some have probably just popped home to see dear ol' mum.'
'Oh, deserters. We've had some of those, too. In the cavalry! What would you call a man who leaves his horse behind?'
'An infantryman? As for the rest, well, as far as I can see only six or seven of them went down to definite enemy action. Three men got stabbed in alleyways, for example.'
'Sounds like enemy action to me.'
'Yes, Clive. But you were born in Quirm.'
'Only because my mother was visiting her aunt and the coach was late!' said the major, going red. 'If you cut me in half you'd find Ankh-Morpork written on my heart!'
'Really? Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that,' said Tom. 'Anyway, getting murdered in alleyways is just part of life in the big city.'
'But they were armed men! Swords, helmets-'
'Valuable loot, Clive.'
'But I thought the City Watch took care of the gangs-' Tom looked at his friend over the top of his paperwork. 'Are you suggesting that we ask for police protection? Anyway, there isn't any, not any more. Some of the watchmen are with us, for what good they are, and the rest either got beaten up or ran away-'
'More deserters?'
'Frankly, Clive, everyone's drifting away so fast that by tomorrow we'll be feeling pretty lonely.' The men paused as a corporal brought in some more messages. They thumbed through them gloomily. 'Well, it's gone quiet, anyway,' said the major. 'Suppertime,' said the captain. The major threw up his hands. 'This isn't war! A man throws a rock, walks around the corner and he's an upstanding citizen again! There's no rules!' The captain nodded. Their training hadn't covered this sort of thing. They'd studied maps of campaigns, with broad sweeping plains and the occasional patch of high ground that had to be taken. Cities were to be laid siege to, or defended. They weren't for fighting in. You couldn't see, you couldn't group, you couldn't manoeuvre and you were always going to be up against people who knew the place like their own kitchen. And you definitely didn't want to fight an enemy that had no uniform. 'Where's your lordship?' said the captain. 'Gone to the ball, the same as yours.'
'And what were your orders, may I ask?'
'He told me to do whatever I considered necessary to carry out our original objectives.'
'Did he write that down?'
'No.'
'Pity. Neither did mine.' They looked at one another. And then Wrangle said, 'Well. . . there's no actual unrest at the moment. As such. My father said all this happened in his time. He said it's best just to keep the lid on it. There's only a limited number of cobblestones, he said.'
'It's almost ten,' said the major. 'People will be going to bed soon, surely?'
Their joint expression radiated the fervent hope that it had all calmed down. No one in their right mind wanted to be in a position where he was expected to do what he thought best. 'Well, Clive, provided there's no-' the captain began. There was a commotion outside the tent, and then a man stepped inside. He was bloodstained and smoke-blackened, his face lined with pink where sweat had trickled through the dreadful grime. A crossbow was slung across his back, and he'd acquired a bandolier of knives. And he was mad. The major recognized the look. The eyes were too bright, the grin too fixed. 'Ah, right,' he said, and removed a large brass knuckleduster from his right hand. 'Sorry about your sentry, gen'lemen, but he didn't want to let me in even though I gave him the password. Are you in charge?'
'Who the hell are you?' said the major, standing up. The man seemed unimpressed. 'Carcer. Sergeant Carcer,' he said. 'A sergeant? In that case you can-'
'From Cable Street,' Carcer added. Now the major hesitated. Both the soldiers knew about the Unmentionables, although if asked they probably wouldn't have been able to articulate exactly what it was that they knew. Unmentionables worked in secret, behind the scenes. They were a lot more than just watchmen. They reported directly to the Patrician; they had a lot of pull. You didn't mess with them. They were not people to cross. It didn't matter that this man was only a sergeant. He was an Unmentionable. And, what was worse, the major realized that the creature could see what he was thinking and was enjoying the view. 'Yeah,' said Carcer. 'That's right. And it's lucky for you that I'm here, soldier boy.' Soldier boy, thought the major. And there were men listening, who'd remember that. Soldier boy. 'How so?' he said. 'While you and your shiny soldiers have been prancing around chasing washerwomen,' said Carcer, pulling up the tent's only vacant chair and sitting down, 'the real trouble's been happening down in Treacle Mine Road. You know it?'
'What are you talking about? We haven't had any reports about any disturbances down there, man!'
'Yeah, right. Don't you think that's strange?' The major hesitated. A vague memory bobbed at the back of his mind . . . and there was a grunt from the captain, who pushed a piece of paper across to him. He glanced at it, and recalled.
'One of my captains was down there this afternoon and said everything was under control,' he said. 'Really? Whose control?' said Carcer. He leaned back in his chair and put his boots on the desk. The major stared at them, but the boots showed no sign of embarrassment. 'Remove your feet from my desk,' he said coldly. Carcer's eyes narrowed. 'You an' whose army?' he said. 'Mine, as a matter of fact . . .' The major looked into Carcer's eyes, and wished he hadn't. Mad. He'd seen eyes like that on the battlefield. Very slowly, with exaggerated care, Carcer swung his feet off the table. Then he pulled out a handkerchief made grimy with unguessable humours, huffed theatrically on the wood, and polished it industriously. 'I do beg your pardon so very much,' he said. 'However, while you gentlemen have been keeping your desk nice and clean, a canker, as they say, haha, is eating at the very heart of the city. Has anyone told you that the Cable Street Watch House has been burned to the ground? With, we believe, the loss of the lives of poor Captain Swing and at least one of our . . . technical people.'
'Swing, bigods,' said Captain Wrangle. 'That is what I said. All the scum your lads have been driving out of Dolly Sisters and all the other nests, well, they've ended up down there.' The major looked at the report. 'But our patrol said that everything seemed to be in hand, the Watch were very visible on the streets, and people were showing the flag and singing the national anthem,' he said. 'There you are, then,' said Carcer. 'Do you ever sing the national anthem in the street, major?'
'Well, no-'
'Who did his lordship send down there?' said Wrangle. Major Mountjoy-Standfast thumbed through his papers. His face fell. 'Rust,' he said. 'Oh dear. That's a blow.'