“They are now.” Vimes half turned. “Brew's up, lads. Off you go. No, no need to run, there's enough for everyone. And come back out when you've got it…”
When the sound of pounding boots had died away, Vimes turned back and smiled at the group again.
“So when do you come
Vimes paid him some extra attention. The stance was a giveaway. He was ready to fight, even though he didn't look like a fighter. If this were a bar room, the bartender would be taking the more expensive bottles off the shelf, because amateurs like that tended to spread the glass around. Ah, yes…and now he could see why the words “bar room” had occurred to him. There was a bottle sticking out of the man's pocket. He'd been drinking his defiance.
“Oh, around Thursday, I reckon,” said Vimes, eyeing the bottle. There was laughter from somewhere in the growing crowd.
“Why Thursday?” said the drinker.
“Got my day off on Thursday.”
There were a few more laughs this time. When the tension is drawing out, it doesn't take much to snap it.
“I demand you arrest me!” said the drinker. “Come on, try it!”
“You're not drunk enough,” said Vimes. “I should go home and sleep it off, if I was you.”
The man's hand grasped the neck of the bottle. Here it comes, thought Vimes. By the look of him, the man had one chance in five…
Fortunately, the crowd wasn't too big yet. What you didn't need at a time like this was people at the back, craning to see and asking what was going on. And the lit-up Watch House was fully illuminating the lit-up man.
“Friend, if you take my advice you'll not consider that,” said Vimes. He took another sip of his cocoa. It was only lukewarm now, but along with the cigar it meant that both his hands were occupied. That was important. He wasn't holding a weapon. No one could say afterwards that he had a weapon.
“I'm no friend to you people!” snapped the man, and smashed the bottle on the wall by the steps.
The glass tinkled to the ground. Vimes watched the man's face, watched the expression change from drink-fuelled anger to agonizing pain, watched the mouth open…
The man swayed. Blood began to ooze from between his fingers and a low, thin animal sound escaped from between his teeth.
That was the tableau, under the light—Vimes sitting down with his hands full, the bleeding man several feet away. No fight, no one had touched anyone…he knew the way rumour worked, and he wanted this picture to fix itself in people's minds. There was even ash still on the cigar.
He stayed very still for a few seconds, and then stood up, all concern.
“Come on, one of you help me, will you?” he said, tugging off his breastplate and the chain-mail shirt underneath it. He grabbed his shirt sleeve and tore off a long strip.
A couple of men, jerked into action by the voice of command, steadied the man who was dripping blood. One of them reached for the hand.
“Leave it,” Vimes commanded, tightening the strip of sleeve around the man's unresisting wrist. “He's got a handful of broken glass. Lay him down as gently as you can before he falls over but don't touch
Someone among the awed bystanders volunteered that they did, and was sent running for him.
Vimes was aware of the circle watching him; a lot of the watchmen were peering around the doorway now.
“Saw this happen once,” he said aloud, and added mentally “in ten years' time. It was in a bar fight. Man grabbed a bottle, didn't know how to smash it, ended up with a hand full of shards and the other guy reached down and
A voice in the crowd volunteered that the man could well be Joss Gappy, an apprentice shoemaker from New Cobblers.
“Let's hope we can save his hand, then,” said Vimes. “I need a new pair of boots.”
It wasn't funny at all but it got another of those laughs, the ones people laugh out of sheer frightened nervousness. Then the crowd parted as Lawn came through.
“Ah,” he said, kneeling down by Gappy. “You know, I don't know why I own a bed. Trainee bottle fighter?”
“Yes.”
“Looks like you've done the right things but I need light and a table,” said Lawn. “Can your men take him into the Watch House?”
Vimes had hoped it wouldn't come to that. Oh well, you had to make the best of it…
He pointed randomly at figures in the crowd. “You and you and you and you and you too, lady,” he said. “You can help Fred and Waddy take this young man inside, okay? And you're to stop with him, and we'll leave the doors open, right? All you lot out here'll know what's going on. We've got no secrets here. Everyone understand?”
“Yeah, but you're a copper—” a voice began.
Vimes darted forward and hauled a frightened young man out of the crowd by his shirt.
