Night Watch - Terry Pratchett [151]
“The machine ain’t broken, Carcer. The machine is waiting for you,” he said, tearing a sleeve off the man’s own shirt and fashioning it into a crude binding for his ankles. “The city will kill you dead. The proper wheels’ll turn. It’ll be fair, I’ll make sure of that. Afterward you won’t be able to say you didn’t have a fair trial. Won’t be able to say a thing, haha. I’ll see to that, too…”
He stood back.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” said Lord Vetinari. Vimes spun around. There was a change of texture in the darkness, which could have been man-shaped.
Vimes snatched up his sword and peered into the night. The shape came forward, became recognizable.
“How long were you there?” he demanded.
“Oh…some little while,” said the Patrician. “Like you, I prefer to come alone and…contemplate.”
“You were very quiet!” said Vimes accusingly.
“Is that a crime, Your Grace?”
“And you heard—?”
“A very neat arrest,” said Vetinari. “Congratulations, Your Grace.”
Vimes looked at the unblooded sword.
“I suppose so,” he said, temporarily derailed.
“On the birth of your son, I meant.”
“Oh…yes. Oh. Of course. Yes. Well…thank you.”
“A healthy lad, I am given to understand.”
“We’d have been just as happy with a daughter,” said Vimes quickly.
“Quite so. These are modern times, after all. Oh, I see you have dropped your badge…”
Vimes glanced at the long grass.
“I’ll come and find it in the morning,” he said. “But this,” he picked up the moaning Carcer and slung him over his shoulder with a grunt, “is going back to Pseudopolis Yard right now.”
They walked slowly down the gravel path, leaving the scent of lilac behind. Ahead was the everyday stink of the world.
“You know,” said Lord Vetinari after a few moments, “it has often crossed my mind that those men deserve a proper memorial of some sort.”
“Oh yes?” said Vimes in a noncommittal voice. “In one of the main squares, perhaps?”
“Yes, that would be a good idea.”
“Perhaps a tableau in bronze?” said Vimes. “All seven of them raising the flag, perhaps?”
“Bronze, yes,” said Vetinari.
“Really? And some sort of inspiring slogan?” said Vimes.
“Yes, indeed. Something like, perhaps, ‘They Did The Job They Had To Do’?”
“No,” said Vimes, coming to a halt under a lamp by the crypt entrance. “How dare you? How dare you! At this time! In this place! They did the job they didn’t have to do, and they died doing it, and you can’t give them anything. Do you understand? They fought for those who’d been abandoned, they fought for one another, and they were betrayed. Men like them always are. What good would a statue be? It’d just inspire new fools to believe they’re going to be heroes. They wouldn’t want that. Just let them be. Forever.”
They walked in heavy silence, and then Vetinari said, as if there had been no outburst: “Happily, it appears that the new deacon at the temple has suddenly heard the call.”
“What call?”
“I’m never very good at religious matters, but apparently he was filled with a burning desire to spread the good word to the benighted heathens,” said Vetinari.
“Where?”
“I suggested Ting Ling.”
“That’s right on the other side of the world!”
“Well, a good word can’t be spread too far, Sergeant.”
“Well, at least it puts—”
Vimes stopped at the entrance gates. Overhead, another lamp flickered. He dropped Carcer to the ground.
“You knew? You bloody well knew, didn’t you?”
“Not until, oh, one second ago,” said Vetinari. “As one man to another, Commander, I must ask you: did you ever wonder why I wore the lilac?”
“Yeah. I wondered,” said Vimes.
“But you never asked.”
“No. I never asked,” said Vimes shortly. “It’s a flower. Anyone can wear a flower.”
“At this time? In this place?”
“Tell me, then.”
“Then I’ll recall the day I was sent on an urgent errand,” said Vetinari. “I had to save the life of a man. Not a usual errand for an Assassin, although, in fact, I had already saved it once before.” He gave Vimes a quizzical look.
“You’d shot a man