“Look,” said Reg. “Everything will belong to the people and everyone will be better off. Do you understand?”
The shoemaker's frown grew deeper. He wasn't certain if he was part of the people.
“I thought we just didn't want soldiers down our street and mobs and all that lot,” he said.
Reg had a hunted look. He made a dive for safety. “Well, at least we can agree on Truth, Freedom and Justice, yes?”
There was a chorus of nods. Everyone wanted those. They didn't cost anything.
A match flared in the dark, and they turned to see Vimes light a cigar.
“You'd like Freedom, Truth and Justice, wouldn't you, comrade sergeant?” said Reg encouragingly.
“I'd like a hard-boiled egg,” said Vimes, shaking the match out.
There was some nervous laughter, but Reg looked offended.
“In the circumstances, sergeant, I think we should set our sights a little higher—”
“Well, yes, we could,” said Vimes, coming down the steps. He glanced at the sheets of paper in front of Reg. The man cared. He really did. And he was serious. He really was. “But…well, Reg, tomorrow the sun will come up again, and I'm pretty sure that whatever happens we won't have found Freedom, and there won't be a whole lot of Justice, and I'm damn sure we won't have found Truth. But it's just possible that I might get a hard-boiled egg. What's this all about, Reg?”