Guards! Guards! (Discworld 8)

“Oh, somewhere isolated and rocky, I should imagine,” said Lady Ramkin. “Favourite country for dragons.”

“But it-she's a magical animal,” said Vimes. “What'll happen when the magic goes away?”

Lady Ramkin gave him a shy smile.

“Most people seem to manage,” she said.

She reached across the table and touched his hand.

“Your men think you need looking after,” she said meekly.

“Oh. Do they?” said Vimes.

“Sergeant Colon said he thought we'd get along like a maison en Flambt. ”

“Oh. Did he?”

“And he said something else,” she said. “What was it, now? Oh, yes: 'It's a million to one chance,',” said Lady Ramkin,' 'I think he said, 'but it might just work'.''

She smiled at him.

And then it arose and struck Vimes that, in her own special category, she was quite beautiful; this was the category of all the women, in his entire life, who had ever thought he was worth smiling at. She couldn't do worse, but then, he couldn't do better. So maybe it balanced out. She wasn't getting any younger but then, who was? And she had style and money and common-sense and self-assurance and all the things that he didn't, and she had opened her heart, and if you let her she could engulf you; the woman was a city.

And eventually, under siege, you did what Ankh-Morpork had always done-unbar the gates, let the conquerors in, and make them your own.

How did you start? She seemed to be expecting something.

He shrugged, and picked up his wine glass and sought for a phrase. One crept into his wildly resonating mind.

“Here's looking at you, kid,” he said.

...

The gongs of various midnights banged out the old day.

(. . . and further towards the Hub, where the Ram-top Mountains joined the forbidding spires of the central massif, where strange hairy creatures roamed the eternal snows, where blizzards howled around the freezing peaks, the lights of a lone lamasery shone out over the high valleys. In the courtyard a couple of yellow-robed monks stacked the last case of small green bottles on to a sleigh, ready for the first leg of the incredibly difficult journey down to the distant plains. The box was labelled, in careful brush-strokes, “Mstr. C.M.O.T. Dibbler, Ankh-Morpork.”

“You know, Lobsang,” said one of them, “one cannot help wondering what it is he does with this stuff.”)

Corporal Nobbs and Sergeant Colon lounged in the shadows near the Mended Drum, but straightened up as Carrot came out bearing a tray. Detritus the troll stepped aside respectfully.

“Here we are, lads,” said Carrot. “Three pints. On the house.”

“Bloody hell, I never thought you'd do it,” said Colon, grasping a handle. “What did you say to him?”

“I just explained how it was the duty of all good citizens to help the guard at all times,” said Carrot innocently, ' 'and I thanked him for his co-operation.''

“Yeah, and the rest,” said Nobby.

“No, that was all I said.”

“Then you must have a really convincing tone of voice.”

“Ah. Well, make the most of it, lads, while it lasts,” said Colon.

They drank thoughtfully. It was a moment of supreme peace, a few minutes snatched from the realities of real life. It was a brief bite of stolen fruit and enjoyed as such. No-one in the whole city seemed to be fighting or stabbing or making affray and, just for now, it was possible to believe that this wonderful state of affairs might continue.

And even if it didn't, then there were memories to get them through. Of running, and people getting out of the way. Of the looks on the faces of the horrible palace guard. Of, when all the thieves and heroes and gods had failed, of being there. Of nearly doing things nearly right.