Guards! Guards! (Discworld 8)

Vimes's blow caught Wonse on the cheek and spun him around.

“The dragon's here, ”he snapped. “You can't channel it or persuade it or negotiate with it. There's no truce with dragons. You brought it .here and we're stuck with it, you bastard. ”

Wonse lowered his hand from the bright white mark where the punch had connected.

“What are you going to do?” he said.

Vimes didn't know. He'd thought of a dozen ways that the thing could go, but the only one that was really suitable was killing Wonse. And, face to face, he couldn't do it.

“That's the trouble with people like you,” said Wonse, getting up. “You're always against anything attempted for the betterment of mankind, but you never have any proper plans of your own. Guards! Guards!”

He grinned maniacally at Vimes.

“Didn't expect that, did you?” he said. “We've still got guards here, you know. Not so many, of course. Not many people want to come in.”

There were footsteps in the passage outside and four of the palace guards padded in, swords drawn.

“I wouldn't put up a fight, if I were you,” Wonse went on. “They're desperate and uneasy men. But very highly paid.”

Vimes said nothing. Wonse was a gloater. You always stood a chance with gloaters. The old Patrician had never been a gloater, you could say that for him. If he wanted you dead, you never even heard about it.

The thing to do with gloaters was play the game according to the rules.

“You'll never get away with it,” he said.

“You're right. You're absolutely right. But never is a long time,” said Wonse. “None of us get away with anything for that long.”

“You shall have some time to reflect on this,” he said and nodded to the guards. “Throw him in the special dungeon. And then go about that other little task.”

“Er,” said the leader of the guards, and hesitated.

“What's the matter, man?”

“You, er, want us to attack him?” said the guard miserably. Thick though the palace guard were, they were as aware as everyone else of the conventions, and when guards are summoned to deal with one man in overheated circumstances it's not a good time for them. The bugger's bound to be heroic, he was thinking. This guard was not looking forward to a future in which he was dead.

“Of course, you idiot!”

“But, er, there's only one of him,” said the guard captain.

“And he's smilin',” said a man behind him.

“Prob'ly goin' to swing on the chandeliers any minute,” said one of his colleagues. “And kick over the table, and that.”

“He's not even armed!” shrieked Wonse.

“Worst kind, that,” said one of the guards, with deep stoicism. “They leap up, see, and grab one of the ornamental swords behind the shield over the fireplace.”

“Yeah,” said another, suspiciously. “And then they chucks a chair at you.”

“There's no fireplace! There's no sword! There's only him! Now take him!” screamed Wonse.

A couple of guards grabbed Vimes tentatively by the shoulders.

“You're not going to do anything heroic, are you?” whispered one of them.

“Wouldn't know where to start,” he said.

“Oh. Right.”