For a minute or two after Morphic Street went quiet nothing moved and nothing happened.
Then a coach came around the corner. It was a particularly fine one, drawn by two horses. Its lamps were torches, and as the coach bounced on the cobbles the zig-zagging flames seemed to trail for a moment in the air, and appeared to have a smoky quality.
In so far as they revealed anything, these suggested that the coach had been done up in purple livery. It also seemed to be rather heavy on its wheels.
It pulled to a halt at the next doorway down from the one where Vimes had performed his arrest. Vimes, who thought he knew a lot about being a shadow, would have been surprised to see two dark figures step out of the doorway's darkness into the light of the torch.
The coach door swung open.
“Strange news, kind lady,” said one of the shadows.
“Very strange news, dearie,” said the other shadow.
They climbed up into the coach, which sped off.
Vimes was impressed at the way the men reacted back at the Watch House, despite the lack of any command from him. Wiglet and Scutts jumped down as soon as the wagon was in the yard and dragged the gates across.
Inside, Colon and Waddy pulled the shutters across the windows. Waddy went into the armoury and came out with an armful of crossbows. It was all done with speed and, for the men concerned, precision.
Vimes nudged his younger self. “Make the cocoa, will you, kid?” he said. “I don't want to miss the show.”
He sat down at his desk and put his feet up as Colon locked the door and Waddy pulled the bar across.
This is happening, he thought, but it didn't happen before. Not exactly like this. This time, the Morphic Street mob did a runner. They weren't ambushed in their meeting. There wasn't a fight. The sight of all those coppers must've scared them rigid. They weren't much anyway, just sloganeers and skivers and me-too-ists, the people who crowd behind the poor slob who's the spokesman shouting “yeah, right” and leg it up an alley when the law gets rough. But some had died in the ambush, and some fought back, and one thing led, as always, to another. Except, this time, there was no ambush, because some thick sergeant made too much noise…
Two different presents. One past, one future…
“Well done, lads,” he said, standing up. “You finish trapping us inside and I'll go and tell the old man what's happening.”
He heard the puzzled muttering behind him as he climbed the stairs.
Captain Tilden was sitting at his desk, staring at the wall. Vimes coughed loudly, and saluted.
“Had a bit of—” he began, and Tilden turned his ashen face to him. He looked as though he had seen a ghost, and it had been in the mirror.
“You've heard the news too?”
“Sir?”
“The riot up at Dolly Sisters,” said Tilden. “It was only a couple of hours ago.”
I'm too close, Vimes thought, as the words sank in. All those things were just names, it all seemed to happen at once. Dolly Sisters, yeah. They were a right mob of hotheads up there…
“The lieutenant of the Day Watch called in one of the regiments,” said Tilden. “Which he was duly authorized to do. Of course.”
“Which one?” said Vimes, for the look of the thing. The name was in the history books, after all.
“Lord Venturi's Medium Dragoons, sergeant. My old regiment.”
That's right, thought Vimes. And cavalry are
“And, er, there were some, er, accidental deaths…”
Vimes felt sorry for the man. In truth, it was never proved that anyone was given an order to ride people down, but did it matter? Horses pushing, and people unable to get away because of the press of people behind them…it was too easy for small children to lose grip of a hand…
