Men at Arms

“I can't help noticing that you still has got there what appears to be a double-headed throwing axe, lance-constable, despite what I vouchsafed to you earlier re Guard rules.”

“Cultural weapon, sergeant?” said Cuddy hopefully.

“You can leave it in your locker. Guards carry one sword, short, and one truncheon.”

With the exception of Detritus, he added mentally. Firstly, because even the longest sword nestled in the troll's huge hand like a toothpick, and secondly, because until they'd got this saluting business sorted out he wasn't about to see a member of the Watch nail his own hand to his own ear. He'd have a truncheon, and like it. Even then, he'd probably beat himself to death.

Trolls and dwarfs! Dwarfs and trolls! He didn't deserve it, not at his time of life. And that wasn't the worst of it.

He coughed again. When he read from his clipboard, it was in the sing-song voice of someone who learned his public speaking at school.

“Right,” he said again, a little uncertainly. “So. Says here—”

“Sergeant?”

“Now wh—Oh, it's you, Corporal Carrot. Yes?”

“Aren't you forgetting something, sergeant?” said Carrot.

“I dunno,” said Colon cautiously. “Am I?”

“About the recruits, sarge. Something they've got to take?” Carrot prompted.

Sergeant Colon rubbed his nose. Let's see… they had, as per standing orders, taken and signed for one shirt (mail, chain) one helmet, iron and copper, one breastplate, iron (except in the case of Lance-Constable Angua, who'd need to be fitted special, and Lance-Constable Detritus, who'd signed for a hastily adapted piece of armour which had once belonged to a war elephant), one truncheon, oak, one emergency pike or halberd, one crossbow, one hourglass, one short sword (except for Lance-Constable Detritus) and one badge, office of, Night Watchman's, copper.

“I think they've got the lot, Carrot,” he said. “All signed for. Even Detritus got someone to make an X for him.”

“They've got to take the oath, sarge.”

“Oh. Er. Have they?”

“Yes, sarge. It's the law.”

Sergeant Colon looked embarrassed. It probably was the law, at that. Carrot was much better at this sort of thing. He knew the laws of Ankh-Morpork by heart. He was the only person who did. All Colon knew was that he'd never taken an oath when he joined, and as for Nobby, the best he'd ever get to an oath was something like “bugger this for a game of soldiers”.

“All right, then,” he said. “You've all, er, got to take the oath… eh… and Corporal Carrot will show you how. Did you take the, er, oath when you joined us, Carrot?”

“Oh, yes, sarge. Only no-one asked me, so I gave it to myself, quiet like.”

“Oh? Right. Carry on, then.”

Carrot stood up and removed his helmet. He smoothed down his hair. Then he raised his right hand.

“Raise your right hands, too,” he said. “Er… that's the one nearest Lance-Constable Angua, Lance-Constable Detritus. And repeat after me…” He closed his eyes and his lips moved for a moment, as though he was reading something off the inside of his skull.

“‘I comma square bracket recruit's name square bracket comma’…”

He nodded at them. “You say it.”

They chorused a reply. Angua tried not to laugh.

“‘…do solemnly swear by square bracket recruit's deity of choice square bracket…’”

Angua couldn't trust herself to look at Carrot's face.

“‘…to uphold the Laws and Ordinances of the city of Ankh-Morpork, serve the public trust comma and defend the subjects of His stroke Her bracket delete whichever is inappropriate bracket Majesty bracket name of reigning monarch bracket…’”

Angua tried to look at a point behind Carrot's ear. On top of everything else, Detritus' patient monotone was already several dozen words behind everyone else.

“‘…without fear comma favour comma or thought of personal safety semi-colon to pursue evildoers and protect the innocent comma laying down my life if necessary in the cause of said duty comma so help me bracket aforesaid deity bracket full stop Gods Save the King stroke Queen bracket delete whichever is inappropriate bracket full stop.’”

Angua subsided gratefully, and then did see Carrot's face. There were unmistakable tears trickling down his cheek.

“Er… right… that's it, then, thank you,” said Sergeant Colon, after a while.

“—pro-tect the in-no-cent com-ma–”

“In your own time, Lance-Constable Detritus.”

The sergeant cleared his throat and consulted the clipboard again.

“Now, Grabber Hoskins has been let out of jail again, so be on the look out, you know what he's like when he's had his celebratory drink, and bloody Coalface the troll beat up four men last night—”

“—in the cause of said du-ty com-ma–”

“Where's Captain Vimes?” demanded Nobby. “He should be doing this.”

“Captain Vimes is… sorting things out,” said Sergeant Colon. “'S'not easy, learning civilianing. Right.” He glanced at his clipboard again, and back to the guardsmen. Men… hah.