'Yes, sergeant, I know. That will be sixpence, thank you, sergeant. I always like to see a gentleman ready to do it for himself, I must say. Could I interest you in a-'
'I'm in a big hurry, please!' said Vimes. 'I've got to darn all my socks.' He nodded at the men, who responded heroically. 'Me, too-'
'Full of holes, it's disgusting!'
'Got to patch them up right now!'
'It's me, sarge, Nobby, sarge!'
'You could use mine for fishing nets!' The lady unhooked a big key ring. 'I think it's this one, no, I tell a lie, I think it's, no ... wait a moment ... ah, yes, this is the one . . .'
'Here, sarge, there's a bunch of men with crossbows in the street,' said Fred Colon, from the window. 'About fifty of 'em!'
'. . . no, that's the one, dear me, that's for the lock we used to have . . . does this one look right to you? Let's try this one . . .'
Very carefully, and very slowly, she unlocked and unbolted the door. Vimes poked his head out. They were in an alley, filled with trash and old boxes and the horrible smell of alleys everywhere. No one seemed to be around. 'Okay, everybody out,' he said. 'We need a bit of space. Who's got a bow?'
'Just me, sarge,' said Dickins. 'It's not like we were expecting trouble, see.'
'One bow against fifty men, that's bad odds,' said Vimes. 'Let's get out of here!'
'Are they after us, sarge?'
'They shot Wiglet, didn't they? Let's move!' They scuttled along the alleyway. As they crossed a wider one, there was the distant sound of the shop door being kicked open again, and a gleeful shout. 'I got you now, Duke!' Carcer . . . An arrow clattered off a wall and pinwheeled end over end along the alley. Vimes had run before. Every watchman knew about running. They called it the Backyard Handicap. Vimes had taken that route many times, ducking through alleys, leaping on wings of terror over the walls from one dog- infested yard to the next, falling into the chicken runs and slipping down privy roofs, looking for safety or his mates or, failing that, somewhere to stand with his back to the wall. Sometimes you had to run. And, like the herd, you stayed together by instinct. In a crowd of thirty or so, you were harder to hit. Fortunately, Dickins had taken the lead. The old coppers were best at running, having run so much during their lives. As on the battlefield, only the cunning and the fast survived. And so he didn't bother to stop as the cart appeared at the end of the alley. It was a heggler's wagon, probably trying to take a short cut and escape the 'no one being able to move because of everyone else' chaos in the main streets. The man, the back of his wagon piled ten feet high with boxes, his vehicle scraping the walls, looked in horror at the stampede heading for him. No one had any brakes and absolutely no one was going to go backwards. Vimes, in the rear, watched the group flow over and under the wagon, to the splintering of boxes and the pop of exploding eggs. The horse danced in the shafts and men dived through its legs or clear over its back. When Vimes reached it he clambered on to the box just as an arrow hit the woodwork. He grinned desperately at the driver.
'Jump,' he suggested, and smacked the horse on the flank with the flat of his sword. Both men were thrown back as it reared and sent the remains of the stricken load sliding off the wagon. Vimes hauled the driver upright as soon as the debris stopped falling. He was covered in egg. 'Sorry about that, sir. Watch business. Ask for Sergeant Keel. Got to rush!' Behind them the wagon rattled up the alley, wheel rims knocking sparks off the walls. There were doorways and side alleys to escape into, but Carcer's crew would certainly be slowed down. The rest of his crew had stopped when they heard the noise, but Vimes piled into them and forced them on until they reached a road, blocked with carts and thronged with people. 'Well, you got your soldiers covered in egg, sarge,' said Sam, with a worried grin. 'What's all that about?'
'It's some of the Unmentionables,' said Vimes. 'Probably want to settle the score.' Well, that was close enough. 'But I saw watchmen and soldiers with 'em,' said Fred Colon. 'Sarge, it's me, sarge! Please, sarge!' Nobby elbowed his way through the men. 'Is this a good time, Nobby?' said Vimes. 'There's men after you, sarge!'
'Well done, Nobby!'
'Carcer, sarge! He's got a job with Snapcase! Captain of the Palace Guard, sarge! And they gonna get you! Snapcase told 'em to, sarge! My mate Scratch'n'Sniff is the under-bootboy at the palace and he was in the yard and heard 'em talking, sarge!' I should have known, Vimes thought. Snapcase was a devious devil. And now Carcer's got his feet under another bastard's table. Captain of the Guard . . . 'I haven't been making a lot of friends lately,' said Vimes. 'Okay, gentlemen, I'm going to run. If you lot melt away into the crowd you'll be fine, I expect.'
'No fear, sarge,' said Sam, and there was a general murmur of agreement. 'We had an amnesty,' said Dickins. They can't do this!'
'Anyway, they were shooting at everyone,' said one of the soldiers. 'Bastards! They need a good going-over!'
'They've got bows,' said Vimes.
'So we ambush 'em, sarge,' said Dickins. 'Choose your ground and fight up close and a crossbow's just a piece of wood.'
'Did any of you hear me?' said Vimes. They're after me. Not you. You do not want to mix it with Carcer. You, Snouty, you shouldn't be doing this at your time of life.' The old jailer glared at him through runny eyes. That's a hell of a thing for you, hnah, to say to me, sarge,' he said. 'How do we know he won't decide to come after us anyway?' said Dickins. 'An amnesty's an amnesty, right? They can't do this!' There was a general chorus on the lines of 'Yeah, that's right!' It's happening, Vimes thought. They are talking themselves right into it. But what can I do? We've got to face 'em. I've got to face 'em. I've got to face Carcer. The thought of leaving him here, with all he knows . . . 'How about if we head down Cable Street?' said Dickins. 'Lots of little alleyways off there. They'll go rushing along, thinking we've bolted for the Watch House, and we'll 'ave 'em! We ain't standing for this, sarge.' Vimes sighed. 'Okay,' he said. Thank you. You're of one mind?' There was a cheer. 'Then I won't make a speech,' said Vimes. There isn't time. I'll just say this. If we don't win this, if we don't see them off... well, we've got to, that's all. Otherwise it'll be ... very bad for this city. Very bad.'
'That's right,' Dickins cut in, insistently. There was an amnesty.'
'But, look,' said one of the soldiers. 'I don't know half the men here. If we're going to close in, we want to know who's on our side . . .'
'That's right, hnah,' said Snouty. 'I mean, some of them chasing us was watchmen!' Vimes raised his eyes. The wide alley in front of them, known as Lobsneaks, stretched all the way to Cable Street. It was lined with gardens, and there were purple flowers on the bushes. The morning air smelled of lilac. 'I recall a battle once,' said Dickins, looking up at a tree. 'In history, it was. And there was this company, see, and they was a ragtag of different squads and all covered in mud in any case, and they found themselves hiding in a field of carrots. So as a badge they all pulled up carrots and stuck them on their helmets, so's they'd know who their friends were and incidentally have a nourishing snack for later, which is never to be sneezed at on a battlefield.'
'Well? So what?' said Dibbler. 'So what's wrong with a lilac flower?' said Dickins, reaching up and pulling down a laden branch. 'Makes a spanking plume, even if you can't eat it. . .'
And now, Vimes thought, it ends. 'I think they are very bad men!' said a high, rather elderly but nevertheless determined voice from somewhere in the crowd, and there was a glimpse of a skinny hand waving a knitting needle. 'And I shall need a volunteer to escort Mrs Soupson home,' he said. Carcer surveyed the length of Lobsneaks. 'Looks like we just follow the trail of egg,' he said. 'Looks like Keel has a yellow streak.' It didn't get quite the laugh he'd expected. A lot of the men he'd been able to collect had a more physical sense of humour. But Carcer had, in his own way, some of Vimes's qualities, only they were inverted. A certain kind of man looks up to someone who's brave enough to be really bad. 'Are we going to get into trouble for this, captain?' And of course, you got those who were just along for the ride. He turned to Sergeant Knock, with Corporal Quirke lurking behind him. He fully shared Vimes's view of them although he approached it, as it were, from the other direction. You couldn't trust either of them. But they hated Keel with that gnawing, nerve-sapping hatred that only the mediocre can really bring to bear, and that was useful. 'How do you think we're going to get into trouble, sergeant?' he said. 'We're working for the government.'
'He's a devious devil, sir!' said Knock, as if this was a character flaw in a copper. 'Now you lot listen to me, right?' said Carcer. 'No mess-ups this time! I want Keel alive, okay? And that kid Vimes. You can do what the hell you like to the rest of them.'
'Why d'you want him taken alive?' said a quiet voice behind Carcer. 'I thought Snapcase wanted him dead. And what's the kid done that's so wrong?' Carcer turned. To his mild surprise, the watchman behind him didn't flinch. 'What's your name, mister?' he said. 'Coates.'
'Ned's the one I told you about, sir,' said Knock urgently, leaning over Carcer's shoulder. 'Keel gave him the push, sir, after-'
'Shut up,' said Carcer, without taking his eyes off Coates. There wasn't a hint of fear there, not even a glimmer of bravado. Coates just stared back. 'Did you just come along for the ride, Coates?' he said.
'No, captain. I don't like Keel. But Vimesy is just a kid that got dragged along. What're you going to do to him?' Carcer leaned forward; Coates did not lean back. 'You were a rebel, weren't you?' he said. 'Don't like to do what you're told, eh?'
'They're going to get a big bottle of ginger beer!' said a voice drunk with evil delight. Carcer turned and looked down at the skinny, black-clad Ferret. He was somewhat battered, partly because he'd put up a fight when the watchmen had tried to pry him out of his cell, and mostly because Todzy and Muffer had been waiting outside. But he'd been allowed to live; beating something like Ferret to death was, to the other two, an embarrassing and demeaning waste of fist. He certainly flinched under Carcer's gaze. His whole body was a flinch. 'Did I ask you to speak, you little dog's tonker?' Carcer enquired. 'Nosir!'
'Right. Remember that. It could save your life one day.' Carcer turned his attention back to Ned. 'Okay, sunshine, this is the bright new dawn you wanted. You asked for it, you got it. We've just got to sweep away a few of yesterday's leftovers. By order of Lord Snapcase, your mate. And it ain't your job to ask why and who, but young Vimesy? Why, I think he's a game lad who'll be a credit to the city if he's kept out of the way of bad company. Now, Knock says you're good at thinking. So now you tell me what you think Keel's gonna do.' Ned gave him a look that went on for slightly longer than Carcer felt comfortable with. 'He's a defender,' he said, eventually. 'He'll be back at the Watch House. He'll set a few traps, get the men tooled up and wait for you.'
'Hah?' said Carcer. 'He doesn't like to see his men hurt,' said Ned. 'This is not going to be his day, then,' said Carcer. Halfway down Cable Street was a barricade. It wasn't much. A few doors, a table or two ... by the standards of the big one that was even now being turned back into unbelligerent dining-room furniture, it barely existed at all. Carcer's informal crew walked slowly, staring up at buildings and into the mouths of alleys. People in the street fled at their approach. Some men walk in a way that projects bad news ahead of them. Vimes crouched behind the makeshift wall and peered through a crack. They'd snatched a few crossbows from aimless soldiers on the way here,
