Guards! Guards! (Discworld 8)

“Yes?” The Patrician's eyes narrowed.

Vimes plunged on. “But, sir, the thing is, do they know? Sergeant Colon said he heard a leathery sound just before, just before, just before the, er . . . offence.”

“So you think an extinct, and indeed a possibly entirely mythical, dragon flew into the city, landed in this narrow alley, incinerated a group of criminals, and then flew away?” said the Patrician. “One might say, it was a very public-spirited creature.”

“Well, when you put it like that-”

“If I recall, the dragons of legend were solitary and rural creatures who shunned people and dwelt in forsaken, out of the way places,” said the Patrician. “They were hardly urban creatures.”

“No, sir,” said the captain, repressing a comment that if you wanted to find a really forsaken, out of the way place then the Shades would fit the bill pretty well.

“Besides,” said Lord Vetinari, “one would imagine that someone would have noticed, wouldn't you agree?”

The captain nodded at the wall and its dreadful frieze. “Apart from them, you mean, sir?”

“In my opinion,” said Lord Vetinari, “it's some kind of warfare. Possibly a rival gang has hired a wizard. A little local difficulty.”

“Could be linked to all this strange thieving, sir,” volunteered Wonse.

“But there's the footprints, sir,” said Vimes doggedly.

“We're close to the river,” said the Patrician. “Possibly it was, perhaps, a wading bird of some sort. A mere coincidence,” he added, “but I should cover them over, if I were you. We don't want people getting the wrong idea and jumping to silly conclusions, do we?” he added sharply.

Vimes gave in.

“As you wish, sir,” he said, looking at his sandals.

The Patrician patted him on the shoulder.

“Never mind,” he said. “Carry on. Good show of initiative, that man. Patrolling in the Shades, too. Well done.”

He turned, and almost walked into the wall of chain mail that was Carrot.

To his horror, Captain Vimes saw his newest recruit point politely to the Patrician's coach. Around it, fully-armed and wary, were six members of the Palace Guard, who straightened up and took a wary interest. Vimes disliked them intensely. They had plumes on their helmets. He hated plumes on a guard.

He heard Carrot say. “Excuse me, sir, is this your coach, sir?” and the Patrician looked him blankly up and down and said, “It is. Who are you, young man?”

Carrot saluted. “Lance-constable Carrot, sir.”

“Carrot, Carrot. That name rings a bell.”

Lupine Wonse, who had been hovering behind him, whispered in the Patrician's ear. His face brightened.' 'Ah, the young thief-taker. A little error there, I think, but commendable. No person is above the law, eh?"

“No, sir,” said Carrot.

“Commendable, commendable,” said the Patrician. “And now, gentlemen-”

“About your coach, sir,” said Carrot doggedly, “I couldn't help noticing that the front offside wheel, contrary to the-”

He's going to arrest the Patrician, Vimes told himself, the thought trickling through his brain like an icy rivulet. He's actually going to arrest the Patrician. The supreme ruler. He's going to arrest him. This is what he's actually going to do. The boy doesn't know the meaning of the word 'fear'. Oh, wouldn't it be a good idea if he knew the meaning of the word 'survival' . . .

And I can't get my jaw muscles to move.

We're all dead. Or worse, we're all detained at the Patrician's pleasure. And as we all know, he's seldom that pleased.

It was at this precise moment that Sergeant Colon earned himself a metaphorical medal.

“Lance-constable Carrot!” he shouted. "Attention! Lance-constable Carrot, abou-uta turna! Lance-constable Carrot, qui-uck marcha!''