Chapter 2 is here-thanks to Fanless, and Reg Shoe makes an appearance. The Watchmen encounter their own cupboard/pantry and Colon gets frightened. Several kilograms of insanity were used in the making of this product. You have been warned.
Angua was getting edgy. Hours had passed. The mob still shrieked and raved outside the door, but after Carrot asked them not to throw bricks the occasional tinkle of broken glass had ceased. Everyone was getting claustrophobic, mainly due to enforced confinement with people they didn't wish to see socially, only in the office. For eight or nine hours a day. And not any longer. Full moon was in a week's time, she thought so that's a mercy. At least I won't have to kill anyone. Unless Nobby tries to steal my clothes. Again. Beti had decided that perhaps a more urban look would suit her. Until Angua had found her rifling through her locker. And had growled pointedly to indicate that bloodstains were not fashionable accessories this season.
The Watchmen had realised that they were going to have to make do and live with each other for now, although, as Reg Shoe was present live was probably the wrong word. Part of this meant eating in the watch house. And the only food was either in the canteen or in the solitary cupboard, cool and dark, that some used. As one officer they had elected to brave the cupboard rather than the canteen. Lots had been drawn on who would venture in. Fred Colon had won the honour, or earned the penance, depending on your relationship with reality. Everyone knew that no one ventured in that cupboard, a commune for food, half-full of strange, ownerless and partially eaten substances, that may or may not be edible, and appeared to have generated themselves over the years.
Everyone watched cautiously Colon approached the door, badge thrust before him like a very small shield. Sweat beaded his forehead as he reached for the doorknob. And froze. 'Sir...' This was addressed to Vimes, who was leaning against a nearby wall and smoking.
'Yes Fred?'
'It is your watch house. And therefore your cupboard. You wouldn't want me to intrude into your property would you?' Colon was practically squealing.
'I have invited you in. What are you so afraid of? A mutant Distressed Pudding?'
Colon actually whimpered. 'I'm a sergeant, I am! There are constables here who could do this.' Desperation stained the sound of his voice.
'But we were practising this funny democracy idea, to see just why Vetinari found it so amusing. And when you're name was picked out of Constable Shoe's sewing bag everyone voted that you should indeed be the one to venture in, after you made strenuous objections to the idea of allowing luck to I can see why Vetinari won't allow a democratic city. Someone always complains.' Vimes sighed. 'Just open the damn door Fred.'
Fred Colon closed his eyes as he opened the door. Shelves greeted the watching watchmen, shelves littered with unrecognisable things, on plates and in bottles. Something dense and lumpy may once have been milk. Now it was a nightmare-flavoured yoghurt.
Dorfl spoke. 'If Anyone Of Human Origin Attempts To Ingest Any Part Of The Contents Of That Cupboard I Am Obligated To Restrain Them, To Prevent Unacceptable Loss Of Life.'
'Vitalist.' Reg sniffed, then went back to painting slogans on some large pieces of cheap wood he had found lying around. In a bucket marked 'firewood'. The slogans read: 'Vital members of the community without vital signs' and 'People don't need pulses to have a heart.'
'All yours Nobby.' This was from Buggy Swires.
'There's always the canteen.' Carrot seemed perfectly cheerful, and any minute now would probably organise a jolly singsong or perhaps a game of indoor hockey.
'NO!' The collective voice of the Watch bounced from wall to wall before finding a chimney to fly out of.
Vimes reached for his cigar case, opened it, and found fewer cigars than he would have liked. 'Nobby you haven't been pinching my cigars have you?'
'No sir. Only smoke cigarettes.' At this point Nobby reached for the dog-end permanently encrusted behind his ear.
'What have you stolen then?'
Nobby put on his best 'I'm innocent guv, just unlucky, why I think the real thief headed into the Shades so there's no need for those handcuffs' face.
'Just give me the tea kitty now and we'll say no more about it. And put your uniform on, for the love of humanity.'
'I'm happier being myself, sir, and my shift finished a few hours ago so plain clothes-'
Vimes put his head in his hands. 'Those aren't plain clothes, Nobby, those are just tasteless clothes. It's not the same thing.'
Nobby tried to change the subject. 'Anyone fancy a game of Cripple Mr Onion?'
