Night Watch - Terry Pratchett [121]
Between the cart and the barricade, struggling to escape from the crush, was a mass of frightened people.
“You get any orders, Sarge?” said Fred Colon, pulling himself up alongside Vimes. He looked up the street. “Oh dear,” he said.
“Yeah, this is when you need a couple of trolls on the force,” said Vimes. “I reckon Detr—”
“Trolls? Huh, wouldn’t work with any trolls,” said Colon. “Too fick to take orders.”
You’ll find out one day, thought Vimes, and said aloud: “Okay. Anyone that can’t or shouldn’t have a weapon, they get back as far as possible, right? Get a message to Dickins, tell him we’ll need anyone he can spare, but—blast it!”
What’d happened before? There’d been a lot of activity against the barricades, but it had been a feint while the cavalry were sneaking around outside. He didn’t remember this.
He glanced at the oncoming wagon. At the top of the wobbling wall, on the other side, there was generally a narrow ledge for bowmen to stand and fire down at anyone trying to interfere with the demolition men.
In the treacherous light of the torches, Vimes thought he saw the features of Carcer. Even at this distance, there was something horribly recognizable about that expression.
Swing was dead. And when everyone’s running around in confusion, a man who is firm of purpose can push his way up by sheer nerve. After all, Vimes thought, I did.
He clambered down the barricade and looked at the men.
“I want a volunteer no, not you, Sam. Wiglet, you’ll do. Your dad’s a carpenter, right? Well, there’s a carpenter’s shop round the corner. Run and get me a couple of mallets and some wooden wedges, or long nails…something spiky. Go, go, go!”
Wiglet nodded and ran off.
“And…let’s see, yeah, I need twopennyworth of fresh ginger. Nancyball, nip around the corner to the apothecary, will you?”
“What’s that any good for, Sarge?” said Sam.
“Gingering things up.”
Vimes removed his helmet and armor, and nodded to the gap through which people were streaming.
“Fred, we’ll be going out that way. Think you can push us a path?”
“I’ll give it a go, Sarge.” Fred squared his shoulders.
“We’re going to stop that thing. They can’t move it fast, and with all this noise and confusion no one will notice a thing—that was quick, Billy…”
“I just grabbed everything, Sarge,” panted Wiglet, running up with a small sack. “I know what you want to do, Sarge, I did it sometimes out of mischief when I was a kid—”
“Me too,” said Vimes. “And here’s my ginger. Ah, lovely. It brings tears to my eyes. Okay, Billy? Ready, Fred.”
It took all of Colon’s bulk, with Vimes pushing behind him, to thrust a way through the desperate mob into the world beyond the barricade. In the darkness, Vimes forced his way between the bodies, up to the side of the siege engine. It was like a huge slow ram forcing its way down the street, but jerking forward slower than a walking pace because of the press of people. Vimes fancied that Carcer probably enjoyed this ride.
He ducked under a cart, unseen in the mob, and grabbed a mallet and a wedge from Wiglet’s bag.
“You do the left rear wheel and then make a run for it, Billy,” he said.
“But Sarge—”
“That was an order. Get out, get back, get people off the street as fast as possible. Do it!”
Vimes crawled up to one of the front wheels and held the wedge ready between wheel and axle. The cart stopped for a moment, and he thrust the wedge into the gap and thumped it with the hammer. He had time for another blow before the cart gave a creak that suggested the oxen were pushing again. The he crawled back quickly and took the sack from Billy before the little man, with a reluctant glance, scuttled out into the forest of legs.
Vimes got a third wedge in before loud voices somewhere behind him indicated that the lack of progress had been noticed. The wheels rocked, and bound even further on the wedges. The wheels would have to come off before they could be got out.
Even so, oxen were powerful beasts. Enough of them would have no problem at all in dragging the cart as well as