Guards! Guards! - Terry Pratchett [124]
“Yes, sir!”
Carrot stepped forward, saluted, folded an enormous hand into a fist and rapped gently on the woodwork.
“Open up,” he said, “in the name of the Law!”
There was some whispering on the other side of the gates, and eventually a small hatch halfway up the door slid open a fraction and a voice said, “Why?”
“Because if you don’t it will be Impeding an Officer of the Watch in the Execution of his Duty, which is punishable by a fine of not less than thirty dollars, one month’s imprisonment, or being remanded in custody for social inquiry reports and half an hour with a red-hot poker,” said Carrot.
There was some more muffled whispering, the sound of bolts being drawn, and then the gates opened about halfway.
There was no one visible on the other side.
Vimes put a finger to his lips. He motioned Carrot toward one gate and dragged Nobby and Colon to the other.
“Push,” he whispered. They pushed, hard. There was a sudden eruption of pained cursing from behind the woodwork.
“Run!” shouted Colon.
“No!” shouted Vimes. He walked around the gate. Four semi-crushed palace guards glowered at him.
“No,” he said. “No more running. I want these men arrested.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” said one of the men. Vimes peered at him.
“Clarence, isn’t it?” he said. “With a C. Well, Clarence with a C, watch my lips. Either you can be charged with Aiding and Abetting or—” he leaned closer, and glanced meaningfully at Carrot—“with an ax.”
“Swivel on that one, doggybag!” added Nobby, jumping from one foot to the other in vicious excitement.
Clarence’s little piggy eyes glared at the looming bulk that was Carrot, and then at Vimes’s face. There was absolutely no mercy there. He appeared to reach a reluctant decision.
“Jolly good,” said Vimes. “Lock them in the gatehouse, Sergeant.”
Colon drew his bow and squared his shoulders. “You heard the Man,” he rasped. “One false move and you’re…you’re—” he took a desperate stab at it—“you’re Home Economics!”
“Yeah! Slam ’em up in the banger!” shouted Nobby. If worms could turn, Nobby was revolving at generating speeds. “Doucheballs!” he sneered, at their retreating backs.
“Aiding and Abetting what, Captain?” said Carrot, as the weaponless guards trooped away. “You have to aid and abet something.”
“I think in this case it will just be generalized abetting,” said Vimes. “Persistent and reckless abetment.”
“Yeah,” said Nobby. “Can’t stand abettors. Slime-breaths!”
Colon handed Captain Vimes the guardhouse key. “It’s not very secure in there, Captain,” he said. “They’ll be able to break out eventually.”
“I hope so,” said Vimes, “because the very first drain we come to, you’re going to drop the key down it. Everyone here? Right. Follow me.”
Lupine Wonse scurried along the ruined corridors of the palace, The Summoning of Dragons under one arm, the glittering royal sword grasped uncertainly in one hand.
He halted, panting, in a doorway.
Not a lot of his mind was currently in a state sane enough to have proper thoughts, but the small part that was still in business kept insisting that it couldn’t have seen what it had seen or heard what it had heard.
Someone was following him.
And he’d seen Vetinari walking through the palace. He knew the man was securely put away. The lock was completely unpickable. He remembered the Patrician being absolutely insistent that it be an unpickable lock when it was installed.
There was movement in the shadows at the end of the passage. Wonse gibbered a bit, fumbled with the doorhandle beside him, darted in, slammed the door and leaned against it, fighting for breath.
He opened his eyes.
He was in the old private audience room. The Patrician was sitting in his old seat, one leg crossed on the other, watching him with mild interest.
“Ah, Wonse,” he said.
Wonse jumped, scrabbled at the doorhandle, leapt into the corridor and ran for it until he reached the main staircase, rising now