Terry Pratchett - Night Watch

“Good. And now, Mister Vimes, I'll take you back inside and I'll give you some background on the sergeant and we'll work out what you need to know from all this, and we can set up a little loop so that you can tell yourself what you need to know. No addresses, though!”

“And what'll happen to me?” said Vimes. “The me sitting here now? The…er…other me walks away and me, this me, you understand…Well, what happens?”

Sweeper gave him a long, thoughtful look. “Y'know,” he said, “it's very hard to talk quantum using a language originally designed to tell other monkeys where the ripe fruit is. Afterwards? Well, there will be a you. As much you as you are now, so who can say it's not you? This meeting will be…a sort of loop in time. In one sense, it will never end. In a way, it'll be—”

“Like a dream,” said Vimes wearily.

Sweeper brightened. “Very good! Yes! Not true, but a very, very good lie!”

“You know, you could've just told me everything,” said Vimes.

“No. I wouldn't be able to tell you everything and you, Mister Vimes, aren't in the mood for games like that. This way, a man you trust—that's you—will tell you all the truth you need to know. Then we'll do a little of what the younger acolytes call ‘slicing and glueing’, and Mister Vimes will go back to Treacle Mine Lane a little wiser.”

“How are you going to get hi—me back to the Watch House? Don't even think about giving me some kind of potion.”

“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 left him with a horrible sensation that he was really two people and neither of them was feeling at all well.

“You blurred , man.”

“Perhaps I'm a bit tired of this,” said Vimes, pulling himselves together. “Listen, captain, I am John Keel. I can prove it, okay? Ask me some questions. You've got my papers there, haven't you? They were stolen!”

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 Macklewheel,” 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.

“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 moustache 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 papers. “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—”

“Not me,” said Vimes. “I'll be lodging with Doctor Lawn in Twinkle Street.” Well, Rosie Palm did suggest he had a spare room…

“The pox, hnah, doctor?” said Snouty.

“Yeah, I'm particular about the company I keep,” said Vimes. “It's also just around the corner.”

He took his hands off the desk, stood back and whipped off a salute of almost parodic efficiency, the sort that Tilden had always loved.

“I'll report for duty at three o'clock tomo—this afternoon, sir,” he said. “Thank you, sir.”

Tilden sat mesmerized.

“It was twenty-five dollars, sir, I believe,” said Vimes, still maintaining the salute.

He watched the captain get up and go to the old green safe in the corner. The man was careful not to let Vimes see him turn the dial, but Vimes was pretty certain he didn't need to. The safe had still been there when he made captain, and by then everyone knew the combination was 4-4-7-8 and that no one seemed to know how to change it. The only things worth keeping in it had been the tea and sugar and anything you particularly wanted Nobby to read.

Tilden came back with a small leather bag and slowly counted out the money, and was so cowed that he didn't ask Vimes to sign anything.

Vimes took it, saluted again, and held out his other hand.

“Badge, sir,” he said.

“Ah? Oh, yes, of course…”

The captain, entirely unnerved, fumbled in the top drawer of the desk and pulled out a dull copper shield. If he'd been that observant, he'd have noticed how hungrily Vimes's eyes watched it.

The new sergeant-at-arms picked up his badge with care and saluted yet again. “Oath, sir,” he said.

“Oh, er, that thing? Er, I believe I've got it written down somewh—”

Vimes took a deep breath. This probably wasn't a good idea, but he was flying now.