Commander Vimes wasn't entirely sure what he was doing in the pie shop. Supporting local enterprise, certainly. Showing solidarity with one of the few old faces left, probably. But every instinct was telling him to leave. He'd Been Seen in the shop - that was enough, surely?
'I think we ought to order, Sir,' said Carrot.
'Both of us?' said Vimes. 'You realise these pies could take both of us out at once?'
Carrot glanced at the menu. 'Perhaps you're right. In that case, I would like to volunteer to sample a pie in the spirit of community.'
'I'm sure you would, Captain,' said Vimes. 'However I think this is an arrow I'll have to take.' He stepped over the the counter and took a deep breath.
From nowhere, it seemed, Dibbler appeared. He was wearing a slightly grubby apron and a chef's hat, but apart from that he was the same Dibbler as ever, and his optimistic smile was the one he'd been wearing for at least fifty years. 'Good evening gentlemen,' he said in the happy tone of someone who knows his customers have no choice. 'Can I interest you in y special of the day?'
'What would that be?' asked Vimes.
'Pie with herbs in,' said Dibbler proudly. 'Finest Ankh-Morpork fusion cuisine, blending local meat with Quirmian cooking ideas.'
'Herbs?' said Vimes, doubtfully. Not only was he going to eat one of Dibbler's pies, he'd be eating greens, too. Practically vegetables, with Sybil nowhere to be seen. 'That sounds fine,' he lied. 'One special.'
'And you, Captain?' asked Dibbler.
'Not today, thank you friend. But I will be by to sample your hearty fare on another day.'
'Thank you, gents,' said Dibbler, passing Vimes a pie. 'Your patronage is much appreciated, especially so recently after the grand opening. The Watch will always be welcome at Mr Dibbler's Pie Shop.'
'That's good to hear,' said Vimes, paying his penny. The pie looked quite nice. It smelt quite nice.
He bit.
He chewed.
Dibbler and Carrot were watching him with what might be anxiety, but Vimes found himself able to swallow the mouthful. It was definitely a Dibbler pie, but he'd eaten them before - sans herbs - and lived. Vetinari might have his state meetings, though Vimes, but this here was politics. You ate a Dibbler pie, in his new shop, and you were seen alive afterwards. 'Very tasty,' he said. 'I'll, er, eat the rest as I complete my rounds.'
Stepping out into Gleam Street, Vimes steeled himself and took another bite. Be seen, that was the important thing. Show the city that things were getting back to normal. It had been three weeks since the last confirmed case, and everyone was caught in limbo, waiting to see whether the plague was over or whether another wave was about to hit. The job now was to keep momentum going, and patrolling the streets was a part of that. Dibbler opening a pie shop was another aspect of it - he was looking towards the future, implying that there was going to be one. Gradually, life was trying to return to normal.
Vetinari had agreed that the quarantine would extend for three months after the last case. Theoretically the gates could be open again in ten weeks time. No more wasting resources on guarding the walls, protecting the precious supplies that made it into the city. They could go back to be watchmen again, solving the crimes they were used to.
'Well done, Sir,' said Carrot, breaking Vimes's train of thought.
'Hmm?' said Vimes.
'You've eaten nearly all of it.'
Vimes looked at the remains of the pie. 'We all make sacrifices, Captain. It'll be your turn next.'
'Absolutely, Sir. In fact,' Carrot added, 'I may visit the barber's upstairs at some point. Support a lady setting up her own business.'
Vimes looked at Carrot's hairless chin and closely cropped hair, and decided not to comment. 'Good idea, Captain.'
'Sergeant Angua is very interested in women's liberation,' added Carrot. 'I think she'll be pleased if I can write that I helped liberate a woman in my next letter.'
Vimes wasn't so sure, but again decided not to mention it. 'And how is Angua?'
'Very well, thank you, though obviously frustrated at being stuck on the wrong side of the wall. I think she's a bit fed up with Uberwald.'
She might be a little more fed up, thought Vimes, if she knew you were planning to make calls on lone lady barbers. But of course it was none of his business, and any woman with the stomach to live above Dibbler's pie shop was probably somewhat unique. He might even have to visit himself, at some point, if Carrot's reports were favourable. Of course, that would probably mean an obligatory visit to Dibbler's on the way out, but he'd survive.
'You know,' he said quietly to Carrot, 'it's amazing in a way. Fifty years of experience and he still makes the worst pies in Ankh-Morpork.'