Terry Pratchett - Men at Arms

And Carrot, to Vimes' surprise, made a speech. It echoed across the soggy ground to the rain-dripping trees. It was really based around the only text you could use on this occasion: he was my friend, he was one of us, he was a good copper.

He was a good copper. That had got said at every guard funeral Vimes had ever attended. It'd probably be said even at Corporal Nobbs' funeral, although everyone would have their fingers crossed behind their backs. It was what you had to say.

Vimes stared at the coffin. And then a strange feeling came creeping over him, as insidiously as the rain trickling down the back of his neck. It wasn't exactly a suspicion. If it stayed in his mind long enough it would be a suspicion, but right now it was only a faint tingle of a hunch.

He had to ask. He'd never stop thinking about it if he didn't at least ask .

So as they were walking away from the grave he said, “Corporal?”

“Yessir?”

“No-one's found the gonne, then?”

“No, sir.”

“Someone said you had it last.”

“I must have put it down somewhere. You know how busy it all was.”

“Yes. Oh, yes. I'm pretty sure I saw you carry most of it out of the Guild…”

“Must have done, sir.”

“Yes. Er. I hope you put it somewhere safe, then. Do you, er, do you think you left it somewhere safe?”

Behind them, the gravedigger began to shovel the wet, clinging loam of Ankh-Morpork into the hole.

“I think I must have done, sir. Don't you? Seeing as no-one has found it. I mean, we'd soon know if anyone'd found it!”

“Maybe it's all for the best, Corporal Carrot.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“He was a good copper.”

“Yes, sir.”

Vimes went for broke.

“And… it seemed to me, as we were carrying that little coffin… slightly heavier…?”

“Really, sir? I really couldn't say I noticed.”

“But at least he's got a proper dwarf burial.”

“Oh, yes. I saw to that, sir,” said Carrot.

The rain gurgled off the roofs of the Palace. The gargoyles had taken up their stations at every corner, straining gnats and flies via their ears.

Corporal Carrot shook the drops off his leather rain cape and exchanged salutes with the troll on guard. He strolled through the clerks in the outer rooms and knocked respectfully on the door of the Oblong Office.

“Come.”

Carrot entered, marched to the desk, saluted and stood at ease.

Lord Vetinari tensed, very slightly.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Corporal Carrot. I was expecting… something like this. I'm sure you've come to ask me for… something?”

Carrot unfolded a piece of grubby paper, and cleared his throat.

“Well, sir… we could do with a new dartboard. You know. For when we're off duty?”

The Patrician blinked. It was not often that he blinked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“A new dartboard, sir. It helps the men relax after their shift, sir.”

Vetinari recovered a little.

“ Another one? But you had one only last year!”

“It's the Librarian, sir. Nobby lets him play and he just leans a bit and hammers the darts in with his fist. It ruins the board. Anyway, Detritus threw one through it. Through the wall behind it, too.”

“Very well. And?”

“Well… Acting-Constable Detritus needs to be let off having to pay for five holes in his breastplate.”

“Granted. Tell him not to do it again.”

“Yes, sir. Well, I think that's about it. Except for a new kettle.”

The Patrician's hand moved in front of his lips. He was trying not to smile.

“Dear me. Another kettle as well? What happened to the old one?”

“Oh, we still use it, sir, we still use it. But we're going to need another because of the new arrangements.”

“I'm sorry? What new arrangements?”

Carrot unfolded a second, and rather larger, piece of paper.

“The Watch to be brought up to an establishment strength of fifty-six; the old Watch Houses at the River Gate, the Deosil Gate and the Hubwards Gate to be reopened and manned on a twenty-four hour basis—”

The Patrician's smile remained, but his face seemed to pull away from it, leaving it stranded and all alone in the world.

“—a department for, well, we haven't got a name for it yet, but for looking at clues and things like dead bodies, e.g., how long they've been dead, and to start with we'll need an alchemist and possibly a ghoul provided they promise not to take anything home and eat it; a special unit using dogs, which could be very useful, and Lance-Constable Angua can deal with that since she can, um, be her own handler a lot of the time; a request here from Corporal Nobbs that Watchmen be allowed all the weapons they can carry, although I'd be obliged if you said no to that; a—”

Lord Vetinari waved a hand.

“All right, all right,” he said. “I can see how this is going. And supposing I say no?”

There was another of those long, long pauses, wherein may be seen the possibilities of several different futures.

“Do you know, sir, I never even considered that you'd say no?”

“You didn't?”

“No, sir.”

“I'm intrigued. Why not?”

“It's all for the good of the city, sir. Do you know where the word ‘policeman’ comes from? It means ‘man of the city’, sir. From the old word polis .”

“Yes. I do know.”

The Patrician looked at Carrot. He seemed to be shuffling futures in his head. Then:

“Yes. I accede to all the requests, except the one involving Corporal Nobbs. And you, I think, should be promoted to Captain.”

“Ye-es. I agree, sir. That would be a good thing for Ankh-Morpork. But I will not command the Watch, if that's what you mean.”

“Why not?”

“Because I could command the Watch. Because… people should do things because an officer tells them. They shouldn't do it just because Corporal Carrot says so. Just because Corporal Carrot is… good at being obeyed.” Carrot's face was carefully blank.

“An interesting point.”

“But there used to be a rank, in the old days. Commander of the Watch. I suggest Samuel Vimes.”

The Patrician leaned back. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Commander of the Watch. Of course, that became a rather unpopular job, after all that business with Lorenzo the Kind. It was a Vimes who held the post in those days. I've never liked to ask him if he was an ancestor.”

“He was, sir. I looked it up.”

“Would he accept?”

“Is the High Priest an Offlian? Does a dragon explode in the woods?”

The Patrician steepled his fingers and looked at Carrot over the top of them. It was a mannerism that had unnerved many.

“But, you see, captain, the trouble with Sam Vimes is that he upsets a lot of important people. And I think that a Commander of the Watch would have to move in very exalted circles, attend Guild functions…”

They exchanged glances. The Patrician got the best of the bargain, since Carrot's face was bigger. Both of them were trying not to grin.

“An excellent choice, in fact,” said the Patrician.

“I'd taken the liberty, sir, of drafting a letter to the cap—to Mr Vimes on your behalf. Just to save you trouble, sir. Perhaps you'd care to have a look?”

“You think of everything, don't you?”

“I hope so, sir.”

Lord Vetinari read the letter. He smiled once or twice. Then he picked up his pen, signed at the bottom, and handed it back.

“And is that the last of your dema—requests?”

Carrot scratched his ear.

“There is one, actually. I need a home for a small dog. It must have a large garden, a warm spot by the fire, and happy laughing children.”

“Good heavens. Really? Well, I suppose we can find one.”