Guards! Guards! (Discworld 8)

This was no time for half measures. He was a captain, godsdammit. An officer. Things like this didn't present a problem for an officer. Officers had a tried and tested way of solving problems like this. It was called a sergeant.

“Sergeant Colon!” he snapped, his mind still buzzing with universal policemanhood, “shoot the lock off!”

The sergeant hesitated. “What, sir? With a bow and arrow, sir?”

“I mean-” Vimes hesitated. “I mean, open these gates!”

“Sir!” Colon saluted. He glared at the gates for a moment. “Right!” he barked. “Lance-constable Carrot, one stepa forwarda, take! Lance-constable Carrot, inna youra owna timer! Open these gatesa!”

“Yes, sir!”

Carrot stepped forward, saluted, folded an enormous hand into a fist and rapped gently on the woodwork.

“Open up,” he said, “in the name of the Law!”

There was some whispering on the other side of the gates, and eventually a small hatch halfway up the door slid open a fraction and a voice said, “Why?”

“Because if you don't it will be Impeding an Officer of the Watch in the Execution of his Duty, which is punishable by a fine of not less than thirty dollars, one month's imprisonment, or being remanded in custody for social inquiry reports and half an hour with a red-hot poker,” said Carrot.

There was some more muffled whispering, the sound of bolts being drawn, and then the gates opened about halfway.

There was no-one visible on the other side.

Vimes put a finger to his lips. He motioned Carrot towards one gate and dragged Nobby and Colon to the other.

“Push,” he whispered. They pushed, hard. There was a sudden eruption of pained cursing from behind the woodwork.

“Run!” shouted Colon.

“No!” shouted Vimes. He walked around the gate. Four semi-crushed palace guards glowered at him.

s astonishment Carrot patted him companion-ably on the shoulder.

“I know how it is,” he said sympathetically. “I had this girl back home, her name was Minty, and her father-”

“Look, for the last time, there is absolutely nothing between-” Vimes began.

There was a rattle beside them. A small avalanche of plaster and thatch rolled down. The rubble heaved, and opened one eye. One big black pupil floating in a bloodshot glow tried to focus on them.

“We must be mad,” said Vimes.

“Oh, no, sir,” said Carrot. “There's plenty of precedents. In 1135 a hen was arrested for crowing on Soul Cake Thursday. And during the regime of Psy-choneurotic Lord Snapcase a colony of bats was executed for persistent curfew violations. That was in 1401. August, I think. Great days for the law, they were,” said Carrot dreamily. “In 1321, you know, a small cloud was prosecuted for covering the sun during the climax of Frenzied Earl Hargath's investiture ceremony.”

“I hope Colon gets a move on with-” Vimes stopped. He had to know. “How?” he said. “What can you do to a cloud?”

“The Earl sentenced it to be stoned to death,” said Carrot. “Apparently thirty-one people were killed.” He pulled out his notebook and glared at the dragon.

“Can it hear us, do you think?” he said.

“I suppose so.”

' 'Well, then.'' Carrot cleared his throat and turned back to the stunned reptile. “It is my duty to warn you that you are to be reported for consideration of prosecution on some or all of the following counts, to whit: One, (One) i, that on or about 18th Grune last, in a place known as Sweetheart Lane, the Shades, you did unlawfully vent flame in a manner likely to cause grievous bodily harm, in contravention of Clause Seven of the Industrial Processes Act, 1508; AND THAT, One, (One) ii, that on or about 18th Grune last, in a place known as Sweetheart Lane, the Shades, you caused or did cause to cause the death of six persons unknown-”

Vimes wondered how long the rubble would hold the creature down. Several weeks would be necessary, if the length of the charge sheet was anything to go by.

The crowd went silent. Even Sybil Ramkin was standing in astonishment.

' 'What's the matter?'' said Vimes to the upturned faces. "Haven't you ever seen a dragon being arrested before?