Guards! Guards! (Discworld 8)

There were footsteps in the fog. Vimes stiffened, put his finger to his lips and pulled Carrot into the shelter of a doorway.

A figure loomed out of the billows.

Another one of 'em, thought Vimes. Well, there's no law about wearing long black robes and deep cowls. There could be dozens of perfectly innocent reasons why this person is wearing long black robes and a deep cowl and standing in front of a melted-down house at dawn.

Perhaps I should ask him to name just one.

He stepped out.

“Excuse me, sir-” he began.

The cowl swung around. There was a hiss of indrawn breath.

' 'I just wonder if you would mind-after him, lance-constable! ''

The figure had a good start. It scuttled along the street and had reached the corner before Vimes was halfway there. He skidded around it in time to see a shape vanish down an alley.

Vimes realised he was running alone. He panted to a halt and looked back just in time to see Carrot jog gently around the corner.

“What's wrong?” he wheezed.

“Sergeant Colon said I wasn't to run,” said Carrot.

Vimes looked at him vaguely. Then slow comprehension dawned.

“Oh,” he said. “I, er, see. I don't think he meant in every circumstance, lad.” He stared back into the fog. “Not that we had much of a chance in this fog and these streets.”

“Might have been just an innocent bystander, sir,” said Carrot.

“What, in Ankh-Morpork?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We should have grabbed him, then, just for the rarity value,” said Vimes.

He patted Carrot on the shoulder. “Come on. We'd better get along to the Patrician's palace.”

“The King's palace,” corrected Carrot.

“What?” said Vimes, his train of thought temporarily shunted.

“It's the King's palace now,” said Carrot. Vimes squinted sideways at him.

He gave a short, mirthless laugh.

“Yeah, that's right,” he conceded. “Our dragon-killing king. Well done that man.” He sighed. “They're not going to like this.”

...

They didn't. None of them did.

The first problem was the palace guard.

Vimes had never liked them. They'd never liked him. Okay, so maybe the rank were only one step away from petty scofflaws, but in Vimes's professional opinion the palace guard these days were only one step away from being the worst criminal scum the city had ever produced. A step further down. They'd have to reform a bit before they could even be considered for inclusion in the Ten Most Unwanted list.

They were rough. They were tough. They weren't the sweepings of the gutter, they were what you still found sticking to the gutter when the gutter sweepers had given up in exhaustion. They had been extremely well-paid by the Patrician, and presumably were extremely well-paid by someone else now, because when Vimes walked up to the gates a couple of them stopped lounging against the walls and straightened up while still maintaining just the right amount of psychological slouch to cause maximum offense.

“Captain Vimes,” said Vimes, staring straight ahead. “To see the king. It's of the utmost importance.”