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When
it
came
to
the
recumbent
figure
of
Captain
Vimes
,
the
water
diverted
and
flowed
around
him
in
two
streams
.
Vimes
opened
his
eyes
.
There
was
a
moment
of
empty
peace
before
memory
hit
him
like
a
shovel
.
It
had
been
a
bad
day
for
the
Watch
.
There
had
been
the
funeral
of
Herbert
Gaskin
,
for
one
thing
.
Poor
old
Gaskin
.
He
had
broken
one
of
the
fundamental
rules
of
being
a
guard
.
It
wasn
’
t
the
sort
of
rule
that
someone
like
Gaskin
could
break
twice
.
And
so
he
’
d
been
lowered
into
the
sodden
ground
with
the
rain
drumming
on
his
coffin
and
no
-
one
present
to
mourn
him
but
the
three
surviving
members
of
the
Night
Watch
,
the
most
despised
group
of
men
in
the
entire
city
.
Sergeant
Colon
had
been
in
tears
.
Poor
old
Gaskin
.
Poor
old
Vimes
,
Vimes
thought
.
Poor
old
Vimes
,
here
in
gutter
.
But
that
’
s
where
he
started
.
Poor
old
Vimes
,
with
the
water
swirling
in
under
breastplate
.
Poor
old
Vimes
,
watching
rest
of
gutter
’
s
contents
ooze
by
.
Prob
’
ly
even
poor
old
Gas
-
kin
has
got
better
view
now
,
he
thought
.
Lessee
.
.
.
he
’
d
gone
off
after
the
funeral
and
got
drunk
.
No
,
not
drunk
,
another
word
,
ended
with
’
er
’
.
Drunker
,
that
was
it
.
Because
world
all
twisted
up
and
wrong
,
like
distorted
glass
,
only
came
back
into
focus
if
you
looked
at
it
through
bottom
of
bottle
.
Something
else
now
,
what
was
it
.
Oh
,
yes
.
Night
-
time
.
Time
for
duty
.
Not
for
Gaskin
,
though
.
Have
to
get
new
fellow
.
New
fellow
coming
anyway
,
wasn
’
t
that
it
?
Some
stick
from
the
hicks
.
Written
letter
.
Some
tick
from
the
snicks
.
.
.
Vimes
gave
up
,
and
slumped
back
.
The
gutter
continued
to
swirl
.
Overhead
,
the
lighted
letters
fizzed
and
flickered
in
the
rain
.
.
.
.
