Night Watch - Terry Pratchett [8]
“The Times says Borogravia has invaded Mouldavia,” he announced.
“Is that good? I can’t remember where it is.”
“Both formerly part of the Dark Empire, sir. Right next door to Uberwald.”
“Whose side are we on?”
“The Times said we should be supporting little Mouldavia against the aggressor, sir.”
“I like Borogravia already,” snapped Vimes. The Times had printed a particularly unflattering, in his opinion, cartoon of him the previous week, and to make matters worse, Sybil had requested the original and had it framed. “And what does this all mean to us?”
“Probably more refugees, sir.”
“Ye gods, we’ve got no more room! Why do they keep coming here?”
“In search of a better life, sir, I think.”
“A better life?” said Vimes. “Here?”
“I think things are worse where they come from, sir,” said Carrot.
“What kind of refugees are we talking about here?”
“Mostly human, sir.”
“Do you mean that most of them will be human, or that each individual will be mostly human?” said Vimes. After a while in Ankh-Morpork, you learned to phrase that kind of question.
“Er, apart from humans the only species I’d heard of there in any numbers are the kvetch, sir. They live in the deep woods and are covered in hair.”
“Really? Well, we’ll probably find out more about them when we’re asked to employ one in the Watch,” said Vimes sourly. “What else?”
“Rather hopeful news, sir,” said Carrot, smiling. “You know the Hooms? The street gang?”
“What about them?”
“They initiated their first troll member.”
“What? I thought they went around beating up trolls! I thought that was the whole point!”
“Well, apparently young Calcite likes beating up trolls, too.”
“And that’s good?”
“In a way, sir, I suppose it’s a step forward.”
“United in hatred, you mean?”
“I suppose so, sir,” said Carrot. He flicked papers back and forth on his clipboard. “Now, what else have I got? Oh, yes, the river-patrol boat has sunk again—”
Where did I go wrong? thought Vimes as the litany went on. I was a copper once. A real copper. I chased people. I was a hunter. It was what I did best. I knew where I was anywhere in the city by the feel of the street under my boots. And now look at me! A duke! Commander of the Watch! A political animal! I have to know about who’s fighting who a thousand miles away, just in case that’s going to mean riots here!
When did I last go on patrol? Last week? Last month? And it’s never a proper point patrol, ’cos the sergeants make damn sure everyone knows I’ve left the building and every damn constable reeks of armor polish and has had a shave by the time I get there, even if I nip down the back streets (and that thought, at least, was freighted with a little pride, because it showed he didn’t employ stupid sergeants). I never stand all night in the rain, or fight for my life rolling in the gutter with some thug, and I never move above a walk. That’s all been taken away. And for what?
Comfort, power, money, and a wonderful wife……er……which was a good thing, of course, but…even so…
Damn. But I’m not a copper anymore, I’m a, a manager. I have to talk to the damn committee as if they’re children. I go to receptions and wear damn stupid toy armor. It’s all politics and paperwork. It’s all got too big.
What had happened to the days when it was all so simple?
Faded like the lilac, he thought.
They entered the Palace and went up the main stairs to the Oblong Office.
The Patrician of Ankh-Morpork was standing looking out of the window when they entered. The room was otherwise deserted.
“Ah, Vimes,” he said without turning around. “I thought you might be late. In the circumstances, I dismissed the committee. They were sorry, as indeed was I, sorry to hear about Stronginthearm. No doubt you have been writing the official letter.”
Vimes flashed a questioning expression at Carrot, who rolled his eyes and shrugged. Vetinari found out things very quickly.
“Yes, that’s right,” said Vimes.
“And on such a beautiful day as this, too,” said Vetinari. “Although there’s a storm heading our way, I see.” He turned. He had a sprig