Sweetpea walked out of the Yard, feeling both jubilant and terrified. What on the Disc had she gotten herself into? All right, so she had a job—yay! It was with the Watch—oh no. She still didn't know why she'd gone to them. It was on an impulse, yes, but most impulsive decisions didn't result in life-changing job interviews.

She knew it would help to tell someone about it, and resigned herself to the fact that she was going to have to tell her brother first.

To put off that conversation, Sweetpea went back to the Clerk's Guild School. All of her things were already packed—they fit into two suitcases. The dorms did not lend themselves to hoarding. Any items she really cared about were at home. Whatever job she had, she was still going to have to live with her brother. That is, if he let her after today.

"I see you're eager to leave," came a voice from the doorway. Sweetpea looked up, and her heart fluttered.

Chelsea.

Tall, muscular, and with short-cropped blonde hair, Chelsea was almost as intimidating as Captain Angua. She leaned against Sweetpea's doorframe and folded her arms. Chelsea always took off her clerk robes as soon as possible, and now she wore trousers and a shirtwaist with rolled-up sleeves.

"How d'you think you did on the test?" Chelsea asked.

"Fine."

She said it levelly, but her mouth was dry. Damn! Chelsea still did this to her, even after all this time. Sweetpea could feel Chelsea watching her as she knelt down and opened her suitcase.

"Sweetpea—" Chelsea said hesitantly. "I got a job with one of the nicer Lavish cousins. I'm going to make a lot. And…I think you should come with me."

Sweetpea looked up in astonishment, a scarf slipping from her hands. Chelsea looked serious but nervous—and she was rarely nervous. Well, good. She always made Sweetpea nervous, and now it was time to return the favor.

She stood up. "Thank you, Chels. But I can't just run off with you. I already have a job."

The blonde woman made a noise of disgust. "Yeah, with your brother. I know that isn't what you want."

You haven't got a clue what I want, Sweetpea thought. Mostly because I don't know, either.

But she said, "No, it's not with Hasan. I got a job somewhere else."

Chelsea smiled, and it at least seemed genuine. "Sweetpea, that's great! I know you weren't going to do the books for a coffee stand your whole life."

"That was never the plan in the first place." Sweetpea crossed the room in two steps and put her hand on the door. "Now, please excuse me. I have to get changed."

She shut the door on Chelsea's disappointed face. At least Chelsea hadn't gotten mad. An angry Chelsea was unpleasant to be around. She used to be angry all the time. Angry that Sweetpea wasn't spending time with her, angry when Sweetpea talked to John, angry when they discussed their future. Chelsea had Sweetpea's life all figured out. The trouble was, so had Hasan. Maybe that was why Sweetpea applied to work for the Watch. It was so far away from everybody's expectations.

Sweetpea gratefully changed out of her heavy, scratchy robes and into a blue abaya. She hardly ever had the chance to wear this at school, and she doubted it would fit under her armor in the Watch. That was shame, because it was comfortable and looked good on her.

She folded a green headscarf over her hair and looked around the room. Prisons had bigger cells. She wasn't going to miss this place.

She picked up her suitcases, kicked the door open, and strode briskly down the hall. Her mother always said something about opportunities and open doors. This was one open door she was going to run out of.

The Hakim Klatchian Coffee Stand sat on prime real estate at the edge of Sator Square. It was popular with students of various guild schools, and also workers on their way to the offices that overlooked the square. Sweetpea's father had placed the stand close to a pub, in case anyone got too knurd while drinking. Their coffee was heavily watered down for the casual drinker, but every now and then somebody thought they could handle the Red Desert Special. Usually, they couldn't.

Since it was afternoon, there was only one customer at the stand. Sweetpea recognized him from the few times she'd gone to the temple on Octedays.

"Hello, Mr. Sadri," she greeted him. "How goes the grocery business?"

"Sweet'pea!" he said with delight. "I haven't' seen you since you' were small! How' are thing's?"

"They're going very well, thank you,"

Sweetpea saw her brother looking eagerly at her out of the corner of his eye. He was excited for her. Running the stand together was his dream. She didn't look forward to disappointing him.

"Are you mov'ing back in?" Mr. Sadri asked noticing her suitcases. "You we're up at the Clerk's Guild, right?"

"Yes, and I've just finished up today. Five years of training, all done."

It felt good to say that out loud. Well, she had accomplished something, hadn't she? Whatever came afterwards, she had finished her schooling. She should be proud.

Mr. Sadri was certainly proud. He beamed at her.

"Imagine that, a Klatchian' clerk train'ed in Ankh-Morpork!"

"Here's your Morporkiano," said Hasan quietly. He pushed the drink over the counter to Mr. Sadri. The man took it and raised it to Sweetpea.

"Good' luck, Sweetpea," he said, and walked away across the square.

"Welcome home, little sister!" Hasan said. He came out from behind the counter and gave Sweetpea a hug. They didn't usually hug, and this made Sweetpea feel so guilty that she nearly chickened out. But she took a deep breath and said,

"Can you shut down the stand for a little bit, Hasan? There's something I want to talk to you about."

"But why the Watch?" Hasan repeated for the third time. They had already circled Sator Square twice, and now found themselves in the Plaza of the Broken Moons. This was going exactly as Sweetpea hadn't hoped.

"I don't know, Hasan." She sat down wearily on a bench. At the other end, a beggar sat grumbling to herself. Hasan stood in front of Sweetpea, looming slightly.

"But we had a plan—"

"No, Hasan!" she burst out. "You had a plan. You and Dad and Mom—you all had a plan. Haven't you been doing fine without me for the last year? I can still help you with the books. I'll be living with you—if you let me."

Hasan quickly sat down next to her. "If I let you? Sweetpea, it's your home too. I'm not throwing you out over this. I just wished you'd talked to me, that's all."

"I couldn't be at the stand day in, day out." Sweetpea looked out over the plaza, at the picturesque view of an old woman beating a young man with her handbag. "There's too much of Mom and Dad there."

Hasan squeezed her shoulder. "It's tough being an orphan," he said. "But we've been doing it separately. Now that you're home, we can be orphans together."

Home had seemed so small when Sweetpea lived there with her family. There was only one bedroom, the main living area, and the kitchen. Her parents had put all their money into the stand, and were grateful just to have a place to live. The Ankh-Morpork housing shortage was felt most keenly by immigrants and minorities.

Now the apartment was just empty. Since a bachelor had been living in it, it could use a good cleaning. Hasan had set up a futon on the floor of the bedroom for her, though. When Sweetpea saw it, she got a lump in her throat. Despite the fact that he was her older brother, he really did want to be with her.

"You don't mind sharing a wardrobe, do you?" Hasan asked. He gently pushed past her to get through the doorway. "I figured all of our clothes would fit."

"Oh, they'll fit," Sweetpea agreed. "They fit in a smaller wardrobe at school."

Hasan put her suitcases down, and jerked his head towards the door.

"You get packed. Literally make yourself at home. I'm going to make us some dinner. Curry sound all right?"

"Curry sounds amazing."

Home-made Klatchian curry had been very hard to come by the last few years. Curry from restaurants didn't taste the same, and curry served at the guild school was so far from actual curry that it could hardly be called food.

As she unpacked, the smell of spices and chickpeas filled the apartment. The heat of summer was making itself felt in Ankh-Morpork, and the warmth of the stove didn't help much. Sweetpea opened the tiny bedroom window. It looked out from the fourth floor into a trash-filled alleyway. Lilac bushes covered the wall opposite and hung heavy with flowers. Sweetpea breathed in deep—not the best decision in Ankh-Morpork—and could just barely smell the scent of the lilac.

Although Sweetpea could not have known it, it was this very smell that was making Commander Vimes on edge. Also, his son was turning two soon, and Sybil had hinted that Lord Vetinari just might be invited to the party. Having the patrician in your house was enough to make anyone anxious.

"Try not to scare her, sir," Angua advised the commander. "I think I've already done enough of that. We don't want her to be so afraid of you that she or doesn't accept the job."

"I'll put on my best friendly face," Vimes said with some sourness. He didn't know where the rumors about him being mean came from, he really didn't. Sure, his nickname was "Old Stoneface", and all right, maybe he had a bit of a temper, but that was no reason for recruits to be terrified of him.

"Apparently we need to include as many minorities as possible, and this one's a twofer," Vimes said. He glanced at the paperwork in front of him. "Klatchian and a woman. The only other Klatchian we've got is—"

"Constable Darzi over on King's Way," Sergeant Angua supplied helpfully.

"Yes, I was just about to say, Darzi." Vimes sighed. "I do know some of these things, sergeant. The Watch Committee likes me to keep track of the minorities. We've got a lot of dwarf and troll officers now, but I at least know the name of our Klatchian officer."

"Appointment scheduled for ten ay-em!" said a perky voice from a box on Vimes's desk. "Interview with Press Liaison!"

Vimes's hand reached out to slap the box, but he stopped himself. Force of habit.

"Thank you, gooseberry," he said instead.

"I can smell her right outside, sir," said Angua. "Shall I show her in?"

"Please. And then stay in here, will you? We don't want anyone saying I bit the new recruit's head off."

"Ha, ha, sir," said Angua, and went to open the door.

Sweetpea had debated what to wear. Finally, she decided on something professional, but not too fancy. When Sergeant Angua opened the door for her, she was wearing her only pair of trousers and a short white abaya that only went down to her knees. A lot of her female friends wore trousers more often than skirts these days, but Sweetpea still only felt comfortable wearing them under robes or a dress.

Sweetpea walked with nervous, halting steps to the chair in front of Vimes's desk. She had never seen the man up close before—just from far away at ceremonies or at a blur as he chased a criminal right past her. He was a lot shorter than she expected. The scariest-looking thing about him was the scar across his eye. There were all kinds of rumors about how he had gotten the scar, when it had shown up two years ago. Vimes probably encouraged these rumors. That sort of thing helped build up a person's reputation.

"Sweetpea Hakim?" he said gruffly.

"That's me, sir."

"Have a seat." He gestured to the seat next to her, and she gingerly sat down. Vimes didn't look at her, but was reading a piece of paper on the desk in front of him. Sweetpea looked behind her at Sergeant Angua, who was lounging gracefully in the corner. She gave Sweetpea what was probably intended to be an encouraging smile, but it had a little too much tooth.

"Well, your record is good," Vimes finally said. He looked up at her. "And you're willing to be on probation in a Watch house for six weeks? It may turn out to be four."

"Yes, sir." She was rather looking forward to working outside. It would make a difference from all the hours she'd sat indoors at school.

"You'll be dealing with all kinds of criminals and other suspicious characters," he said, in a tone that suggested he didn't quite believe her.

"Yes, sir, I had rather expected that. This is the Watch."

There was laughter from behind her, but Sweetpea sat stock-still. She stared at a point to the right of Vimes's head.

"Quite right," he said, and nodded. "Now—once you become press liaison, you'll be answerable directly to me, no matter what de Worde says. You'll have your own desk in here, maybe even your own office if we can clean out one of the rooms. Myself or one of the other officers will tell you what gets released to the press. Then you'll take that information to the Times office, unless they're extremely eager and come to get it from you."

"Just the Times, sir?" Sweetpea asked. She thought of all the other newspapers and magazines that had sprung up after the widespread use of the printing press. They were all going to want exclusive scoops from the Watch.

"Just the Times," Vimes confirmed. "I may not like de Worde, but I at least trust his integrity. We try not to talk to any of the other reporters anyway. Now, you'll be on probation not only as a Watch officer, but also as a liaison. With minor incidents, make two copies of your report and give one to the Times. Anything major, Angua or Captain Carrot will tell you what to write. We need the Times to get used to working within our parameters."

"You just…want me to send my reports to them without you reading them first?" Sweetpea asked, a little surprised.

"That's why you're on probation," Vimes said evenly. "Gods know I haven't got time to read every report that you send over there." He bent over his desk and scribbled something. "Your starting-out rank will be lance-constable, but you'll be bumped up to corporal if you become a full-time liaison. Your pay will be $30 a month at first, with armor allowances—"

"So, I'm hired?" Sweetpea interrupted. She hadn't expected it to be that easy.

Vimes stared at her. "Are you an agent working for anyone?"

"Uh, no."

"Do you have your own nefarious agenda?"

"Not at the moment."

Vimes stood up. "Good enough for me." He produced a badge from beneath the papers on his desk and swung a shilling on a length of string. "Your badge, number 237. Here's the King's Shilling. Hold it while you recite the oath. And don't laugh."

Just like that, she was a copper. By 10:30, Sweetpea was being fitted for her armor and issued her official truncheon. By 11:00, Sergeant Angua sent her on her way to the Treacle Mine Road watch house along with an escort, presumably in case she had a sudden attack of not wanting to be a copper.

"Treacle Mine Road's a good one," said Corporal Shoe. He was one of the first zombies Sweetpea had ever interacted with, and she couldn't help staring at his ear. The stitching was coming undone, and it looked as if it was going to fall off every time he smiled.

"I remember the original one, you know," he said confidentially. "That was when I was still alive, of course."

"Of course," Sweetpea echoed uncertainly.

"This one's our newest watch house. It had to be rebuilt after a dragon burned it down."

"I remember that," Sweetpea said with a shudder. "What a scary week. I was only thirteen."

Corporal Shoe made a face. "Were you really? Ye gods, I'm getting old."

He had offered to help carry her new uniform and weapons, but she was afraid that his arms would fall off if he carried anything too heavy. She didn't want to be the one that de-armed a corporal on her first day.

Even as she walked, she was learning. One of the most distinctive things about watchmen, besides the uniform and one-size-fits-nobody helmets, was their walk. She had heard it called "proceeding". Already, it was getting on her nerves. It was a wonder coppers ever got anywhere, considering the speeds they went. She had to practically limp just to stay at the corporal's pace.

"Anyway, we've got some good people stationed there right now," Corporal Shoe continued. "Everybody loves Constable Haddock, of course, and then there's Dars Ironcrust. She's good to have with you in a fight. At least, it's good that she's on your side and not fighting against you."

"Who else?" Sweetpea asked.

"Hmm…the rosters change so fast. Let me see. There's Constable Pediment. You probably won't see him much, as he spends a lot of times on the rooftops. There's Corporal Flint, of course, who is quite smart considering. Oh, and Constable Fittly." The way he said it made Sweetpea pause.

"Something wrong with Constable Fittly?"

"Oh, no," said Shoe hastily. "Wouldn't hear a word said against him. But he's…a lad, you know?" Shoe looked uncomfortable, or at least he turned a slightly darker shade of gray. "Loves to play jokes."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Sweetpea grimly. She had dealt with bullies before.

"And here we are," Corporal Shoe announced. Sweetpea looked up at the door of the Treacle Mine Road watch house. "Should I show you inside? The commander sent a clacks ahead—they're expecting you."

"No, it's all right." She didn't want everyone's first impression to be that she needed a babysitter. "Thanks for walking me over here, Corporal Shoe."

"My pleasure." The corporal tipped his helmet, making his head teeter dangerously on his neck.

After he had gone, Sweetpea turned back to the door. Should she knock? No, that was silly. Even a citizen would just walk right in. Suddenly, she was very nervous of what her new squad mates thought of her. Sweetpea took a deep breath and opened the door.