Jingo - Terry Pratchett [125]
A stream of blue smoke was blown past Vimes’s ear.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” said 71-hour Ahmed. He had a D’reg crossbow in each hand. “You will note that the soldiers behind me are also well armed? Good. My name is 71-hour Ahmed. I will shoot the last man to drop his weapons. You have my word on it.”
The Morporkians looked puzzled. The Klatchians began to whisper urgently.
“Put ’em down, boys,” said Vimes.
The Morporkians threw their swords down hurriedly. The Klatchians dropped theirs very shortly afterward.
“A tie between the gentleman on the left and the tall one with the squint,” said 71-hour Ahmed, raising both crossbows.
“Hey,” said Vimes, “you can’t—”
The bows twanged. The men dropped, yelling.
“However,” said Ahmed, handing the bows to a D’reg behind him, who handed him another loaded one, “out of deference to the sensibilities of Commander Vimes here, I’m settling for one in the thigh and one in the toes. We are, after all, on a mission of peace.”
He turned to Vimes. “I’m sorry, Sir Samuel, but it’s important that people know where they stand with me.”
“These two don’t,” said Vimes.
“They’ll live.”
Vimes moved closer to the wali.
“Huthuthut?” he hissed. “You told me that it meant—”
“I thought it would prove a good example to all if you were in the lead,” Ahmed whispered. “The D’regs will always follow a man who is in a hurry for the fray.”
Lord Rust stepped out into the sunlight and glared at Vimes.
“Vimes? What the hell are you doing?”
“Not turning a blind eye, my lord.”
Vimes pushed past and into the shade. There was Prince Cadram, still seated. And there were a lot of armed men. These, he noted almost in passing, didn’t have the look of ordinary soldiers. They had the much tougher look of loyal bodyguards.
“So,” said the Prince, “you come in here armed, under a flag of peace?”
“Are you Prince Cadram?” said Vimes.
“And you, too, Ahmed?” said the Prince, ignoring Vimes.
Ahmed nodded, and said nothing.
Oh, not now, thought Vimes. Tough as leather and vicious as a wasp, but now he’s in the presence of his king…
“You’re under arrest,” he said.
The Prince made a little sound between a cough and a laugh.
“I’m what?”
“I am arresting you for conspiracy to murder your brother. And there may be other charges.”
The Prince put his hands over his face for a moment and then pulled them down toward his chin, in the action of a tired man endeavoring to come to grips with a trying situation.
“Mr.—?” he began.
“Sir Samuel Vimes, Ankh-Morpork City Watch,” said Vimes.
“Well, Mr. Samuel, when I raise my hand the men behind me will cut you d—”
“I will kill the first man that moves,” said Ahmed.
“Then the second man that moves will kill you, traitor!” shouted the Prince.
“They’ll have to move very fast,” said Carrot, drawing his sword.
“Any volunteers to be the third man?” said Vimes. “Anyone?”
General Ashal moved, but only very gently, holding up a hand. The bodyguards relaxed slightly.
“What was that…lie you uttered about a murder?” he said.
“Have you gone mad, Ashal?” said the Prince.
“Oh, sire, before I can disbelieve these pernicious lies, I do need to know what they are.”
“Vimes, you have gone insane,” said Rust. “You can’t arrest the commander of an army!”
“Actually, Mr. Vimes, I think we could,” said Carrot. “And the army, too. I mean, I don’t see why we can’t. We could charge them with behavior likely to cause a breach of the peace, sir. I mean, that’s what warfare is.”
Vimes’s face split in a manic grin. “I like it.”
“But in fairness our—that is, the Ankh-Morpork army—are also—”
“Then you’d better arrest them, too,” said Vimes. “Arrest the lot of ’em. Conspiracy to cause an affray,” he started to count on his fingers, “going equipped to commit a crime, obstruction, threatening behavior, loitering with intent, loitering within tent, hah, traveling for the purposes of committing a crime, malicious lingering