Night Watch - Terry Pratchett [82]
“Faster please, Snouty,” said Vimes, as the man started to watch the oscillating spoon again.
“Well, when I took him up his cocoa later on he was jus’ sittin’ there, hnah, starin’ right at nothing. He said thank you, Snouty’ when I give him his cocoa, hnah, though. Always very polite in that, hnah, respect. But when I went up just now he was gone.”
“He’s an old man, Snouty, you can’t expect him to be here all—”
“So’s his inkwell, Sarge. He never took it home before.” And Vimes saw that Snouty’s eyes were more redrimmed than usual.
He sighed. “Any sign of the envelope?”
“No, Sarge,” said Snouty, glancing again at the spoon in Nobby’s hand. It was a very cheap one, Vimes noted, made of some pot metal.
“In that case we just keep the peace, Snouty,” he said.
“Not a lot of that about, Sarge.”
“We’ll have to see what we can find. Come with me.”
Snouty looked reluctant. “Just want to keep an eye on the spoon, Sarge, we’ve only got five left and kids like that one’ll pinch the—”
“He can keep the damn spoon!” said Vimes. “Spoons are not important at this point!”
Nobby downed the last scalding mouthful, stuck the spoon in his pocket, stuck out a porridge-laden tongue at Snouty, dropped the bowl on the ground, and took to his heels.
Vimes strode back into the office, picked up the porridge ladle, and rattled it on the sides of the empty cauldron. Heads looked up.
“All right, my sons! This is what we’re going to do! All married men’ve got permission to nip home for an hour to stop your wives fretting! The rest of you, you’re on unpaid overtime! Anyone surprised?”
Wiglet raised a hand.
“We’ve all got family, Sarge,” he said.
“And the best thing you can do for them is make sure there’s a bit of law around the place,” said Vimes. “We don’t know what’s been happening in the other divisions, except that it sounds bad. So this house is staying open, understand? Day and night! Yes, Lance Constable?”
“But our mum will be worrying, Sarge,” said young Sam.
Vimes hesitated, but only for a moment. “Snouty’ll nip out with any messages you have, lad. The same goes for everyone else,” he said. “We’re going out on patrol soon. Yeah, I know we’re Night Watch. So what? It’s looking pretty black to me at the moment! Lance Constable, come on out in the yard, will you?”
Vimes walked back out into the morning.
In theory, one of the uses of the yard was for training. It was seldom used for that. The Night Watch eschewed violence, as a rule. When threats or superior numbers had no effect, they preferred to run.
There were some mouldering targets in a shed, along with some straw men for stabbing practice. Vimes tugged them out onto the cobbles as the lance constable appeared behind him.
“I thought you said these things were useless, Sarge.”
“They are,” said Vimes. “I’ve put them here for you to land on. You’re walking around, Sam, with a weapon you don’t know how to use. That’s worse than walking around knowing how to use a weapon and not having one. A man with a weapon he doesn’t know how to use is likely to have it shoved where the sun does not shine.”
He took off his breastplate and helmet, and tossed his sword belt into a corner.
“All right, attack me,” he said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that some of the men had wandered into the yard and were watching.
“I can’t just stab you, Sarge!” Sam wailed.
“No, but I’d like you to try.”
Sam hesitated again. I wasn’t entirely stupid, Vimes thought.
“You’re grinning, Sarge.”
“Well?”
“You’re just grinning and standing there, Sarge,” said Sam. “I know I’m going to get a hiding, ’cos you haven’t got a sword and you’re grinning.”
“Worried about getting blood on your nice sword, lad? All right, throw it away. Feel better? You were in a gang, right? Of course you were. Everyone was. You’re still alive. So you must’ve learned how to fight.”
“Yeah, Sarge, but that was, you know, dirty fighting…”
“We’re dirty people. Do your worst.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, Sarge!”
“That’s your first mistake—”
Sam