Guards! Guards! - Terry Pratchett [102]
“I wonder who it’ll be,” said Nobby.
“What?” said Carrot.
“The sacrifice, I mean.”
“Sergeant said people wouldn’t put up with it,” said Carrot stoically.
“Yeah, well. Look at it this way: if you say to people, what’s it to be, either your house burned down around you or some girl you’ve probably never met being eaten, well, they might get a bit thoughtful. Human nature, see.”
“I’m sure a hero will turn up in time,” said Carrot. “With some new sort of weapon, or something. And strike at its voonerable spot.”
There was the silence of sudden intense listening.
“What’s one of them?” said Nobby.
“A spot. Where it’s voonerable. My grandad used to tell me stories. Hit a dragon in its voonerables, he said, and you’ve killed it.”
“Like kicking it in the wossnames?” said Nobby, interestedly.
“Dunno. I suppose so. Although, Nobby, I’ve told you before it is not right to—”
“And where’s the spot, like?”
“Oh, a different place on each dragon. You wait till it flies over and then you say, there’s the voonerable spot, and then you kill it,” said Carrot. “Something like that.”
Sergeant Colon stared blankly into space.
“Hmm,” said Nobby.
They watched the panorama of panic for a while. Then Sergeant Colon said, “You sure about the voonerables?”
“Yes. Oh, yes.”
“I wish you hadn’t been, lad.”
They looked at the terrified city again.
“You know,” said Nobby, “you always told me you used to win prizes for archery in the army, Sergeant. You said you had a lucky arrow, you always made sure you got your lucky arrow back, you said you—”
“All right! All right! But this isn’t the same thing, is it? Anyway, I’m not a hero. Why should I do it?”
“Captain Vimes pays us thirty dollars a month,” said Carrot.
“Yes,” said Nobby, grinning, and you get five dollars extra responsibility allowance.”
“But Captain Vimes has gone,” said Colon wretchedly.
Carrot looked at him sternly. “I am sure,” he said, “that if he were here, he’d be the first to—”
Colon waved him into silence. “That’s all very well,” he said. “But what if I miss?”
“Look on the bright side,” said Nobby. “You’ll probably never know it.”
Sergeant Colon’s expression mutated into an evil, desperate grin. “We’ll never know it, you mean,” he said.
“What?”
“If you think I’m standing on some rooftop on my tod, you can think again. I order you to accompany me. Anyway,” he added, “you get one dollar responsibility allowance, too.”
Nobby’s face twisted in panic. “No I don’t!” he croaked. “Captain Vimes said he was docking it for five years for being a disgrace to the species!”
“Well, you might just get it back. Anyway, you know all about voonerables. I’ve watched you fight.”
Carrot saluted smartly. “Permission to volunteer, sir,” he said. “And I only get twenty dollars a month training pay an I don’t mind at all, sir.”
Sergeant Colon cleared his throat. Then he straightened the hang of his breastplate. It was one of those with astonishingly impressive pectoral muscles embossed upon it. His chest and stomach fitted into it in the same way that jelly fits into a mold.
What would Captain Vimes do now? Well, he’d have a drink. But if he didn’t have a drink, what would he do?
“What we need,” he said slowly, “is a Plan.”
That sounded good. That sentence alone sounded worth the pay. If you had a Plan, you were halfway there.
And already he thought he could hear the cheering of crowds. They were lining the streets, and they were throwing flowers, and he was being carried triumphantly through the grateful city.
The drawback was, he suspected, that he was being carried in an urn.
Lupine Wonse padded along the drafty corridors to the Patrician’s bedroom. It had never been a sumptuous apartment at best, and contained little more than a narrow bed and a few battered cupboards. It looked even worse now, with one wall gone. Sleepwalk at night now and you could step right into the vast cavern that was the Great Hall.
Even so, he shut the door