Terry Pratchett - Discworld 15 - Men at Arms

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the Patrician who, as I have formerly vouchsafed is the ruler of the city, has

agreed the Watch must reflect the ethnic makeup of the City - '

Carrot paused for a moment and stared out of the small dusty bedroom

window at the early evening sunlight sidling across the river. Then he bent

over the paper again.

' - which I do not Fulley understand but must have something to do with

the dwarf Grabpot Thundergust's Cosmetic Factory. Also, Captain Vimes of

who I have often written to you of is, leaving the Watch to get married and

Become a Fine Gentleman and, I'm sure we wish him All the Best, he

taught me All I Know apart, from the things I taught myself. We are club-

bing together to get him a Surprise Present, I thought one of those new

Watches that don't need demons to make them go and we could inscribe

on the back something like "A Watch from, your Old Freinds in the Watch",

this is a pune or Play on Words. We do not know who will be the new

Captain, Sgt Colon says he will Resign if it's him, Cpl Nobbs - '

Carrot stared out of the window again. His big honest forehead wrinkled

with effort as he tried to think of something positive to say about Corporal

Nobbs.

' - is more suited in his current Roll, and I have not been in the Watch

long enough. So we shall just have to wait and See - '

was Not Done for a d'Eath to cry; he was - just, the diploma still had the

crackle in it - an Assassin, and Assassins didn't cry at a death, otherwise

they'd never be stopping; and he was angry. In fact, he was enraged.

Enraged at having to borrow money for this poor funeral. Enraged at the

weather, at this common cemetery, at the way the background noise of the

city didn't change in any way, even on such an occasion as this. Enraged at

history. It was never meant to be like this.

It shouldn't have been like this.

He looked across the river to the brooding bulk of the Palace, and his

anger screwed itself up and became a lens.

Edward had been sent to the Assassins' Guild because they had the

best school for those whose social rank is rather higher than their intelli-

gence. If he'd been trained as a Fool, he'd have invented satire and made

dangerous jokes about the Patrician. If he'd been trained as a Thief, [1]

he'd have broken into the Palace and stolen something very valuable from

the Patrician.

However ... he'd been sent to the Assassins ...

That afternoon he sold what remained of the d'Eath estates, and en-

rolled again at the Guild school.

For the post-graduate course.

He got full marks, the first person in the history of the Guild ever to do

Any chance of a bone? No, no, sorry, bad taste there, forget I men-

tioned it. You've got beef sandwiches in your wossname, lunchbox thingy,

though. Why not give one to the nice little doggy over there?

The man leaned on his shovel and looked around.

The grey mongrel was watching him intently.

It said, 'Woof?'

It took Edward d'Eath five months to find what he was looking for. The

search was hampered by the fact that he did not know what he was looking

for, only that he'd know it when he found it. Edward was a great believer in

Destiny. Such people often are.

The Guild library was one of the largest in the city. In certain specialized

areas it was the largest. These areas mainly had to do with the regrettable

brevity of human life and the means of bringing it about.

Edward spent a lot of time there, often at the top of a ladder, often sur-

rounded by dust.

He read every known work on armaments. He didn't know what he was

looking for and he found it in a note in the margin of an otherwise very dull

and inaccurate treatise on the ballistics of crossbows. He copied it out,

carefully.

Edward spent a lot of time among history books as well. The Assassins'

the influence of himself.

That's where people get it wrong. Individuals aren't naturally paid-up

members of the human race, except biologically. They need to be bounced

around by the Brownian motion of society, which is a mechanism by which

human beings constantly remind one another that they are ... well ... human

beings. He was also spiralling inwards, as tends to happen in cases like

this.

He'd had no plan. He'd just retreated, as people do when they feel un-

der attack, to a more defensible position, i.e. the past, and then something

happened which had the same effect on Edward as finding a plesiosaur in

his goldfish pond would on a student of ancient reptiles.

He'd stepped out blinking in the sunlight one hot afternoon, after a day

spent in the company of departed glory, and had seen the face of the past

strolling by, nodding amiably to people.

He hadn't been able to control himself. He'd said, 'Hey, you! Who are y-

ou?'

The past had said, 'Corporal Carrot, sir. Night Watch. Mr d'Eath, isn't it?

Can I help you?'

'What? No! No. Be about your b-usiness!'

The past nodded and smiled at him, and strolled on, into the future.

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thePatricianwho,asIhaveformerlyvouchsafedistherulerofthecity,hasagreedtheWatchmustreflecttheethnicmakeupoftheCity-'Carrotpausedforamomentandstaredoutofthesmalldustybedroomwindowattheearlyeveningsunlightsidlingacrosstheriver.Thenhebentoverthepaperagain.'-whichIdonotFulleyunderstandbutmusthavesomethin...

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Terry Pratchett - Discworld 15 - Men at Arms

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