Guards guards, p.33
Guards! Guards!,
p.33
“You know, Lobsang,” said one of them, “one cannot help wondering what it is he does with this stuff.”
———
Corporal Nobbs and Sergeant Colon lounged in the shadows near the Mended Drum, but straightened up as Carrot came out bearing a tray. Detritus the troll stepped aside respectfully.
“Here we are, lads,” said Carrot. “Three pints. On the house.”
“Bloody hell, I never thought you’d do it,” said Colon, grasping a handle. “What did you say to him?”
“I just explained how it was the duty of all good citizens to help the guard at all times,” said Carrot innocently, “and I thanked him for his co-operation.”
“Yeah, and the rest,” said Nobby.
“No, that was all I said.”
“Then you must have a really convincing tone of voice.”
“Ah. Well, make the most of it, lads, while it lasts,” said Colon.
They drank thoughtfully. It was a moment of supreme peace, a few minutes snatched from the realities of real life. It was a brief bite of stolen fruit and enjoyed as such. No-one in the whole city seemed to be fighting or stabbing or making affray and, just for now, it was possible to believe that this wonderful state of affairs might continue.
And even if it didn’t, then there were memories to get them through. Of running, and people getting out of the way. Of the looks on the faces of the horrible palace guard. Of, when all the thieves and heroes and gods had failed, of being there. Of nearly doing things nearly right.
Nobby shoved the pot on a convenient window sill, stamped some life back into his feet and blew on his fingers. A brief fumble in the dark recesses of his ear produced a fragment of cigarette.
“What a time, eh?” said Colon contentedly, as the flare of a match illuminated the three of them.
The others nodded. Yesterday seemed like a lifetime ago, even now. But you could never forget something like that, no matter who else did, no matter what happened from now on.
“If I never see any bloody king it’ll be too soon,” said Nobby.
“I don’t reckon he was the right king, anyway,” said Carrot. “Talking of kings: anyone want a crisp?”
“There’s no right longs,” said Colon, but without much rancour. Ten dollars a month was going to make a big difference. Mrs Colon was acting very differently towards a man bringing home another ten dollars a month. Her notes on the kitchen table were a lot more friendly.
“No, but I mean, there’s nothing special about having an ancient sword,” said Carrot. “Or a birthmark. I mean, look at me. I’ve got a birthmark on my arm.”
“My brother’s got one, too,” said Colon. “Shaped like a boat.”
“Mine’s more like a crown thing,” said Carrot.
“Oho, that makes you a king, then,” grinned Nobby. “Stands to reason.”
“I don’t see why. My brother’s not an admiral,” said Colon reasonably.
“And I’ve got this sword,” said Carrot.
He drew it. Colon took it from his hand, and turned it over and over in the light from the flare over the Drum’s door. The blade was dull and short, and notched like a saw. It was well-made and there might have been an inscription on it once, but it had long ago been worn into indecipherability by sheer use.
“It’s a nice sword,” he said thoughtfully. “Well-balanced.”
“But not one for a king,” said Carrot. “Kings’ swords are big and shiny and magical and have jewels on and when you hold them up they catch the light, ting.”
“Ting,” said Colon. “Yes. I suppose they have to, really.”
“I’m just saying you can’t go round giving people thrones just because of stuff like that,” said Carrot. “That’s what Captain Vimes said.”
“Nice job, mind,” said Nobby. “Good hours, kinging.”
“Hmm?” Colon had momentarily been lost in a little world of speculation. Real kings had shiny swords, obviously. Except, except, except maybe your real real king of, like, days of yore, he would have a sword that didn’t sparkle one bit but was bloody efficient at cutting things. Just a thought.
“I say kinging’s a good job,” Nobby repeated. “Short hours.”
“Yeah. Yeah. But not long days,” said Colon. He gave Carrot a thoughtful look.
“Ah. There’s that, of course.”
“Anyway, my father says being king’s too much like hard work,” said Carrot. “All the surveying and assaying and everything.” He drained his pint. “It’s not the kind of thing for the likes of us. Us—” he looked proudly “—guards. You all right, Sergeant?”
“Hmm? What? Oh. Yes.” Colon shrugged. What about it, anyway? Maybe things turned out for the best. He finished the beer. “Best be off,” he said. “What time was it?”
“About twelve o’clock,” said Carrot.
“Anything else?”
Carrot gave it some thought. “And all’s well?” he said.
“Right. Just testing.”
“You know,” said Nobby, “the way you say it, lad, you could almost believe it was true.”
———
Let the eye of attention pull back…
This is the Disc, world and mirror of worlds, borne through space on the back of four giant elephants who stand on the back of Great A’Tuin the Sky Turtle. Around the Rim of this world the ocean pours off endlessly into the night. At its Hub rises the ten-mile spike of the Cori Celesti, on whose glittering summit the gods play games with the fates of men…
… if you know what the rules are, and who are the players.
On the far edge of the Disc the sun was rising. The light of the morning began to flow across the patchwork of seas and continents, but it did so slowly, because light is tardy and slightly heavy in the presence of a magical field.
On the dark crescent, where the old light of sunset had barely drained from the deepest valleys, two specks, one big, one small, flew out of the shadow, skimmed low across the swells of the Rim ocean, and struck out determinedly over the totally unfathomable, star-dotted depths of space.
Perhaps the magic would last. Perhaps it wouldn’t. But then, what does?
* * *
[i] All this was untrue. The truth is that even big collections of ordinary books distort space, as can readily be proved by anyone who has been around a really old-fashioned secondhand bookshop, one of those that look as though they were designed by M. Escher on a bad day and has more staircases than storeys and those rows of shelves which end in little doors that are surely too small for a full-sized human to enter. The relevant equation is: Knowledge = power = energy = matter = mass; a good bookshop is just a genteel Black Hole that knows how to read.
[ii] A figgin is defined in the Dictionary of Eye-Watering Words as “a small short-crust pasty containing raisins”. The Dictionary would have been invaluable for the Supreme Grand Master when he thought up the Society’s oaths, since it also includes welchet (’a type of waistcoat worn by certain clock-makers’), gaskin (’a shy, grey-brown bird of the coot family’), and moules (’a game of skill and dexterity, involving tortoises’).
[iii] The pronoun is used by dwarfs to indicate both sexes. All dwarfs have beards and wear up to twelve layers of clothing. Gender is more or less optional.
[iv] i.e., about 55.
[v] Lit. dezka-knik, “mine supervisor”.
[vi] One of the remarkable innovations introduced by the Patrician was to make the Thieves’ Guild responsible for theft, with annual budgets, forward planning and, above all, rigid job protection. Thus, in return for an agreed average level of crime per annum, the thieves themselves saw to it that unauthorised crime was met with the full force of Injustice, which was generally a stick with nails in it.
[vii] Lit: “Good day! Good day! What is all of this that is going on here (in this place)?”
[viii] Listen, sunshine [lit: “the stare of the great hot eye in the sky whose fiery gaze penetrates the mouth of the cavern”] I don’t want to have to give anyone a smacking, so if you play B’tduz+ with me, I’ll play B’tduz with you. Okay?’++
+)A popular dwarfish game which consists of standing a few feet apart and throwing large rocks at one another’s head.
++) Lit: “All correctly beamed and propped?”
[ix] Evening, all.” (Lit: “Felicitations to all present at the closing of the day.’)
[x] Like a bouncer, but trolls use more force.
[xi] And mime artists. It was a strange aversion, but there you are. Anyone in baggy trousers and a white face who tried to ply their art anywhere within Ankh’s crumbling walls would very quickly find themselves in a scorpion pit, on one wall of which was painted the advice: Learn The Words.
[xii] While being bang alongside the idea of necessary cruelty, of course.
[xiii] Only until their third clutch, of course. After that they’re dams.
[xiv] The Guild of Fire Fighters had been outlawed by the Patrician the previous year after many complaints. The point was that, if you bought a contract from the Guild, your house would be protected against fire. Unfortunately, the general Ankh-Morpork ethos quickly came to the fore and fire fighters would tend to go to prospective clients’ houses in groups, making loud comments like “Very inflammable looking place, this” and “Probably go up like a firework with just one carelessly-dropped match, know what I mean?”
[xv] A species of geranium.
[xvi] Some rioters can be quite well-educated.
[xvii] The phrase “Set a thief to catch a thief” had by this time (after strong representations from the Thieves’ Guild) replaced a much older and quintessentially Ankh-Morporkian proverb, which was “Set a deep hole with spring-loaded sides, tripwires, whirling knife blades driven by water power, broken glass and scorpions, to catch a thief.”
[xviii] Tridlins: A short and unnecessary religious observance performed daily by the Holy Balancing Dervishes of Otherz, according to the Dictionary of Eye-Watering Words.
[xix] Like a pea-souper, only much thicker, fishier, and with things in it you’d probably rather not know about.
[xx] The three rules of the Librarians of Time and Space are:
Silence;
Books must be returned no later than the last date shown; and
Do not interfere with the nature of causality.
[xxi] A number of religions in Ankh-Morpork still practised human sacrifice, except that they didn’t really need to practise any more because they had got so good at it. City law said that only condemned criminals should be used, but that was all right because in most of the religions refusing to volunteer for sacrifice was an offence punishable by death.
Terry Pratchett, Guards! Guards!
