(no subject)
There were lots of things that Vimes was good at. Even he could admit that. He'd been a cop for over thirty years and he wasn't dead yet, and that took some talent. At fifty-four he could still chase a thieves across rooftops, climb up drainpipes, and, he'd like to think, outrun a werewolf or two if necessary. He wasn't bad at the detectoring business, either.
But there were some things that never sat right with an old copper who was more used to feeling street beneath his boots than sitting behind a desk. One of them was paperwork. Another was promotions.
Kowalski and Hornblower had made the decision he had never been able to, that family was more important than coppering, though he had every certainty that no matter what they said, they'd be in the office every damned chance they could. Just to annoy him. But that meant someone had to replace them. And he had to admit, he was pretty happy with the decision they had come to.
Lord Stark just better damned well accept.
But there were some things that never sat right with an old copper who was more used to feeling street beneath his boots than sitting behind a desk. One of them was paperwork. Another was promotions.
Kowalski and Hornblower had made the decision he had never been able to, that family was more important than coppering, though he had every certainty that no matter what they said, they'd be in the office every damned chance they could. Just to annoy him. But that meant someone had to replace them. And he had to admit, he was pretty happy with the decision they had come to.
Lord Stark just better damned well accept.