Men at Arms (Discworld 15)

The gong stopped.

Dr Cruces put the crossbow, neatly and meticulously, on the desk beside him.

'There! I've put it down!'

'Ah,' said Vimes. 'But I want to make sure you don't pick it up again.'

The black bell of the Assassins' Guild hammered its way to noon.

And stopped.

Silence slammed in like a thunderclap.

The little metallic sound as Vimes' badge bounced on the floor filled it from edge to edge.

He raised the gonne and, gently, let the tension ease out of his hand.

A bell started.

It was a tinny, jolly little tune, barely to be heard at all except in this pool of silence . . .

Cling, bing, a-bing, bong . . .

. . . but much more accurate than hourglasses, water-clocks and pendulums.

'Put down the gonne, captain,' said Carrot, climbing slowly up the stairs.

He held his sword in one hand, and the presentation watch in the other.

. . . bing, bing, a-bing, ding . . .

Vimes didn't move.

'Put it down. Put it down now, captain.'

'I can wait out another bell,' said Vimes . . . a-bing, a-bing . . .

'Can't let you do that, captain. It'd be murder.'

. . . clong, a-bing . . .

'You'll stop me, will you?'

'Yes.'

. . . bing . . . bing . . .

Vimes turned his head slightly.

'He killed Angua. Doesn't that mean anything to you?'

. . . bing . . . bing . . . bing . . . bing . . .

Carrot nodded.

'Yes. But personal isn't the same as important.'

Vimes looked along his arm. The face of Dr Cruces, mouth open in terror, pivoted on the tip of the barrel. . . . bing . . . bing . . . bing . . . bing . . . bing . . .