Guards! Guards! (Discworld 8)

It was a little disappointing. He'd expected high white towers rearing over the landscape, and flags. Ankh-Morpork didn't rear. Rather, it sort of skulked, clinging to the soil as if afraid someone might steal it. There were no flags.

There was a guard on the gate. At least, he was wearing chainmail and the thing he was propped up against was a spear. He had to be a guard.

Carrot saluted him and presented the letter. The man looked at it for some time.

“Mm?” he said, eventually.

“I think I've got to see Lupin Squiggle Sec'y pp, ” said Carrot.

“What's the pp for?” said the guard suspiciously.

“Could it be Pretty Promptly?” said Carrot, who had wondered about this himself.

“Well, I don't know about any Sec'y, ” said the guard. “You want Captain Vimes of the Night Watch. ”

' 'And where is he based?'' said Carrot, politely.

“At this time of day I'd try The Bunch of Grapes in Easy Street, ” said the guard. He looked Carrot up and down. “Joining the watch, are you?”

“I hope to prove worthy, yes, ” said Carrot.

The guard gave him what could loosely be called an old-fashioned look. It was practically neolithic.

“What was it you done?” he said. “I'm sorry?” said Carrot. “You must of done something, ” said the guard. “My father wrote a letter, ” said Carrot proudly. “I've been volunteered. ” “Bloody hellfire, ” said the guard.

...

Now it was night again, and beyond the dread portal:

“Are the Wheels of Torment duly spun?” said the Supreme Grand Master.

The Elucidated Brethren shuffled around their circle.

“Brother Watchtower?” said the Supreme Grand Master.

“Not my job to spin the Wheels of Torment, ” muttered Brother Watchtower. “ 's Brother Plasterer's job, spinning the Wheels of Torment-”

“No it bloody well isn't, it's my job to oil the Axles of the Universal Lemon, ” said Brother Plasterer hotly. “You always say it's my job-”

The Supreme Grand Master sighed in the depths of his cowl as yet another row began. From this dross he was going to forge an Age of Rationality?

“Just shut up, will you?” he snapped. “We don't really need the Wheels of Torment tonight. Stop it, the pair of you. Now, Brethren-you have all brought the items as instructed?”

There was a general murmuring.

“Place them in the Circle of Conjuration, ” said the Supreme Grand Master.

It was a sorry collection. Bring magical things, he'd said. Only Brother Fingers had produced anything worthwhile. It looked like some sort of altar ornament, best not to ask from where. The Supreme Grand Master stepped forward and prodded one of the other things with his toe.

“What, ” he said, “is this?”

“ 's a amulet, ” muttered Brother Dunnykin. “ 's very powerful. Bought it off a man. Guaranteed. Protects you against crocodile bites. ”

“Are you sure you can spare it?” said the Supreme Grand Master. There was a dutiful titter from the rest of the Brethren.

“Less of that, brothers, ” said the Grand Master, spinning around. “Bring magical things, I said. Not cheap jewellery and rubbish! Good grief, this city is lousy with magic!” He reached down. “What are these things, for heaven's sake?”

“They're stones, ” said Brother Plasterer uncertainly.