Night Watch - Terry Pratchett [33]
“No. We’ll blindfold you, twirl you round, take you the long way, and walk you back. I promise.”
“Any other advice?” said Vimes, gloomily.
“Just be yourself,” said Sweeper. “See it through. There’ll come a time when you’ll look back and see how it all made sense.”
“Really?”
“I wouldn’t lie. It’ll be a perfect moment. Believe me.”
“But…” Vimes hesitated.
“Yes?”
“You must know there’s another little problem if I’m going to be Sergeant Keel. I’ve remembered what day this is. And I know what’s going to happen.”
“Yes,” said Sweeper. “I know, too. Shall we talk about that?”
Captain Tilden blinked.
“What happened there?” he said.
“Where?” said Vimes, trying to fight down nausea. Time coming back had felt like being squeezed just for a moment in a giant vise.
“You blurred, man.”
“Perhaps I’m a bit tired of this,” said Vimes. “Listen, captain, I am John Keel. I can prove it, okay? Ask me some questions. You’ve got my papers there, haven’t you?”
Tilden hesitated for a moment. He was a man whose mind was ponderous enough to have momentum; it was quite hard for his thoughts to change direction.
“Who is commander of the Pseudopolis Watch, then?” he said.
“Sheriff Macklewheet,” said Vimes.
“Aha! Wrong! Fallen at the very first fence, what? In fact, you fool, it’s Sheriff Pearlie—”
“Hnah, excuse me, sir…” said Snouty nervously.
“Yes? What?”
“Hnah, it is Macklewheet, sir. Pearlie died last week. Heard it in the, hnah, pub.”
“Fell into the river when drunk,” said Vimes helpfully.
“That’s what I heard, hnah, sir,” said Snouty.
Tilden looked furious.
“You could’ve known that, what?” he said. “It doesn’t prove anything!”
“Ask me something else, then,” said Vimes. “Ask me what Macklewheet said about me.” And I just hope I’ve got the answers right, he added to himself.
“Well?”
“Said I was the best officer on his force and he was sorry to see me go,” said Vimes. “Said I was of good character. Said he wished he could pay me the twenty-five dollars a month I was going to get here—”
“I never offered you—”
“No, you offered me twenty dollars and now that I’ve seen the mess here I’m not taking it!” Vimes rejoiced. Tilden hadn’t even learned how to control a conversation. “If you pay Knock twenty dollars, he owes you nineteen dollars change! The man couldn’t talk and chew gum at the same time. And look at this, will you?”
Vimes dumped his handcuffs on the desk. The gaze of Snouty and Tilden swung to them as if magnetic.
Oh dear, thought Vimes and stood up and lifted the crossbow out of Snouty’s hands. It was all in the movement. If you moved with authority, you got a second or two extra. Authority was everything.
He fired the bow at the floor, then handed it back.
“A kid could open those cuffs and while Snouty here keeps a very clean jail he’s completely drawers at being a guard,” said Vimes. “This place needs shaking up.” He leaned forward, knuckles on the captain’s desk, with his face a few inches from the trembling mustache and the milky eyes.
“Twenty-five dollars or I walk out that door,” he said. It was probably a phrase never ever said before by any prisoner anywhere on any world.
“Twenty-five dollars,” murmured Tilden, hypnotized.
“And the rank will be sergeant-at-arms,” said Vimes. “Not sergeant. I’m not going to be given orders by the likes of Knock.”
“Sergeant-at-arms,” said Tilden distantly, but Vimes saw the hint of approval. It was a good military-sounding title, and it was still on the books. In fact, it was a pretty ancient pre-coppering term, back in the days when a court employed a big man with a stick to drag miscreants in front of it. Vimes had always admired the simplicity of that arrangement.
“Well, er, Sheriff Macklewheet, er, certainly gave you a most glowing reference,” said the captain, shuffling the paper. “Very glowing. Things have been a little difficult since we lost Sergeant Wi—”
“And I’ll be paid my first month in advance, please. I need clothes and a decent meal and somewhere to sleep.”
Tilden cleared his throat. “Many of the unmarried men stay in the barracks in Cheapside