Guards! Guards! (Discworld 8)

“I'm not sure what I shall do next,” said Vimes, more gruffly than he intended. “I'm considering one or two offers.”

“Well, of course. I'm sure you know best.”

Vimes nodded.

Lady Ramkin twisted her handkerchief round and round in her hands.

“Well, then,” she said.

“Well,” said Vimes.

“I, er, expect you'll be wanting to be off, then.”

“Yes, I expect I had better be going.”

There was a pause. Then they both spoke at once.

“It's been very-”

“I'd just like to say-”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you were speaking.”

“No, sorry, you were saying?”

“Oh.” Vimes hesitated. “I'll be off, then.”

“Oh. Yes.” Lady Ramkin gave him a washed-out smile. “Can't keep all these offers waiting, can you,” she said.

She thrust out a hand. Vimes shook it carefully.

“So I'll just be going, then,” he said.

“Do call again,” said Lady Ramkin, more coldly, “if you are ever in this area. And so on. I'm sure Errol would like to see you.”

“Yes. Well. Goodbye, then.”

“Goodbye, Captain Vimes.”

He stumbled out of the door and walked hurriedly down the dark, overgrown path. He could feel her gaze on the back of his neck as he did so or, at least, he told himself that he could. She'd be standing in the doorway, nearly blocking out the light. Just watching me. But I'm not going to look back, he thought. That would be a really silly thing to do. I mean, she's a lovely person, she's got a lot of common sense and an enormous personality, but really . . .

I'm not going to look back, even if she stands there while I walk all the way down the street. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.

So when he heard the door shut when he was only halfway down the drive he suddenly felt very, very angry, as if he had just been robbed.

He stood still and clasped and unclasped his hands in the darkness. He wasn't Captain Vimes any more, he was Citizen Vimes, which meant that he could do things he'd once never dreamt of doing. Perhaps he could go and smash some windows.

No, that wouldn't be any good. He wanted more than that. To get rid of that bloody dragon, to get his job back, to get his hands on whoever was behind all this, to forget himself just once and hit someone until he was exhausted . . .

He stared at nothing. Down below the city was a mass of smoke and steam. He wasn't thinking of that, though.

He was thinking of a running man. And, further back in the fuddled mists of his life, a boy running to keep up.

And under his breath he said, “Any of them get out?”