Men at Arms (Discworld #15)(102)

'Carrot—'

'Sir?'

'I order you to give—'

'No, sir. You can't order me. Because you are now, sir, no offence meant, a civilian. It's a new life.'

'A civilian?'

Vimes rubbed his forehead. It was all colliding in his brain now – the gonne, the sewers, Carrot and the fact that he'd been operating on pure adrenalin, which soon presents its bill and does not give credit. He sagged.

'But this is my life. Carrot! This is my job.'

'A hot bath and a drink, sir. That's what you need,' said Carrot. 'Do you a world of good. Let's go.'

Vimes' gaze took in the fallen body of Cruces and, then, the gonne. He went to pick it up, and stopped himself in time.

Not even the wizards had something like this. One burst from a staff and they had to go and lie down.

No wonder no-one had destroyed it. You couldn't destroy something as perfect as this. It called out to something deep in the soul. Hold it in your hand, and you had power. More power than any bow or spear – they just stored up your own muscles' power, when you thought about it. But the gonne gave you power from outside. You didn't use it, it used you. Cruces had probably been a good man. He'd probably listened kindly enough to Edward, and then he'd taken the gonne, and he'd belonged to it as well.


'Captain Vimes? I think we'd better get that out of here,' said Carrot, reaching down.

'Whatever you do, don't touch it!' Vimes warned.

'Why not? It's only a device,' said Carrot. He picked up the gonne by the barrel, regarded it for a moment, and then smashed it against the wall. Bits of metal pin-wheeled away.

'One of a kind,' he said. 'One of a kind is always special, my father used to say. Let's be going.'

He opened the door.

He shut the door.

'There's about a hundred Assassins at the bottom of the stairs,' he said.

'How many bolts have you got for your bow?' said Vimes. He was still staring at the twisted gonne.

'One.'

'Then it's a good thing you won't have any chance to reload anyway.'

There was a polite knock at the door.

Carrot glanced at Vimes, who shrugged. He opened the door.

It was Downey. He raised an empty hand.

'You can put down your weapons. I assure you they will not be necessary. Where is Dr Cruces?'

Carrot pointed.

Ah.' He glanced up at the two Watchmen.

'Would you, please, leave his body with us? We will inhume him in our crypt.'

Vimes pointed at the body.

'He killed—'

And now he is dead. And now I must ask you to leave.'

Downey opened the door. Assassins lined the wide stairs. There wasn't a weapon in sight. But, with Assassins, there didn't need to be.

At the bottom lay the body of Angua. The Watchmen walked down slowly, and Carrot knelt and picked it up.

He nodded to Downey.

'Shortly we will be sending someone .to collect the body of Dr Cruces,' he said.

'But I thought we had agreed that—'

'No. It must be seen that he is dead. Things must be seen. Things mustn't happen in the dark, or behind closed doors.'

'I am afraid I cannot accede to your request,' said the Assassin firmly.

'It wasn't a request, sir.'

Scores of Assassins watched them walk across the courtyard.

The black gates were shut.

No-one seemed about to open them.

'I agree with you, but perhaps you should have put that another way,' said Vimes. 'They don't look at all happy—'

The doors shattered. A six-foot iron arrow passed Carrot and Vimes and removed a large section of wall on the far side of the courtyard.

A couple of blows removed the rest of the gates, and Detritus stepped through. He looked around at the assembled Assassins, a red glow in his eyes. And growled.

It dawned on the smarter Assassins that there was nothing in their armoury that could kill a troll. They had fine stiletto knives, but they needed sledgehammers.

They had darts armed with exquisite poisons, none of which worked on a troll. No-one had ever thought trolls were important enough to be assassinated. Suddenly, Detritus was very important indeed. He had Cuddy's axe in one hand and his mighty crossbow in the other.

Some of the brighter Assassins turned and ran for it. Some were not as bright. A couple of arrows bounced off Detritus. Their owners saw his face as he turned towards them, and dropped their bows.

Detritus hefted his club.

'Acting-Constable Detritus!'

The words rang out across the courtyard.

'Acting-Constable Detritus! Atten-shun!'

Detritus very slowly raised his hand.

Dink.

'You listen to me, Acting-Constable Detritus,' said Carrot. 'If there's a heaven for Watchmen, and gods I hope there is, then Acting-Constable Cuddy is there right now, drunk as a bloody monkey, with a rat in one hand and a pint of Bearhugger's in the other, and he's looking up[28] at us right now and he's saying: my friend Acting-Constable Detritus won't forget he's a guard. Not Detritus.'

There was a long dangerous moment, and then another dink.

'Thank you, Acting-Constable. You'll escort Mr Vimes to the University.' Carrot looked around at the Assassins. 'Good afternoon, gentlemen. We may be back.'