'Oh, lots of times, sir.'
'I don't mean officially.'
'You mean just to show I'm patriotic? Good gods, no. That would be a rather odd thing to do,' said the captain. 'And how about the flag?'
'Well, obviously I salute it every day, sir.'
'But you don't wave it, at all?' the major enquired. 'I think I waved a paper one a few times when I was a little boy. Patrician's birthday or something. We stood in the streets as he rode by and we shouted “Hurrah!”'
'Never since then?'
'Well, no, Clive,' said the captain, looking embarrassed. 'I'd be very worried if I saw a man singing the national anthem and waving the flag, sir. It's really a thing foreigners do.'
'Really? Why?'
'We don't need to show we're patriotic, sir. I mean, this is Ankh- Morpork. We don't have to make a big fuss about being the best, sir. We just know.' It was a beguiling theory that might have arisen in the minds of Wiglet and Waddy and, yes, even in the not overly exercised mind of Fred Colon, and as far as Vimes could understand it, it went like this.
1 Supposing the area behind the barricades was bigger than the area in front of the barricades, right? 2 Like, sort of, it had more people in it and more of the city, if you follow me. 3 Then, correct me if I'm wrong, sarge, but that'd mean in a manner of speaking we are now in front of the barricades, am I right? 4 Then, as it were, it's not like we're rebellin', is it? 'cos there's more of us, so the majority can't rebel, it stands to reason. 5 So that makes us the good guys. Obviously we've been the good guys all along, but now it'd be kind of official, right? Like, mathematical? 6 So we thought we'd push on to Short Street and then we could nip down into Dimwell and up the other side of the river . . . 7 Are we going to get into trouble for this, sarge? 8 You're looking at me in a funny way, sarge. 9 Sorry, sarge. Vimes, with an increasingly worried Fred Colon in front of him, and some of the other barricadeers standing around as if caught in an illicit game of Knocking On Doors And Running Away, thought about this. The men watched him carefully, in case of explosion. And it actually made a weird kind of logic, if you didn't factor in considerations like 'real life' and 'common sense'. They'd worked hard. It was easy enough to block a city street, heavens knew. You just nailed planks around a couple of wagons and piled it high with furniture and junk. That took care of the main streets, and with enough pushing you could move it forwards. As for the rest, it really hadn't been that hard. There had been lots of small barricades in any case. The lads had simply joined them up. Without anyone really noticing, The People's Republic of Treacle Mine Road now occupied almost a quarter of the city. Vimes took a few deep breaths. 'Fred?' he said. 'Yes, sarge?'
Oh, about sixty of them are deserters, as far as I can see. You tend to get that in this sort of mess. Some have probably just popped home to see dear ol' mum.'
'Oh, deserters. We've had some of those, too. In the cavalry! What would you call a man who leaves his horse behind?'
'An infantryman? As for the rest, well, as far as I can see only six or seven of them went down to definite enemy action. Three men got stabbed in alleyways, for example.'
'Sounds like enemy action to me.'
'Yes, Clive. But you were born in Quirm.'
'Only because my mother was visiting her aunt and the coach was late!' said the major, going red. 'If you cut me in half you'd find Ankh-Morpork written on my heart!'
'Really? Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that,' said Tom. 'Anyway, getting murdered in alleyways is just part of life in the big city.'
'But they were armed men! Swords, helmets-'
'Valuable loot, Clive.'
'But I thought the City Watch took care of the gangs-' Tom looked at his friend over the top of his paperwork. 'Are you suggesting that we ask for police protection? Anyway, there isn't any, not any more. Some of the watchmen are with us, for what good they are, and the rest either got beaten up or ran away-'
'More deserters?'
'Frankly, Clive, everyone's drifting away so fast that by tomorrow we'll be feeling pretty lonely.' The men paused as a corporal brought in some more messages. They thumbed through them gloomily. 'Well, it's gone quiet, anyway,' said the major. 'Suppertime,' said the captain. The major threw up his hands. 'This isn't war! A man throws a rock, walks around the corner and he's an upstanding citizen again! There's no rules!' The captain nodded. Their training hadn't covered this sort of thing. They'd studied maps of campaigns, with broad sweeping plains and the occasional patch of high ground that had to be taken. Cities were to be laid siege to, or defended. They weren't for fighting in. You couldn't see, you couldn't group, you couldn't manoeuvre and you were always going to be up against people who knew the place like their own kitchen. And you definitely didn't want to fight an enemy that had no uniform. 'Where's your lordship?' said the captain. 'Gone to the ball, the same as yours.'
'And what were your orders, may I ask?'
'He told me to do whatever I considered necessary to carry out our original objectives.'
'Did he write that down?'
'No.'
'Pity. Neither did mine.' They looked at one another. And then Wrangle said, 'Well. . . there's no actual unrest at the moment. As such. My father said all this happened in his time. He said it's best just to keep the lid on it. There's only a limited number of cobblestones, he said.'
'It's almost ten,' said the major. 'People will be going to bed soon, surely?'
Their joint expression radiated the fervent hope that it had all calmed down. No one in their right mind wanted to be in a position where he was expected to do what he thought best. 'Well, Clive, provided there's no-' the captain began. There was a commotion outside the tent, and then a man stepped inside. He was bloodstained and smoke-blackened, his face lined with pink where sweat had trickled through the dreadful grime. A crossbow was slung across his back, and he'd acquired a bandolier of knives. And he was mad. The major recognized the look. The eyes were too bright, the grin too fixed. 'Ah, right,' he said, and removed a large brass knuckleduster from his right hand. 'Sorry about your sentry, gen'lemen, but he didn't want to let me in even though I gave him the password. Are you in charge?'
'Who the hell are you?' said the major, standing up. The man seemed unimpressed. 'Carcer. Sergeant Carcer,' he said. 'A sergeant? In that case you can-'