Men at Arms - Terry Pratchett [114]
“Hell’s bells! What did that to his leg?”
“That’s the gonne for you! Sort him out! And Corporal Carrot too!”
“There’s no need,” said Vetinari, trying to smile and stand up. “It’s just a flesh—”
The leg collapsed under him.
Vimes blinked. He’d never expected this. The Patrician was the man who always had the answers, who was never surprised. Vimes had a sense that history was flapping loose…
“We can handle it, sir,” said Carrot. “I’ve got men on the roofs, and—”
“Shut up! Stay here! That’s an order!” Vimes fumbled in his pouch and hung his badge on his torn jacket. “Hey, you…Pyjama! I need a sword!”
Pyjama looked sullen.
“I only take orders from Corporal Carrot—”
“Give me a sword right now, you horrible little man! Right! Thank you! Now let’s get to the Tow—”
A shadow appeared in the doorway.
Detritus walked in.
They looked at the limp shape in his hands.
He laid it carefully on a bench, without saying a word, and went and sat in a corner. While the others gathered round the mortal remains of Acting-Constable Cuddy, the troll removed his homemade cooling helmet and sat staring at it, turning it over and over in his hands.
“He was on the floor,” said Sergeant Colon, leaning against the doorframe. “He must have been pushed off the stairs right at the top. Someone else was in there, too. Must’ve shinnied down a rope and caught me a right bang on the side of the head.”
“Being pushed down the Tower’s not worth it for a shilling,” said Carrot, vaguely.
It was better when the dragon came, thought Vimes. After it’d killed someone it was at least still a dragon. It went somewhere else but you could say: that’s a dragon, that is. It couldn’t nip over a wall and become just another person. You always knew what you were fighting. You didn’t have to—
“What’s that in Cuddy’s hand?” he said. He realized he’d been staring at it without seeing it for some time.
He tugged at it. It was a strip of black cloth.
“Assassins wear that,” said Colon blankly.
“So do lots of other people,” said Ridcully. “Black’s black.”
“You’re right,” said Vimes. “Taking any action on the basis of this would be premature. You know, it’d probably get me fired.”
He waved the cloth in front of Lord Vetinari.
“Assassins everywhere,” he said, “on guard. Seems they didn’t notice anything, eh? You gave them the bloody gonne because you thought they were the best to guard it! You never thought of giving it to the guards!”
“Aren’t we going to give chase, Corporal Carrot?” said Pyjama.
“Chase who? Chase where?” said Vimes. “He hit old Fred on the head and did a runner. He could trot around a corner, chuck the gonne over a wall, and who’d know? We don’t know who we’re looking for!”
“I do,” said Carrot.
He stood up, holding his shoulder.
“It’s easy to run,” he said. “We’ve done a lot of running. But that’s not how you hunt. You hunt by sitting still in the right place. Captain, I want the sergeant to go out there and tell people we’ve got the killer.”
“What?”
“His name is Edward d’Eath. Say we’ve got him in custody. Say he was caught and badly injured, but he’s alive.”
“But we haven’t—”
“He’s an Assassin.”
“We haven’t—”
“Yes, captain. I don’t like telling lies. But it might be worth it. Anyway, it’s not your problem, sir.”
“It isn’t? Why not?”
“You’re retiring in less than an hour.”
“I’m still captain right now, corporal. So you have to tell me what’s going on. That’s how things work.”
“We haven’t got time, sir. Do it, Sergeant Colon.”
“Carrot, I still run the Watch! I’m the one supposed to give the orders.”
Carrot hung his head.
“Sorry, captain.”
“Right. So long as that’s understood. Sergeant Colon?”
“Sir?”
“Put out the news that we’ve arrested Edward d’Eath. Whoever he is.”
“Yessir.”
“And your next move, Mr. Carrot?” said Vimes.
Carrot looked at the assembled wizards.
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Ook?”
“First, we need to get into the library—”
“First,” said Vimes, “Someone can lend me a helmet. I don’t feel I’m at work without a helmet. Thanks, Fred. Right…helmet…sword…badge. Now…”
There was sound under the