Guards! Guards! (Discworld 8)

The last thing anyone wanted them to do was get it into their heads to fight crime. But seeing the head thief discommoded was always worth the trouble, the Patrician felt.

...

Captain Vimes knocked very hesitantly at the door, because each tap echoed around his skull.

“Enter. ”

Vimes removed his helmet, tucked it under his arm and pushed the door open. Its creak was a blunt saw across the front of his brain.

He always felt uneasy in the presence of Lupine Wonse. Come to that, he felt uneasy in the presence of Lord Vetinari-but that was different, that was down to breeding. And ordinary fear, of course. Whereas he'd known Wonse since their childhood in the Shades. The boy had shown promise even then. He was never a gang leader. Never a gang leader. Hadn't got the strength or stamina for that. And, after all, what was the point in being the gang leader? Behind every gang leader were a couple of lieutenants bucking for promotion. Being a gang leader is not a job with long-term prospects. But in every gang there is a pale youth who's allowed to stay because he's the one who comes up with all the clever ideas, usually to do with old women and unlocked shops; this was Wonse's natural place in the order of things.

Vimes had been one of the middle rankers, the falsetto equivalent of a yes-man. He remembered Wonse as a skinny little kid, always tagging along behind in hand-me-down pants with the kind of odd skipping run he'd invented to keep up with the bigger boys, and forever coming up with fresh ideas to stop them idly ganging up on him, which was the usual recreation if nothing more interesting presented itself. It was superb training for the rigours of adulthood, and Wonse became good at it.

Yes, they'd both started in the gutter. But Wonse had worked his way up whereas, as he himself would be the first to admit, Vimes had merely worked his way along. Every time he seemed to be getting anywhere he spoke his mind, or said the wrong thing. Usually both at once.

That was what made him uncomfortable around Wonse. It was the ticking of the bright clockwork of ambition.

Vimes had never mastered ambition. It was something that happened to other people.

“Ah, Vimes. ”

“Sir, ” said Vimes woodenly. He didn't try to salute in case he fell over. He wished he'd had time to drink dinner.

Wonse rummaged in the papers of his desk.

“Strange things afoot, Vimes. Serious complaint about you, I'm afraid, ” he said. Wonse didn't wear glasses. If he had worn glasses, he'd have peered at Vimes over the top of them.

“Sir?”

“One of your Night Watch men. Seems he arrested the head of the Thieves' Guild. ”

Vimes swayed a little and tried hard to focus. He wasn't ready for this sort of thing.

“Sorry, sir, ” he said. “Seem to have lost you there. ”

“I said, Vimes, that one of your men arrested the head of the Thieves' Guild. ”

“One of my men?”

“Yes. ”

Vimes's scattered brain cells tried valiantly to regroup. “A member of the Watch?” he said.

Wonse grinned mirthlessly. “Tied him up and left him in front of the palace. There's a bit of a stink about it, I'm afraid. There was a note.... ah... here it is... 'This man is charged with, Conspiracy to commit Crime, under Section 14 (iii) of the General Felonies Act, 1678, by me, Carrot Ironfoundersson. ' ”

Vimes squinted at him.

“Fourteen eye-eye-eye?”

“Apparently, ” said Wonse.

“What does that mean?”

“I really haven't the faintest notion, ” said Wonse drily. “And what about the name... Carrot?”

“But we don't do things like that!” said Vimes. “You can't go around arresting the Thieves' Guild. I mean, we'd be at it all day!”

“Apparently this Carrot thinks otherwise. ”