You know how there's about a hundred of Terry Pratchett's characters that never get any attention from the great man himself? Whose own ability to be independent people has been torn apart by various of his fans, who, through pandering to the usual "accepted" method of writing, take characters like the good and noble Frederick Colon at their face value and as usual, portray them as comedy characters? Vessels to use to gain a few laughs at the expense of their very humanity! Such cruelty. Such wrongness. So I, British Redcoat, have come to restore dignity to the most senior international watchmen of them all; the aforesaid Colon.
Fred has undergone many changes over the years. He began life as a comedic, but generally believable character. His was the point of view of the average man, the street-smart old sergeant with his ear to the ground. Not as perfect as Carrot, as deep as Vimes, or as scummy as Nobby, Fred nonetheless inspired resistance against the dragon tyrant, summoned the courage to shoot at the thing, and risked life and limb against his fellow guards during the storming of the palace after the dragon's departure. A man like this deserves some credit. Fred's later incarnations transmuted him into a specieist, cowardly idiot, easily fooled by the meanest intelligence (Nobby Nobbs' to take an instance at random) and corrupted to beyond belief by an honorary title.
So, without changing or ignoring any of Terry Pratchett's great works, here is a fair, unbiased tale of Fred and a job that changed his life.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of Terry Pratchett's characters, locations or books. The Title of this fic is taken from the BBC 1950's TV program "Dixon of Dock Green"
Colon of New Gods Green
It was late and sergeant Frederick Colon of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch was on his way home, feeling more than a little inebriated and less than a little satisfied with the world.
It wasn't fair, he was thinking, how Nobby Nobbs, Corporal Nobby Nobbs, had managed to scrounge a nice, cushy, watch-house duty day with paperwork1 while he, Sergeant Fred Colon, had had to go out on patrol, on a rainy afternoon, and have to show some pencil-necked new recruit the ropes.
Actually, it wasn't that bad, to be fair, thought Colon, stepping over a stream, slipping, and getting up again, too drunk to notice. The lad had been quite promising, as Colon had taught him the fine policing arts of using your authority, picking up free dinners, stopping criminals, and when to let a talented young one of them go2 but never, ever, breaking the law at all. Coppers could… and Colon now had to concentrate as the 5th pint kicked in… take… a kind of freedom… liberty! Yeah… it was… perks! That was it… Sam Vimes knew it worked… you turned a blind eye sometimes… you had to… otherwise…
And Colon stopped there, as it brought up unpleasant memories and he mused on the new lance-constable he'd been teaching. He'd bought him a drink after the day was done, and Colon had thanked him, and promised to buy him one next time. And, he thought, at least the lad was human. Not that he had anything against Trolls… or Gargoyles… or even Dwarves… but, the Dwarves seemed to have a problem with him. It was that incident when Vimes and Carrot had left for Uberwald, and he had been left in charge of the watch… Colon shivered. That had been unpleasant and no mistake. Mrs. Colon had been rather unhappy with him about that, but you didn't get through 30 years of happy marriage and not learn to deal with little things like that.
Colon had reached his door, and after five attempts to get the key into the door, gave up, and banged loudly until someone opened it.
"Oh, it's you again Sergeant. Well, you'd better come with me…"
The person supported Colon over to the door on the other side of the street, where he left him, Colon repeating the same process, and eventually getting his wife to the door.
"What is it Fred… you're drunk again, aren't you"
"Jusss… lemme in dear… 'M not Drun'" slurred Colon. His wife barely hid her chuckle.
"Alright, you can come in, but first things first you need a cup of cocoa"
1 Colon knew from personal experience that absolutely no one, especially the veteran watchmen, ever did any paperwork.
2 Because you never knew who might be behind you in an alley, with a knife, next week.
It was tomorrow. Or at least it was light again, though with the horrible lamps of hangover blinding Colon's cerebral eyes, it might just as well be pitch black. However, it was at these times that Colon really saw the plain and simple truth of the world, and appreciate it. It hurt too much to cover everything in subtleties. There was the usual morning life in Ankh-Morpork: the early thieves, a few beggars, the odd early generic citizen (whose apparent sole existence in life was to be part of a body of the occasional crowd) and, of course, the ubiquitous C.M.O.T. Dibbler selling his (suspect) sausages inna bun. The latter was whom Colon suddenly encountered in front of him, seemingly travelling about three hundred yards in an instant.
"'AlloFredhowsitgoingsawyoucomingoutoftheBucketlastnightblinddrunkIthoughthopeyourfeelingalrightnownohangoverehwannasaugage?" Colon knew that the last four syllables were the only ones that Dibbler consciously uttered.
"No, cheers, Throat" murmured Colon, wincing at his friend's shrill yammering. "I think just about the worst thing I could have would be one of your sausages. I'd sooner have just the one breakfast than lose both"
Dibbler was used to those rebukes from all comers by now, and, touching his cap, reappeared about fifty feet to Colon's left trying to persuade a newcomer to the city to actually touch some of his burgers with ketchup.
Colon had reached the watch house. It was looking particularly large and imposing today, through Colon's painfully sober eyes, with windows you could almost see through, and walls that very nearly kept out the damp. This was class, thought Colon, not like the old place in Treacle Mine road… this was a watch house you could be proud of, with its dirty yellow lamp glowing at night. Colon marched into the hall-cum-office used by the rank and file, gave off an incredibly bad salute (a clear sign he was relaxed) and glanced at the Watchmen around him who he led as sergeant.
Corporal Nobby Nobbs was sitting with his feet on his desk, smoking a dog-end and admiring the green patina under his fingernails. Constable Visit-The Infidel-With-Explanatory-Pamphlets was in the middle of one of his many daily obeisances to his god, the mighty Om. Constable Dorfl the Golem was diligently writing up a report, already seven pages long. Corporal Cheery Littlebottom was sitting nervously watching a group of other Dwarves. Detritus the Troll Sergeant was conversing with other Troll members of his anti-Slab crusade. Along with these characters many new recruits wrote, saluted and dithered in equal measure, be they Human, Dwarf, or Troll. Dwarves… Colon had to report to Commander Vimes about now… he walked up the stairs to the office in a daze, and collided with a small, hairy form.
Sergeant Stronginthearm was a very short, caustic piece of armour with a helmet on top. The dwarf was the only watchman of equal rank who Colon believed did not deserve it.
"What you think you're barging into, Colon?" spat Stronginthearm. "It's not your bloody staircase" he then stumped down the stairs between Colon's legs and he could hear him yelling at a couple of Lance-Constables, and then the resulting confusion as the recruits twigged that their Sergeant was beneath them.
Colon proceeded up the stairs, and knocked on the door of Commander Vimes's office.
"Come in, Fred"
Colon would never know how Vimes knew it was he. Of course when Vimes had heard Colon's tread on the stair, it had automatically registered thus:
Ears to brain: heavier tread than Reg/lighter than Dorfl
Brain to Mouth: "Come in, Fred"
"Um… yes sir" Colon came in and ripped off another poor salute.
"Morning Fred-get home alright?" Vimes's salute was equally shameful.
"Yessir-got it right after the first couple of times."
Vimes chuckled. "Right Fred, I'm taking you off the Traffic Division for a while. You're second in command of a new operation for the next few days"
"New operation, sir?"
"Yeah… we're trying to recruit more people into the watch part-time. You know how short-handed we've been lately" and, thought Vimes, you'll keep each other in check.
"But… who'll be looking after traffic?"
"I thought Corporal Visit could look after it for the duration-he can stop anything with just a wave of his holy book"
Colon was about to blurt out "What about Corporal Nobbs?" and then thought about it.
"Sooo… Captain Carrot'll be in charge, then?" Colon queried.
"Ah… no. You'll be under Sergeant Stronginthearm. I hope that's alright…"
"Of course. Sir." Colon turned and walked out, cold with fury at being seconded to the gritsucker. The bloke was a crook-not copper material at all! Well he'd show Vimes. He'd show 'em all.
Like it? Because I'm not stopping. Please R&R! My current amount stands at 2!