`I really pushed the boat out on this one, sir,' said Carrot. `I thought it was important.

`Well done, captain,' said Vimes, as they stood like islands in the

flood. `But I think there is a little matter of forward planning you may have overlooked...'

`Really, sir? I think I've covered everything; said Carrot, looking puzzled.

Vimes slapped him on the back.

`Probably not this one,' he said. And added, but only to himself: because you, captain, are not a bastard.

Bewildered and aimless, the troll wanders through the world ...

Brick's head really gonged. He really didn't want to be doing dis, but he'd fallen into bad company. He often fell into bad company, he reflected, although sometimes he had to look all day to find it, 'cos Brick was a loser's loser. A troll without a clan or a gang, and who is considered thick even by other trolls, has to take any bad company he can find. In this case he'd met Totally Slag an' Hardcore an' Big Marble, an' it had been easier to fall in wi' dem than decide not to, an' dey'd met up wi' more trolls an' now ...

Look at it like dis, he thought as he trudged along, singing gang songs a bit behind the beat because he didn't know the words ... All right, being in der middle of dis mob o' trolls ain't `lyin' low, dat is a fact. But Totally Slag had said the word wuz that the Watch wuz also after the troll who'd been down dat mine, right? An', if you fink about it, the best place to hide a troll, right, is in a big bunch of trolls. 'Cos the Watch'd be pokin' around in der cellars where der real mean trollz hung out, they wouldn't be lookin' here. An' if they did, an' were puttin' the finger on him, then all dese brother trolls would help him out.

He wasn't too certain about that last bit, in his heart of hearts. His possibly negative IQ, complete absence of street cred and, above all, his permanent inclination to snort, suck, swallow or bite anything that promised to make his brain sparkle, meant that he had been turned down even by the Tenth Egg Street Can't- fink- of- aname Gang, rumoured to be so dense that one of their members was a lump of concrete on a piece of string. No, it would be hard to imagine any troll caring much what happened to Brick. But right now dey were brothers, and der only game in town.

He nudged the skull-necklaced, graffiti-ornamented, lichencovered, huge-club-dragging troll marching stoically alongside him.

'Resplect, bro!' he said, clenching a scabby fist.

`Why'nt you go and ghuhgyerself, Brick, you little piece of coprolite ...the troll muttered.

`Right off!' said Brick.

The main office was packed but Vimes fought his way through by shoving and shouting until he reached the duty desk, which was under siege.

`It looks worse than it is, sir!' shouted Cheery, over the din. `Detritus and Constable Bluejohn are in the Cham right now, along with all three golem officers! We've started putting the line in place! Both the mobs are too busy getting themselves worked up!'

`Good work, sergeant!'

Cheery leaned down and lowered her voice. Vimes had to hang on to the tall desk to stop himself being carried away by the throng.

`Fred Colon's signing up the Specials in the old lemonade factory, sir. And Mr de Worde of the Times is looking for you.'

`Sorry, sergeant, didn't catch that last bit!' said Vimes loudly. `The lemonade factory, right? Okay!'

He turned round, and almost tripped over Mr A. E. Pessimal, who was holding a neat clipboard.

`Ah, your grace, there're just a few small matters I'd like to discuss with you,' said the gleaming little man.

Vimes's mouth dropped open.

`And you think this is a good time, do you?' he managed, as he was jostled by an officer carrying a bundle of swords.

`Well, yes, I've turned up a number of little financial and procedural problems,' said A. E. Pessimal calmly, `and I think it's vitally important that I understand exactly what-'

Vimes, grinning horribly, grabbed him by the shoulder.

`Yes! Right! Absolutely!' he shouted. `My dear Mr Pessimal, what have I been thinking of? You should understand! Come with me, please!'

He half dragged the bewildered man out through the back door, lifted him out of the way of a trundling cart as he negotiated the crowded yard, and hustled him into the old factory yard, where the Specials were being kitted up.

Technically, they were the Citizens' Militia but, as Fred Colon had remarked, it was `better to have them in here pissing themselves than outside pissing on you'. The special constables were men - mostly - who could be a copper in times of dire need but were generally disqualified from formal Watch membership by reason of shape, profession, age or, sometimes, brain.

A lot of the professionals didn't like them, but Vimes had lately taken the view that when push came to shove it was better to have your fellow citizens shoving alongside you and, that being the case, you might as well teach them how to hold a sword right, lest the arm they clumsily removed was yours.

Vimes pulled A. E. Pessimal through the press of bodies until he found Fred Colon, who was handing out one-size- doesn't-fitanybody helmets.

`New man for you, Fred,' he said loudly. `Mr A. E. Pessimal,

plain A. E. if he ever makes friends. He's the government inspector. Kit him out, full fig, and don't forget the riot shield. A. E. here wants to understand coppering, so he's kindly volunteered to be an actingconstable on the barricades with us.' Over the top of A. E. Pessimal's head he gave Fred a big wink.

`Oh, er, right,' said Fred, and his face, in the flickering light of the flares, acquired the innocent smile of one about to make someone's life a little pot of bubbling dread. He leaned over the trestle table.

`Know how to use a sword, Acting-Constable Pessimal?' he said, and dropped a helmet on the man's head, where it spun.

`Well, I didn't exactly-' the inspector began, as a very elderly sword was shoved across the planks, followed by a heavy truncheon.

`A shield, then? Any good with a shield?' said Fred, pushing a large such item after the sword.

`Actually, I didn't mean-'said A. E. Pessimal, trying to hold both the sword and the truncheon and dropping both, and then the sword and the truncheon and the shield and dropping all three.

`Any good at running a hundred yards in ten seconds? In this?' Fred went on. A ragged chain mail coat dropped slowly off the table like a parcel of snakes and landed on A. E. Pessimal's bright little shoes.

'Uh, I don't think-'

`Standing still and going to the toilet really, really quickly?' said Fred. `Oh well, you'll learn soon enough.'

Vimes turned the man round, picked up 35lb of rust-eaten chain mail and dropped it into his arms, causing A. E. Pessimal to bend double. `I'll introduce you to some of the citizens who will be fighting alongside you tonight, shall I?' he said, as the little man hobbled after him. `This is Willikins, my butler. No sharpened pennies in your cap tonight, Willikins?'

`No, sir,' said Willikins, staring at the struggling A. E. Pessimal.

`Glad to hear it. This is Acting-Constable Pessimal, Willikins.' Vimes winked.

`Honoured to meet you, acting-constable, sir,' said Willikins gravely. `Now that sir is with us I am sure the miscreants will just melt away. Has sir by any chance gone sir-on-one with a troll before? No? A little advice, sir. The important thing is to get in front of them and dodge the first blow. They always leave themselves open and sir may then step smartly forward and select sir's target of choice.'

`Er, what if ... if I'm not in front of one when it tries to hit me?' A. E. Pessimal said, hypnotized by the description and dropping the sword again. `What if it is in fact behind me?'