“Mind out for that!” shouted a female voice from somewhere behind him. “It's one of a set!”

Vimes put his hand on the young man's shoulder. “Just give me your crossbow, will you?” he said.

The horsemen came closer.

Vimes was not good at horsemen. Something in him resented being addressed by anyone eight feet above the ground. He didn't like the sensation of being looked at by nostrils. He didn't like being talked down to.

By the time they'd reached the barricade he'd clambered around to the front of it and was standing in the middle of the street.

They slowed down. It was probably the way he didn't move, and held the crossbow in the nonchalant manner of someone who knows how to use it but has decided not to, for the moment.

“You, there!” said a trooper.

“Yes?” said Vimes.

“Are you in charge?”

“Yes. Can I help you?”

“Where are your men?”

Vimes jerked a thumb towards the growing barricade. On the top of the heap, Mrs Rutherford's father was snoring peacefully.

“But that's a barricade!” said the trooper.

“Well done.”

“There's a man waving a flag!”

Vimes turned. Surprisingly, it was Reg. Some of the men had brought out the old flag from Tilden's office and stuck it on the barricade, and Reg was the sort to wave any flag going.

“Probably high spirits, sir,” said Vimes. “Don't worry. We're all fine.”

“It's a damn barricade, man. A rebel barricade!” said the second trooper. Oh boy, thought Vimes. They have shiny, shiny breastplates. And wonderfully fresh pink faces.

“Not exactly. In fact it's—”

“Are you stupid, fellow? Don't you know that all barricades are to be torn down by order of the Patrician?”

The third horseman, who had been staring at Vimes, urged his horse a little closer.

“What's that pip on your shoulder, officer?” he said.

“Means I'm Sergeant-at-Arms. Special rank. And who're you?”

“He doesn't have to tell you that!” said the first trooper.

“Really?” said Vimes. The man was getting on his nerves. “Well, you're just a trooper and I'm a bleedin' sergeant and if you dare speak to me like that again I'll have you down off that horse and thump you across the ear, understand?”

Even the horse took a step backwards. The trooper opened his mouth to speak, but the third horseman raised a white-gloved hand.

Oh dear, thought Vimes, focusing on the sleeve of the red jacket. The man was a captain. Not only that, he was an intelligent one, by the look of him. He hadn't mouthed off until he'd had a chance to assess the situation. You got them sometimes. They could be dangerously bright.

“I note, sergeant-at-arms,” said the captain, enunciating the rank with care and without apparent sarcasm, “that the flag over the barricade is the flag of Ankh-Morpork.”

“It's the one out of our Watch House,” said Vimes, and added, “sir.”

“You know that the Patrician has declared that the building of barricades is an act of rebellion?”

“Yessir.”

“And?” said the captain patiently.

“Well, he would say that, sir, wouldn't he…”

The faintest hint of a smile skimmed across the captain's face. “We can't allow lawlessness, sergeant-at-arms. If we all disobeyed the law, where would we be?”

“There's more coppers per person behind that barricade than anywhere else in the city, sir,” said Vimes. “You could say it's the most law-abiding place around.”

Now there was the sound of raised voices from behind the barricade.

“—we own all your helmets, we own all your shoes, we own all your generals, Touch us and you'll loooose…Morporkia, Morporkia, Morpooroorooorooooorrroorrr–”

“Rebel songs, sir!” said trooper number one. The captain sighed.

“If you listen, Hepplewhite, you might note that it is the national anthem sung very badly,” he said.

“We can't allow rebels to sing that, sir!”

Vimes saw the captain's expression. It had a lot to say about idiots.

“Raising the flag and singing the anthem, Hepplewhite, are, while somewhat suspicious, not in themselves acts of treason,” said the captain. “And we are urgently required elsewhere.” He saluted Vimes, who found himself returning the salute. “We shall leave you, sergeant-at-arms. I trust your day will be full of interest. I fact, I know it.”

“But it's a barricade, sir,” the trooper insisted, glaring at Vimes.

“It's just a pile of furniture, man. People have been spring cleaning, I expect. You'll never be an officer if you can't see straight. Follow me, if you please.”

With a last nod to Vimes, the captain led his men away at a trot.

Vimes leaned against the barricade, put the crossbow on the ground, and fished out the cigar case. He fumbled in his pocket, pulled out the battered carton of little cigars and, with some delicacy, slotted them into place.

Hmm. To the left was Cable Street. In front, Treacle Mine Road stretched all the way to Easy Street.

Now, if a man could get barricades all the way up to Easy Street, there'd be quite a slice of the Lower Rimside behind it, which'd be a lot easier to protect…

We'll do it. After all, we did it.

Of course, that'd mean having the Unmentionables' headquarters in here with us. That's like pitching your tent over a nest of vipers.

We'll handle that. We handled it.

A couple of elderly people pushing a cart full of miscellaneous belongings approached the barricade. They gave Vimes a look of mute pleading. He nodded towards it and they scuttled through.

All we need now is—

“Sarge?” Fred Colon was leaning over the top of the heap.

He looked more out of breath than usual.

“Yes, Fred?”

“There's lots of people coming across the Ron's bridge. There's things happening everywhere, they say. Shall we let 'em in?”

“Any soldiers?”

“I don't reckon so, sarge. It's mostly old people and kids. And my granny.”

“Trustworthy?”

“Not when she's had a few pints.”

“Let them in, then.”

“Er…” said Colon.

“Yes, Fred?”

“Some of 'em is watchmen. A few of the lads from Dimwell and a lot from Kings Way. I know most of 'em, and those I don't are known to the ones I do, if you catch my meanin'.”

“How many?”

“About twenty. One of 'em's Dai Dickins, sergeant at Dimwell. He says they were told they'd got to shoot people and most of 'em deserted on the spot.”

“Quit, Fred,” said Vimes. “We don't desert. We're civilians. Now, I want young Vimes and you and Waddy and maybe half a dozen others out here fully kitted up in two minutes, understand? And tell Wiglet to organize squads ready to move the barricades forward at my signal.”

“Move them, sarge? I thought barricades stood still!”

“And tell Snouty he's got two minutes to find me a bottle of brandy,” said Vimes, ignoring this. “A big one.”

“Are we taking the law into our own hands again, sarge?” said Colon.

Vimes stared at the entrance to Cable Street, and was aware of the weight of the cigar case in his pocket.

“Yes, Fred,” he said. “Only this time we're going to squeeze.”