Logs for CaptainVimes 

Visited the local mines today, ostensibly to see how things were going, but mainly to make sure no one had gotten themselves blown up or buried. The miners greeted me with a mix of awe and confusion, possibly due to the fact that they were knee-deep in mud and half-heartedly trying to explain why they were working hard.Nobby, who decided to tag along, was instantly fascinated by the pickaxes. He claimed they were the latest in fashion, and that he was simply studying them for personal reasons. Im pretty sure he just wanted to poke something with a shiny object.As I tried to navigate through the tunnels, Carrot kept insisting on discussing the safety regulations for underground mining. He even brought along a clipboard and started reading them aloud. Nothing says danger quite like a Watchman reciting rules while standing next to a pile of dynamite. When I asked him to be quiet, he looked genuinely hurt. I suggested he save the safety talk for when we werent standing on top of several tons of rock.Detritus took it upon himself to help the miners by carrying the ore out of the tunnels. Unfortunately, he mistook a pile of rocks for ore and started a small avalanche. I had to remind him that were not supposed to mine the roof. The miners found this hilarious. I found it concerning.At one point, a miner shouted that theyd found the motherlode, and everyone rushed over, only to discover it was just an old boot. Nobby immediately claimed it for his collection, which now consists of half a dozen mismatched footwear items and some questionable headgear.As I left, I told the miners to keep an eye out for actual ore and to avoid the explosive barrels. I have to admit, a part of me wonders if I shouldve brought a helmet. 

Strolled through the Small Gods Cemetery today, which is not how I planned to spend my afternoon. Its not that I have anything against graves; its just that they usually dont hold much for a man whos spent most of his life trying to avoid being buried in one.This cemetery is a strange place. Its the sort of place where you can feel the weight of history pressing down on you, along with a particularly unpleasant smell of damp earth and the occasional lurking ghost, not that I believe in that sort of thing. No, I firmly hold to the idea that ghosts are just really forgetful people who havent realized theyre dead yet. Still, it wouldnt hurt to avoid making eye contact with the gravestones. You never know when they might be the resting places of some disgruntled former godsor worse, a recently deceased priest.The place is filled with little markers for the forgotten gods, the ones who never quite made the cut in the grand pantheon. The God of Lost Causes has a lovely plot tucked away behind a crooked oak tree, which seems fitting, and I swear I saw a headstone for the God of Unfortunate Weather. He mustve had a rather popular following in Ankh-Morporkso many people worshiped him every time it rained on their wedding day.I wandered past a few notable graves: the God of Frustration, whose epitaph was just a series of increasingly desperate scribbles, and the God of Unfortunate Accidents, whose gravestone was marked with a small Oops. Reminds me of the paperwork I still need to finish back at the Watch. I swear, if there were a god dedicated to my specific brand of frustration, hed be shouting my name by now.As I stood there, I couldnt help but think about the nature of belief. The people who once prayed to these small gods were looking for something to hold ontoa sense of control in a world that offers anything but. A couple of them ended up in the graveyard, and now their worshipers have moved on. Its a sad business, really. The kind of thought that makes you appreciate the sheer madness of our own world: gods born out of desperation and then discarded like yesterdays rubbish.Had a bit of a chat with a rather cheerful gravekeeper who said the last new god they had was the God of Minor Inconveniences. Apparently, hes been getting quite a following. I can see it now: people gathering to pray over things like missing socks and misplaced keys, while the larger gods look on in bemusement.As I left the cemetery, I couldn't shake the feeling that someday Id be back herenot in a grave, I hope, but in some capacity. Perhaps to make sure that those who are still worshiping at the altars of failure have someone watching their backs. After all, Ankh-Morpork could always use another pair of eyes, even in the Small Gods Cemetery. 

Spent the afternoon investigating rumors of a new underground guild in Ankh-Morpork. Apparently, someone got it into their head that mining tunnels beneath the city to hold secret meetings would be a good idea. Because nothing says safe like loose soil and questionable engineering. 

Another long night in Ankh-Morpork. Sometimes I wonder if this city has a soul. I think it must, although if it does, its a loud, unruly, and slightly unwashed one. Its the sort of soul that sidles up to you in a dark alley, asks if youve got any spare change, and then gives you a lecture on how its actually all your fault. 

Ankh-Morpork is a city of contradictions. Its chaotic, messy, loud, dangerous, and yet it works. Somehow, against all logic and probability, it works. Theres a kind of rough justice to the place, a set of rules that everyone pretends not to follow but does anyway. The thieves have their guild, the assassins have their contracts, the beggars have their hierarchy, and the rest of uswell, we just try not to trip over them on our way home. 

Today, I had the pleasure of a chat with one of the reputable fences in the city, Cutter Dolan. Dolans the sort of man who could steal the rings off your fingers while holding a polite conversation about the weather. Claims hes strictly a businessman, mind you, as if selling half the citys stolen goods out of a musty basement is the same as running a bakery. Its incredible, reallythe number of people in Ankh-Morpork wholl tell you theyre perfectly honest right after theyve nicked something off you. 

Got word from the Patrician himself about strange water spouts popping up all over the city. Apparently, someones been tinkering with the fountains, causing them to erupt at random intervals. The last one blasted someones lunch halfway across Sator Square. Im told the pigeons enjoyed the show immensely.When we arrived at the latest "incident," Carrot was eager to investigate, calling it a mystery of municipal plumbing. He started questioning the fountain itself, as if the spouts might confess. When it didnt answer, he began a lecture about appropriate fountain behavior, while Detritus stared at the water, looking like he was gearing up to punch it if it made any funny moves.Colon showed up with a notebook and immediately tried to establish a water schedule, convinced the spouts were predictable. Unfortunately, his theory crumbled when he got soaked by an unexpected blast from a nearby drinking fountain. Id never seen him run so fasthe claimed he was tactically retreating to dry ground.Meanwhile, Angua sniffed around the fountains and reported a faint smell of cabbage. This led Nobby to accuse a nearby cabbage vendor of tampering with water pressure, which Im fairly certain isnt even a crime. The vendor, predictably, fled. Nobby took this as proof of guilt and tried to give chase, only to slip in a puddle and nearly fall into the spout himself.As we moved down towards the docks, we stumbled across Leonard of Quirm, who was sketching a new water propulsion device with one hand while sipping tea with the other. Carrot asked him if he knew anything about the spouts, to which Leonard replied, Only in theory! This answer, of course, only made Carrot more determined to understand it, so he asked Leonard for a full explanation. I decided to leave them to it.On the way back, Detritus suggested he simply block the water with his foot, which, after some debate, he did. It workedfor about five seconds. Then he lifted his foot, and a small but powerful geyser sent him straight into the air. He landed in the next fountain over, grumbling about sneaky water and untrustworthy plumbing.Final note: Recommend talking to the Guild of Plumbers and asking them to rein in any experimental installations. Also, remind Nobby that cabbage-smelling water is suspicious, but not necessarily a lead. 

Spent the afternoon patrolling down Misbegot Bridge, where the fences operate. Id like to say theyre like the citys pawnshops, but pawnshops dont generally keep their merchandise stuffed into damp sacks in a cellar. Fences are a special breed. Their whole business relies on the idea that most people in this city dont ask too many questions as long as the price is right. 

Today, an enormous fruit appeared in the middle of the plaza by the Patricians Palace. And I do mean enormouswere talking a melon the size of a small house. Apparently, its the result of a harmless experiment by the wizards. Harmless. Nothing says harmless quite like a watermelon that could flatten an entire neighborhood if it rolled the wrong way.Carrot, naturally, thought it was remarkable and insisted we cordon it off in case someone inadvertently damages it. As if theres anything in Ankh-Morpork large enough to dent the thing. Nobby tried to take a bite but nearly broke a tooth, and Colon is now convinced its some kind of foreign invader, here to disrupt the local fruit economy.Meanwhile, Sybil thinks we should try to make the best of it, which, knowing her, probably means serving up giant watermelon slices at the next charity gala. She asked if Id carry a piece home. I told her that if I could lift even a single slice, Id consider joining the circus.Ive put a request in to the wizards to shrink it back downor at least move it somewhere that isnt smack in the center of the city. Knowing them, though, well probably wake up to a ten-ton tomato tomorrow. 

Started the day with a visit to the Cabbage Merchant. Found out hed been putting on a cabbage festival. Naturally, it was just an excuse to sell more cabbages. Accidentally got into an argument with a particularly aggressive cabbage about whether it was fresh or overripe. Im still not sure who won.Colon brought in a "suspect" for stealing a pair of boots. Turns out the boots were still on the suspects feet. When I pointed this out, Nobby offered to take them off for "evidence." Suspect promptly kicked him in the shin. Note to self: remind Nobby that "evidence" shouldnt involve direct bodily harm.Carrot was busy trying to teach a group of local cats the proper way to cross the road. It involved a lot of shouting and waving. When I asked him why, he replied, Safety first, Captain! Cats, it seems, are not particularly receptive to such lectures.Detritus found a suspicious-looking box in the alley and spent an hour trying to figure out how to open it. After an impressive display of smashing it with a hammer, he declared it not explosive and promptly used it as a seat. Im not sure if thats a victory or a failure.Conclusion: Days like this make me wonder why Im still doing this job. 

I passed a few lads from the Guild of Thievessmug as cats, they were, acting like they owned the place. And in a way, they do. Everyone here has their place, their role, their small claim to the city. Even coppers like me. 

Down on Cable Street, a few streets over from Pseudopolis Yard, I saw a crowd of dwarfs coming out of a tavern, singing a mining song loud enough to shake the cobbles. Humans and trolls and dwarfs and gnomes, all crammed into the same city, each trying to carve out a piece of it without getting trampled in the process. They argue, they brawl, they grumble, and yet, in a strange way, they all belong here. This city doesnt care what you are, as long as you pay your dues and keep to the codeeven if you pretend you dont. 

Was called to a disturbance in the Shades. Apparently, Nobby was "collecting taxes" from a street vendor without permission from the Patrician. Reminded him that hes not actually allowed to make up new taxes. He said he wasnt "making up" taxes, he was "improvising" them. Sent him back to the Watch House with a handful of suspicious coins, a chicken, and what might be a turnip. Will deal with that later. 

Caught Nobby selling "authentic Watch badges" again. They looked suspiciously like old bottle caps glued to bits of string. When questioned, he claimed it was part of a new "community outreach program." Confiscated six bottle caps and a used bit of string, so the day's not a total loss.Carrot reported that someone stole a gargoyle. After extensive questioning, it turned out the gargoyle just went out for lunch. Said he'd be back by evening shift. Tried not to ask too many follow-up questions.Detritus attempted to arrest a raincloud, convinced it was following him. After explaining "weather" to him, he still insisted it was personal and grumbled about "cloud discrimination."Two thieves outside the Shades tried to rob Lady Sybil. One ended up with a handbag to the head; the other ended up running away and screaming, "I just wanted a few pence!" Couldnt stop laughing long enough to take a proper statement.Reminder: Consider issuing Detritus an umbrella. 

Ankh-Morpork is too much. Its loud, rude, and slightly mad. But its also alive, a living, breathing beast, a place that doesnt want you to love it, just to understand itor at least respect it enough to survive it. You cant fight it, not really, but if you learn to walk its crooked streets without looking for straight lines, itll give you a place to stand.And that, I suppose, is what keeps me coming back. 

Im starting to hate puzzles. Not the kind with missing pieces or confusing patternsthose, at least, have some end to them. No, I mean the kind Ankh-Morpork specializes in, the kind that leaves you squinting at strange coincidences and half-truths, wondering if youre slowly losing your mind.Take todays case, if you can call it that. A string of odd thefts across the city, items that dont seem to add up to anything sensible. Someones gone through the trouble of stealing an assortment of truly useless things: a bag of sand from the Guild of Alchemists, a second-hand mandolin, a parrot skeleton from Biers pub (dont ask), and, to top it all off, a single broken shoe. Nobby and Colon are baffled, Carrots curious, and me? Im just annoyed.Its like trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle when someones replaced half the pieces with bits of coal. I keep going over it in my head, trying to see the pattern, but all Ive got so far is a headache and a vague suspicion that someones laughing at me from behind the scenes.The worst part is, in Ankh-Morpork, these things have a way of spiraling. Today, its a stolen parrot skeleton and a broken shoe; tomorrow, itll be something bigger, something that might actually matter. Thats the thing with this citys puzzlesthey start small, look harmless, and then suddenly they explode into something that takes half the Watch to sort out. Ive learned the hard way to treat even the strangest clues with respect, no matter how ridiculous they seem.Carrots convinced theres some grand pattern were missing, some deeper meaning behind it all. Hes got a point, I suppose. The city does have a way of forcing connections where none should exist. But sometimes I think Ankh-Morpork isnt actually a puzzle at all. Maybe its just a big, messy, absurd joke, with all of us scrambling to make sense of it because were too stubborn to admit were the punchline.But Ill keep digging, because thats what I do. Ill turn over every last ridiculous clue, follow every twisted lead, and, gods help me, if I find out this whole thing was someones idea of a prank, Ill throw them in a cell with Nobby on a bad day.For now, though, Ill hold on to the bits and pieces, the sand, the skeleton, and the mandolin, and Ill keep looking for whatever twisted logic holds them together. Because if theres one thing I know, its that in this city, sooner or later, every puzzle ends up with the Watch on its doorstep. 

I walked past the Palace earlier, where the Patrician sits and pulls his strings, keeping the peace by allowing just the right amount of disorder. No one else could manage it; he balances everything so perfectly that its a wonder he hasnt toppled off his throne yet. He and the city are cut from the same cloth, I thinkboth are ruthless, efficient, and pragmatic to a fault. Ankh-Morpork reflects him as much as he reflects it. 

Found Sergeant Colon stuck in a barrel outside the Mended Drum again. He swears its part of a "stakeout." Given his last "stakeout" involved him sleeping on top of a stake, this is actually an improvement.Nobby was caught accepting bribes from Mrs. Cake. When asked why he was pocketing what looked suspiciously like her scones, he claimed he was just "confiscating suspicious pastries." As he says, "You can never be too careful with baked goods."Carrot tried to arrest the river today. Something about "pollution being a crime." Sent him home with a mop and a vague order to make it clean up its act.Note: Make sure Carrot doesn't actually try to arrest the Patrician's new fountain next week.Incident outside the Guild of Assassins. Apparently, someone tried to mug one of the students. Found the mugger up a lamppost, swearing he was just admiring the view.Remind self: Never, ever ask Detritus to carry explosives. 

A fruit vendors cart tipped over in Sator Square this morning, and suddenly were all ankle-deep in oranges, bananas, and some unidentifiable purple things. Colon decided it was the perfect chance to loudly discuss his tropical fruit knowledge (which is nonexistent), while Nobby somehow managed to slip five bananas and a melon into his pockets without anyone noticing. He swears theyre for evidence purposes, though Im fairly certain I saw him eat half a mango while he was saying it.Meanwhile, Carrots spent the day trying to organize what he calls a fruit rescue initiative. Hes got half the Watch carefully sorting the produce and trying to return it to the original vendor. I pointed out that in Ankh-Morpork, fruit on the ground is fair game, but Carrot says, a city with integrity wouldnt leave a banana behind.Sybil asked if I brought anything home, so I presented her with one of the purple things. Turns out its a durian. Sybil says its supposed to be a delicacy, but the smell is lets just say its now in the back garden, and Im fairly certain even the gargoyles are giving it a wide berth. 

Went on an official excursion to look at the nearby waterfalls today. I use the term official loosely, as it involved Nobby insisting we take a scenic route, which turned out to be through half the Shades and a rather suspicious cabbage patch.Arrived at the waterfall, which was impressive in its own waywater tumbling dramatically down rocks, birds fluttering about, and the sound of rushing water drowning out my thoughts. I was just starting to enjoy it when Nobby slipped and fell in. He emerged sputtering and shouting about how he was merely testing the depth for everyones safety. He now smells like wet cabbage.Carrot, of course, thought this was a fantastic opportunity for a team-building exercise. He started assigning everyone roles: Nobby as the deep end tester, Detritus as the muscle, and me as the concerned supervisor. I tried to explain that my job title doesnt include water-safety expert, but he was too busy building a safety raft out of twigs and bits of his uniform.Meanwhile, Colon spotted a rather large fish leaping out of the water. He promptly declared it the most dangerous fish in the city and tried to catch it with his bare hands. Ended with him falling back into the water. I have to hand it to him; hes consistent in his commitment to absurdity.By the time we left, Detritus had constructed what he proudly called a waterfall defense mechanism using twigs and some leftover rations. I told him we should probably focus on more pressing matters, like getting back to the city without further incident. Remind myself never to take a team-building trip again. 

Took a stroll through the Universitys library today, which is a splendid place filled with books and more dust than a broom factory. The Librarian, still an orangutan (thank the gods for small mercies), was busy sorting a stack of tomes that looked like they had been last opened during the Age of Enlightenment. I think I heard a book mutter something unprintable as I passed.Carrot insisted on helping. He tried to organize the magical section by color, size, and whether the book appeared to have teeth. I had to explain that books arent like the clothing in his wardrobe. It didnt go well. I think one of the tomes nearly ate his finger.Colon wandered in, looking for a book on How to Be a Better Watchman. Unfortunately, he picked up How to Cook with Magic, which didnt help at all when the book exploded with flour and something that smelled suspiciously like rotten eggs. Hes still finding bits of pastry in his hair.Spotted a group of wizards arguing loudly over a game of who can read the most unreadable spell. Detritus tried to help by suggesting they read it aloud for extra clarity. The resulting magical backlash sent a shower of sparks flying. Naturally, everyone just started yelling louder, convinced it was part of the game.As I left, I caught the Librarian throwing a particularly heavy book at one of the wizards. Guess hes tired of the noise, too. Remind myself to avoid the library during the next full moon. 

Weve been called to no less than five taverns today because of tap-related disputes. Apparently, someones been going around Ankh-Morpork installing fancy new taps, and now half the citys in an uproar because they cant figure out how to get the beer out. These new taps come with temperature control and anti-drip mechanismsbasically meaning theyre impossible to use unless youre a certified locksmith.Carrot, of course, finds the whole thing fascinating. Hes decided to make it his mission to teach people the honor and patience of the perfect pour. As if Ankh-Morporkians have patience for anything that doesnt come out of a bottle with a cork.Meanwhile, Nobby got his hands on one of these new taps and tried to rig it up at the Watch House. Claims its for everyones benefit, though I suspect its more about him trying to sneak in after-hours pints. Detritus accidentally yanked it off the barrel on his first try, resulting in a flood of ale that half the Watch had to help mop upthough not without testing some first. All in the name of duty, of course.As for me, Ill stick with a plain old bottle, thank you very much. If I have to battle the plumbing just to get a drink, civilization has gone too far. 

Found myself by Pseudopolis Yard, and the Watch House was empty and quiet, too. Its odd, being there alone, surrounded by all the trappings of the jobhelmets, truncheons, a stack of paperwork no ones gotten around to yet. Sometimes I think Ive become part of the place, like an old chair thats always there, even when you dont notice it. Just Sam Vimes and his city, locked together in a mutual struggle not to kill each other.Ankh-Morpork isnt a kind city. Its grubby and loud and dangerous. But its mine, in a way I cant quite explain. I suppose if you spend enough years looking after somethingeven something as rough as this placeyou start to care about it, despite yourself. And so here I am, yet again, keeping watch over a city that doesnt know its being watched. Or maybe it does and just doesnt care. 

Spent the day trying to wrap my head around a case that feels more like a puzzle than a proper crime. Someones been sneaking around the Alchemists' Guild, swapping out ingredients here and there, replacing quicklime with talcum powder, sulfur with chalk. No ones been hurtyetbut if you know anything about alchemists, youll know that a little mix-up can turn into a citywide fireworks display.The trouble with puzzles is theyre just problems with fancy dressing. A murders simple: theres a body, a weapon, and a motive. But puzzleswell, theyre annoying. Theyre deliberately complicated, as if whoevers behind it all is sitting there, grinning like a maniac, thinking hes clever because hes got the rest of us running in circles.I will admit, theres a certain grim satisfaction in solving a puzzle, though. Its like taking the citys mess and trying to make sense of it, even if only for a moment. You pull at the threads, you turn the pieces around, you squint at it from every angle until something clicks. And when it does, theres this brief flash of clarity, as if the city itself has allowed you to catch up with itbefore it shoves you right back into the chaos.Tonight, as I sit here with my notes and half a dozen sketches that make no more sense than they did this morning, I wonder why someone would go to all this trouble. Maybe its just another person who thinks theyre smarter than everyone else, or maybe its someone who wants to watch the world burn, but slowly, piece by piece.Whoever they are, theyve left me with a headache and a city that seems to be snickering just out of reach. Ill crack this, eventually. I always do. But in the meantime, Ill keep an eye out for anyone looking a bit too pleased with themselves. 

Ended up at the Mended Drum tonight, though gods know why. I dont drink anymore, and the Drums hardly the sort of place you go to soak up the atmosphereunless you like the atmosphere smelling like stale beer and regret.The Drums an institution in Ankh-Morpork. Its the sort of place that keeps going through pure stubbornness, despite the fact its been burned down, blown up, and remodeled more times than anyone can count. Its got that peculiar mix of menace and charm only found in places where people are routinely thrown through windows as a sort of informal greeting. The brawls there are practically a tourist attraction. Theres even a list behind the bar of how many people have tried to burn the place down and failed. Theyre up to seventy-three, apparently.Tonight, the usual crowd was there. A couple of trolls were in a heated discussion over a game of Thud, a group of dwarfs were singing something that sounded suspiciously rude, and Corporal Nobbs was hustling a few unsuspecting souls at dice in the corner. Hell claim hes there to keep an eye on things, of course, but Im fairly certain hes just padding his emergency fund.And then theres Igneous Cutwell, the Drums doorman. Hes been there as long as anyone can remember, and hes about as friendly as a brick wall with spikes. But the regulars like him. Igneous has a unique way of keeping order. He doesnt throw you out, you seehe just suggests, in that gravelly voice of his, that you might be more comfortable outside. And suddenly you find yourself in the street, wondering how you got there.I watched the crowd for a while, because a copper never really stops working, and Ive learned that the Drum is where the citys true pulse can be felt. If you want to know whats really going on in Ankh-Morpork, forget the city square or the guild halls. The Drums where the rumors start, where the petty rivalries fester, and where alliances are made over spilled beer and broken noses.As I was leaving, I heard someone yell, Hey, thats my pint! followed by the unmistakable crash of a chair meeting a head. And right on cue, a full-on brawl erupted. Tables overturned, people shouted, and someone went flying out the front door, much to Igneouss satisfaction. And I just stood there, watching the chaos unfold, thinking that if Ankh-Morpork were a pub, it would be the Mended Drum: loud, lawless, and stubbornly indestructible.The Drum may be rough around the edges, but in a strange way, its a perfect reflection of the city itself. Its messy, unpredictable, and prone to sudden bouts of violence, but its also strangely comforting. Because no matter what, you know itll still be there tomorrow, still standing, still serving the sort of people who thrive on a bit of chaos.And if thats not Ankh-Morpork in a nutshell, I dont know what is. 

People dont give trolls enough credit, really. They assume big and slow means stupid, but thats like assuming a siege weapons useless because it doesnt do cartwheels. Detritus might be slower to think things through, but when he does, he gets it in his own way. And hes fiercely loyal. When a troll signs on to protect the city, its not just a job for themits something that matters. A kind of honor code, built from the rubble up.Of course, we did have one incident on the way back to the Yard. A couple of lads from the Assassins Guild thought itd be a good idea to make fun of Detritus as we passed. As if being part of a guild makes them somehow untouchable. Well, Detritus very calmly picked them up by their collars, held them at eye level, and very gently suggested they reconsider their life choices. They agreed immediately.Sometimes I think we should all be more like trolls: straightforward, to the point, and very good at scaring idiots into behaving themselves. But then again, if I were like Detritus, Id have destroyed half the Watch House by now. 

Walked through the Shades a while ago. I used to be terrified of this place, years back. Then I spent enough time here to learn that the Shades isnt dangerous because of the darknessits dangerous because of what people do with it. People like that nice young man I caught trying to pick my pocket. He looked positively horrified when he realized who I was. We had a little chat, after which he decided hed be better off finding an honest line of work. (Somewhere far away, I hope.) 

Ran into Detritus by the pork pie stall on Market Street. I swear, that troll could clear out half the citys pie vendors on his own. But hes a good copper. Solid as they come, in every sense of the word. Half the time, he has to think about which way up to hold a pencil, but give him an order and hell see it done, no matter how many walls or doors are in the way. 

Its quiet tonight. Too quiet. When youve been in this job as long as I have, a silent Ankh-Morpork feels wrong, like the city itself is holding its breath. Makes you suspicious. Whats everyone up to? Did crime suddenly decide it was too much trouble to get out of bed? Ha. Unlikely. Probably lurking around the next corner, waiting for me to blink. 

Just me, tonight. Everyone else is off-duty, but here I am, because crime doesnt keep office hours and neither, apparently, do I. Tried to go home, but the idea of sitting alone in the dark with just a bottle and my thoughts seemed... unwise. So here I am, wandering the streets, muttering to myself like some kind of deranged gargoyle. 

Somewhere in the Ramtops. I was promised "a scenic visit to Ankh-Morpork's lovely rural neighbors," but as far as I can tell, scenic here just means bloody freezing, and neighborly means highly suspicious of city folk.We stopped in a small village where everyone seemed a bit too interested in our business. After Carrot mentioned we were from the Watch, an old woman cackled and spat over her shoulder, which Im told is a form of blessing around here. Or a curse. Might be both.I don't know much about witches, but I know enough to tread carefully. The one they call Nanny Ogg tried to get me to sing a song in a pub called "The Hedgehog Can Never Be Buggered at All," which, despite Carrots enthusiasm, I declined. That didn't stop her from slipping a suspicious "homemade" drink into my hand, which tasted like fermented shoe polish but apparently is "good for the humors." One of those humors being "dizziness," I think.As for Granny Weatherwax, she just stared at me. For an uncomfortably long time. Didnt say a word. Just... stared. By the end, I felt like Id been interrogated without a single question asked. I tried to explain city policing, and she made a sound that, frankly, I didnt know was humanly possible. Then she told me she dont hold much with paperwork and has other ways of getting the truth out of people, which Im trying very hard not to think about.The locals say the witches keep peace in their own way, and from what I can tell, the whole village behaves as if under constant surveillance, even though there are no eyes on them. If I could bottle that effect, Id take it back to Ankh-Morpork and get the Watch half the criminals without lifting a finger. But no, apparently it only works if youre cunning and wise in the ways of hedges.Meanwhile, Anguas pacing, Nobbys managed to buy what looks like a love charm from a woman with a slight mustache, and Carrot is absolutely delighted with everything, as usual. All in all, a successful patrol, I supposeif by successful, I mean we survived without being transformed into anything unpleasant. 

Got a call from the Patricians officeagain. Apparently, theres an erratic troll causing mayhem down by the docks. Turns out Detritus decided to experiment with a new cooling helmet he cobbled together, thinking itd make him smarter. And to be fair, it did work for a minuteuntil it overcooled his brain, and he started reciting poetry. Bad poetry.By the time we got down there, he was demanding that dockworkers call him Lord Granite and listen to his musings on the nature of cobblestones. Managed to get the helmet off him before things got worse, though he gave Carrot a whole sonnet about the soul of stones. Oddly moving, in its own tragic way.Ive told Detritus he can go back to wearing his regular helmetno more experimental upgrades. He was disappointed, said it made him feel philosophical. I told him well manage with one philosopher in the Watch, and thats already too many. 

They say you should never tempt fate in this city. Yet someone at the Mended Drum thought it would be hilarious to shout Guards! Guards! right as a brawl broke out. Naturally, the entire Watch showed up, charging in like cavalry, only to find we were all running in circles trying to figure out who actually needed help. Turns out it was no one. Some joker just wanted to see what we'd do.Of course, Nobby took the opportunity to pass around a hat for Emergency Guarding Funds. Last I checked, hed raised a respectable amount before Carrot found out and gave everyone refunds. Nobby was devastated. Claimed he was simply safeguarding the city's coins.Back at the Watch House, I reminded everyone that shouting Guards! Guards! is only supposed to happen when theres an actual dragon, or at the very least a mad wizard. But, as Colon pointed out, in Ankh-Morpork, you never really know. Which is exactly the problem. 

I woke up this morning to the usual reports of goblins stealing chickens, dwarfs arguing with trolls over whose rock is it anyway, and Nobby boasting about his incredible lineage, which considering he might be the ugliest man in Ankh-Morpork is a truly horrifying thought.Then theres Carrot. Perfect Carrot. Fresh off his rounds, reporting to me with that ridiculous, honest smile plastered on his face like he actually enjoys policing this city of lunatics. Says he enjoyed chatting with Mr. Scumble, Ankh-Morporks premier purveyor of throat-searing alcohol. Either hes immune, or the lads genuinely got no sense of taste.Detritus accidentally broke three cell doors trying to help a pickpocket into a cell. Even Sybils swamp dragon looked offended. It was somehow still the most reasonable thing that happened today.Memo to self: look into retiring. 

Patrol through Quarry Lane tonight, which means were smack in troll territory. Most people think patrolling around trolls is like wandering into an avalanche and politely asking it to stop. In my experience, its more like being followed by an avalanche thats heard youre the law and is trying its best to behave... most of the time.I like trolls. Sure, theyre made of rock and can turn a man into a smear on the pavement with one good swing, but at least with trolls, you know where you stand. They dont do subtle. If they dont like you, theyll tell youor, if youre lucky, theyll just break something nearby to get the point across. Actually refreshing, compared to the backstabbing and whispered deals you get with humans. If a troll wants you dead, youll know immediately. 

Assigned to patrol the Royal Gardens today, because apparently someone thought I needed a pleasant change of scenery. Either that, or Lord Vetinari is having a bit of a laugh. Gardens, as it turns out, are just another way of trapping you in nature, only with extra pruning.Its strangeAnkh-Morporks a city that never met a tree it couldnt chop down, and yet the Royal Gardens here are lush, green, and bursting with life, as if in open rebellion against the city. Carrot, of course, is absolutely thrilled. Hes busy memorizing every type of flower we pass and quizzing himself aloud, much to the despair of the squirrels and pigeons, and myself.Nobby keeps muttering about expensive plants and whether anyone would really notice if a bush or two went missing. I had to remind him that these gardens are technically property of the Patrician, and Id rather not spend another week patrolling the Ankh. Meanwhile, Anguas wandering off and sniffing suspiciously at every shrub, looking for gods-know-what.And then there are the statues. Nothing says "garden elegance" like half-naked figures staring blankly off into the distance, although in this city, you do wonder if the sculptor was being held at knifepoint and just wanted to get on with it. Nearly tripped over one thats supposed to be artfully overgrown. Clearly, no one informed the gardeners that a statue entirely engulfed in ivy is about as artistic as a sack of potatoes left in a hedge.Towards the end of the patrol, we ran into Lady Sybil, who was here with her dragon society for horticultural inspiration. She was absolutely delighted to see me and suggested I join her next weekend for a day out with the dahlias. I cant say no to her, of course, so now I have that to look forward to. If you could bottle my enthusiasm, it would likely smell of resignation and damp soil. 

Some genius on the city council thought it would be a good idea to build a swing bridge over the river. Apparently, itll revolutionize Ankh-Morporks infrastructure, or so the architect says. What it actually means is that, twice today, Nobbys ended up on the wrong side of the bridge with a cartload of confiscated cabbage, waving madly while the bridge spun the other way.Carrot is fascinated by the whole thingclaims its a marvel of engineering. I told him any bridge that swings like a weather vane isnt a bridge, its an elaborate practical joke. People keep gathering to watch it, trying to guess which side will open next. And then theres Detritus, who accidentally broke the crank on his lunch break, resulting in half the dockside stranded with fish that are nowby all accountsripe enough to walk home by themselves.All in all, the revolutionary bridge is causing more chaos than the old rickety one ever did. If you ask me, a bridge should stay put. But, as usual, no one asks me. 

Apparently, were dealing with demons now. Got a call from Mrs. Spindle over on New Cobblers: claimed her husband was possessed after he started muttering in a strange voice and levitating slightly. I figured it was just the gin talking, but Carrot insisted on investigating. Turns out Mr. Spindle had tried summoning a small helping spirit to do the housework, and, wellnow hes stuck with a minor demon named Krikkthral the Ever-Damp, who spends his days sulking in the pantry and dripping ooze on the flour sacks.After that, news spread faster than sewer rats. Now half the Shades wants their own household demon, and weve been called out every hour to sort out domestic disagreements with these so-called helpful fiends. The thing is, most of these demons have very particular ideas about help. One family ended up with a demon that cleans everything by setting it on fire, while another got one thats allergic to dust and just screams whenever its near a broom.Carrots doing his best to negotiate, saying we ought to respect cultural differences, but frankly, a screaming pile of purple goo isnt my idea of cultural enrichment. Sybil suggested I try summoning one myself for watch office organization. I told her Id rather face down an unlicensed thief than a well-meaning demon with a mop. 

Got a note from the Patrician. Suggested I pay the wizards a courtesy call to remind them about civic duty. Hah. My courtesy will be telling them to stop summoning dragons in populated areas. Again. 

The docks have turned into a right circus today. A shipment of exotic goods arrived from the farthest reaches of the Empire, and the dockworkers decided it was the perfect opportunity to stage a competition: Who Can Identify the Most Unidentifiable Cargo. So far, we have an impressive haul of squawking crates, unidentifiable fish, and what appears to be a large, very irate thing with tentacles thats still in its original packaging.Carrot, bless him, has taken it upon himself to rescue the various creatures, while Nobbys trying to sell tickets to a live tentacle wrestling match. I advised against it, reminding him that getting involved with tentacles rarely ends wellespecially when they come from the docks.On my rounds, I stumbled across a group of merchants debating the merits of authentic slime versus specially imported slime. Apparently, theres a thriving market for both, and they take it very seriously. I suggested that if theyre going to argue over slime, they should at least do it somewhere less likely to splash all over me.By the end of the day, Ive decided the docks are a lot like Ankh-Morpork itself: chaotic, unpredictable, and best navigated with a strong stomach and a good pair of boots. 

The Ankh River. Or, as I like to call it, "solid evidence that the gods have a sick sense of humor." They say all rivers lead to the sea, but Im fairly certain this one leads straight to the bottom of humanitys barrel, with a few stops for toxic waste along the way.Last night, there was another incident by the docks. Some poor soul was trying to dump... well, something in there. Probably thought it was a good hiding place. Imagine their surprise when the stuff just sat on the surface, refusing to sink, as though the Ankh itself rejected it. Carrot tried to arrest them for improper waste disposal, but Id argue that theres no proper way to interact with the Ankh, unless it involves burning it from a distance.Nobby claims you can walk across it if you're brave enough. He might even be right, which is the terrifying part. I saw a barge go by this morning, and I swear it got stuck. Didnt hit anything, just... sat there, like a fly in treacle. They had to push it along with a big stick, and even that took three men.Meanwhile, the Watch keeps a strict policy on Ankh rescues. Officially, if someone falls in, were to throw a rope but under no circumstances should any officer physically enter the river. When Sergeant Colon tried once, he came out looking like he'd taken a swim in solid mud. Took him three days and a small fire to get his boots off.They say the rivers always been like this, but I dont believe it. Somewhere in the citys long, grubby history, someone did this to it. And one day, when Im off duty, I plan to find out whoand make them drink it. 

Lady Sybils got castles on the brain latelykeeps dropping hints about a holiday retreat in one. She says a week surrounded by ancient stone and noble history would be good for me. I told her Ive had quite enough ancient stone here in Ankh-Morpork, thank you, usually falling on my head from some assassin's rooftop. She says itll be different because these stones will have views.Meanwhile, Carrots excited, naturally. Hes started a lecture series in the Watch about the significance of castle architecture in upholding civic order. I havent the heart to tell him that around here, civic order means patching up the wall so it stays up through Hogswatch. Nobby already tried to sell him a genuine piece of castle wall from a house he claims is just as old as any castle. 

Every year I think Ive seen the worst of this city, and every year this city says Hold my drink and throws something new at me. This week, its flying things.First, we've got the wizards up at the University mucking about with aerial thaumic research again, which is what they call it when theyve been drinking heavily and see how far they can launch objects before they start exploding. Then theres Moist von Lipwigs mail delivery system, which now involves owls, bats, and some oversized pigeon that just took a dump on my helmet.And then, as if summoned by my sheer irritation, theres a mob of cackling ravens just sitting on the Watchs roof. Waiting. Theyre either planning a coup or just mocking me personally. Probably both.Oh, and Errol. Sybil insists our swamp dragon just needs a little exercise. Fine. I look forward to finding him atop the rooftops of Pseudopolis Yard, smoking like a chimney stack, with every pigeon in the city fleeing in terror.Conclusion: This city is not meant to have anything airborne. Including me, if I can help it. 

Day whatever of being Commander of the City Watch, and the good people of Ankh-Morpork have yet to invent the concept of "a quiet night." Last night, Nobby found a hat in the gutter and tried to convince us hed been made a duke. Again. And now hes insisting on being addressed as "Your Grace."Meanwhile, Sergeant Colon tried to break up a "civil disturbance" at the Mended Drum, which turned out to be well, the Mended Drum, in its usual state of civil unrest. Took us half an hour to peel him off the ceiling, where hed gone after mistaking a rat for a crossbow bolt. Never thought I'd say it, but the man needs a new phobia. Something refreshing, like being afraid of taxmen.Carrot is still insufferably cheerful about everything. Doesnt seem to get that the average street thug doesnt want to be greeted with Hows your mother? before he's arrested. As for Angua, she's taken to glaring at me every time I mention going for a walkI'm starting to suspect she thinks I'm making some sort of subtle joke, which, of course, Im absolutely not clever enough to attempt.And the paperwork! Paperwork is supposed to keep you busy, keep things organized. Instead, it's breeding. Every time I turn around, another stacks appeared on my desk, like it's giving birth when I'm not looking. Only the Patrician could invent a job where filling out forms is a criminal deterrent.Gods, if I wanted a peaceful, orderly life, Id have gone and joined the Seamstresses Guild. 

Ramtops. Again. Because apparently, Ankh-Morpork isnt cold and miserable enough already.Patrician insists the mountains will do us good, as if fresh air and stunning views are what the City Watch needs. I suspect he means out of his hair. Either way, were here, freezing, and apparently under attack from a particularly aggressive mountain goat that decided to charge Nobby. I dont know what Nobby did to insult it, but I believe it. Even nature finds him annoying.The locals here in the Ramtops seem nice enough, though their idea of "helpful directions" involves using words like "yonder" and "back a-ways," none of which seem to correspond to any known map. Asked a farmer for directions to a nearby village and was told, Go down past the big rock, then keep left of the hawthorn bush until you see Old Man Crumleys barn whats left of it. Very reassuring. Carrots convinced were on the right path, though, which probably means were lost.Anguas on edgesomething about the mountain air puts her wolf nose into overdrive, so now shes growling at every strange smell, which, around here, seems to be every smell. As for me, Im busy wondering why I ever thought policing Ankh-Morpork's criminals was the worst job I could possibly have. That was before I knew Id be trekking through goat-infested mountain passes in boots Im convinced were designed by a sadist.Maybe Ill just become a shepherd. 

Today was all about schist. Yes, schista type of rock, apparently. Detritus has been going on about it all day since he attended a Minerals of the Disc lecture (dont ask me why; I suspect it was the promise of free rock samples). Now hes convinced that schist is the ultimate rock and wont shut up about its fine layering and superior structural integrity.Of course, Nobby immediately saw this as a business opportunity and tried to sell Detritus some premium quality schist he claims he imported from berwald. Looked suspiciously like gravel from the park. Detritus, to his credit, squinted at it, grunted, and declared it inferior knockoff schist.Meanwhile, Carrot took this as a chance to give an impromptu speech to the Watch about the importance of understanding geological diversity, which lost most of us at igneous. At one point, he even suggested we could use our new schist knowledge to identify suspicious rocks at crime scenes. I told him if I find any rocks, suspicious or otherwise, they can stay right where they are.Sybil has now ordered a book on schist to enrich my horizons. If I have to read 300 pages on rock strata, Ill likely end up with rocks in my head. 

Carrots convinced we can keep the peace with a good example and a warm smile. I reminded him that were in Ankh-Morpork, where a warm smile means someones eyeing your wallet, and a good example just gets you mugged faster. He didnt seem deterred. Bless him.Had a briefing with Nobby and Colon this morning. Thirty seconds in, Colon was explaining his theory on the spontaneous combustion of sausages, and Nobby was trying to sell me a limited edition dragon scale. For a man who has made it his lifes work to avoid actual work, Nobbys quite industrious when it comes to fleecing me.Also, Sybils asking if Ive finally cleaned the boots. I told her I would. Soon. Probably right after we catch a dragon thats set up shop in the Shades. She pointed out that weve done that twice already. Ive run out of excuses and dragons. 

Today I learned more than I ever wanted to about fjords, thanks to Sergeant Colons cousinwho, it turns out, is an expert in fjord-related affairs. According to Colon, fjords are the real beauty of nature and have mystical properties. Just what I neededNobby now thinks theyre lucky and has suggested we import a few for good Watch fortune. I reminded him that fjords are giant chasms filled with seawater, not lucky charms you can shove in your pocket.Carrot, ever the optimist, thinks we should organize an official visit to learn more about these impressive formations. He doesnt seem fazed that itd mean a week on a ship with Colon lecturing us on cliffs and tides. Sybil thinks itd do me good, all that fresh air and natural wonder. I told her Id settle for fresh air without falling into a ravine. 

Got a message this morning from the dwarfs in the city, warning me about "unstable reflections" in the mountains. Apparently, some genius up in Uberwald found a way to use mirrors to look into other worlds. Dwarfs called it groundbreakingI call it asking for trouble. The last thing we need is more bizarre visitors turning up with mystical quests, prophecies, or impossible riddles. We've got enough nonsense here already.So, of course, Carrot wants to go up to the mountains to see for himself. I reminded him that last time we went to Uberwald, we came back with more bite marks than sense. Carrot thinks it'll be "different" this time. Bless him, really.In other news, Lady Sybil is convinced I need "mountain air." I told her Im perfectly happy with the regular kind, preferably from behind my desk. She gave me that look that says were going anyway. No rest for the sane, apparently. 

Caught Nobby with a bag of sugar from the Watch storeroom. Apparently, hes decided that pure sugar counts as a defensive weapon because, and I quote, "itll slow down attackers if they trip over it." I decided against asking too many questions; some things are better left undisturbed, like swamp dragons and Nobbys reasoning.Meanwhile, Carrot found a lost chicken on Market Street and insisted we carry out a full investigation into its mysterious origins. Only in Ankh-Morpork would a missing chicken require two witnesses, four hours, and a dozen paperwork forms. Still, Carrots happy. The chickens less so.Sybil sent me lunch: a neat package of sandwiches with a note reminding me to eat something "that doesnt taste like an old boot." Shes been eyeing my diet ever since I tried putting salt on bacon fat.