Men at Arms - Terry Pratchett [117]
“Dear me, all those? I’m afraid Edward killed Brother Beano. That was his own idea, the little fool. He said he hadn’t meant to. And I understand that Hammerhock was killed accidentally. A freak accident. He poked around and the charge fired and the slug bounced off his anvil and killed him. That’s what Edward said. He came to see me afterwards. He was very upset. Made a clean breast of the whole thing, you know. So I killed him. Well, what else could I do? He was quite mad. There’s no dealing with that sort of person. May I suggest you step back, sire? I’d prefer not to shoot you. No! Not unless I have to!”
It seemed to Vimes that Cruces was arguing with himself. The gonne swung violently.
“He was babbling,” said Cruces. “He said the gonne killed Hammerhock. I said, it was an accident? And he said no, no accident, the gonne killed Hammerhock.”
Carrot took another step forward. Cruces seemed to be in his own world now.
“No! The gonne killed the beggar girl, too. It wasn’t me! Why should I do a thing like that?”
Cruces took a step back, but the gonne swung up toward Carrot. It looked to Vimes as though it moved of its own accord, like an animal sniffing the air…
“Get down!” Vimes hissed. He reached out and tried to find his crossbow.
“He said the gonne was jealous! Hammerhock would have made more gonnes! Stop where you are!”
Carrot took another step.
“I had to kill Edward! He was a romantic, he would have got it wrong! But Ankh-Morpork needs a king!”
The gun jerked and fired at the same moment as Carrot leapt sideways.
The tunnels were brilliant with smells, mostly the acrid yellows and earthy oranges of ancient drains. And there were hardly any air currents to disturb things; the line that was Cruces snaked through the heavy air. And there was the smell of the gonne, as vivid as a wound.
I smelled gonne in the Guild, she thought, just after Cruces walked past. And Gaspode said that was all right, because the gonne had been in the Guild—but it hadn’t been fired in the Guild. I smelled it because someone there had fired the thing.
She splashed through the water into the big cavern and saw, with her nose, the three of them—the indistinct figure that smelled of Vimes, the falling figure that was Carrot, the turning shape with the gonne…
And then she stopped thinking with her head and let her body take over. Wolf muscle drove her forward and up into a leap, water droplets flying from her mane, her eyes fixed on Cruces’ neck.
The gonne fired, four times. It didn’t miss once.
She hit the man heavily, knocking him backward.
Vimes rose in an explosion of spray.
“Six shots! That’s six shots, you bastard! I’ve got you now!”
Cruces turned as Vimes waded toward him, and scurried toward a tunnel, throwing up more spray.
Vimes snatched the bow from Carrot, aimed desperately and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.
“Carrot! You idiot! You never cocked the damn thing!”
Vimes turned.
“Come on, man! We can’t let him get away!”
“It’s Angua, captain.”
“What?”
“She’s dead!”
“Carrot! Listen. Can you find the way out in this stuff? No! So come with me!”
“I…can’t leave her here. I—”
“Corporal Carrot! Follow me!”
Vimes half ran, half waded through the rising water toward the tunnel that had swallowed Cruces. It was up a slope; he could feel the water dropping as he ran.
Never give the quarry time to rest. He’d learned that on his first day in the Watch. If you had to chase, then stay with it. Give the pursued time to stop and think and you’d go round a corner to find a sock full of sand coming the other way.
The walls and ceiling were closing in.
There were other tunnels here. Carrot had been right. Hundreds of people must have worked for years to build this. What Ankh-Morpork was built on was Ankh-Morpork.
Vimes stopped.
There was no sound of splashing, and tunnel mouths all around.
Then there was a flash of light, up a side tunnel.
Vimes scrambled toward it, and saw a pair of legs in a shaft of light from an open