Guards! Guards!

firmly. This wasn’t where it ended, he knew that. This was where it all got started.
    “You men come with me. Come on, hurry! While everyone’s still watching them,” he added.
    “But what about the king?” said Carrot. “Or queen? Or whatever it is now?”
    Vimes stared at the rapidly shrinking shapes. “I really don’t know,” he said. “That’s up to Errol, I suppose. We’ve got other things to do.”
    Colon saluted, still fighting for breath. “Where we going, sir?” he managed.
    “To the palace. Any of you still got a sword?”
    “You can use mine, Captain,” said Carrot. He handed it over.
    “Right,” said Vimes quietly. He glared at them. “Let’s go.”

    The rank trailed behind Vimes through the stricken streets.
    He started to walk faster. The rank started to trot to keep up.
    Vimes began to trot to keep ahead.
    The rank broke into a canter.
    Then, as if on an unspoken word of command, they broke into a run.
    Then into a gallop.
    People scurried away as they rattled past. Carrot’s enormous sandals hammered on the cobbles. Sparks flew up from the scads of Nobby’s boots. Colon ran quietly for such a fat man, as fat men often do, face locked in a scowl of concentration.
    They pounded along the Street of Cunning Artificers, turned into Hogsback Alley, emerged into the Street of Small Gods and thundered toward the palace. Vimes kept barely in the lead, mind currently empty of everything except the need to run and run.
    At least, nearly everything. But his head buzzed and resonated manically with those of all city guards everywhere, all the pavement-pounding meatheads in the multiverse who had ever, just occasionally, tried to do what was Right.
    Far ahead of them a handful of palace guards drew their swords, took a second look, thought better of it, darted back inside the wall and started to close the gates. They clanged together as Vimes arrived.
    He hesitated, panting for breath, and looked at the massive things. The ones that the dragon had burned had been replaced by gates even more forbidding. From behind them came the sound of bolts sliding back.
    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 toward 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.
    “No,” he said. “No more running. I want these men arrested.”
    “You wouldn’t dare,” said one of the men. Vimes peered at him.
    “Clarence, isn’t it?” he said. “With a C. Well, Clarence with a C, watch my lips. Either you can be charged with Aiding and Abetting or—” he leaned closer, and glanced meaningfully at Carrot—“with an ax.”
    “Swivel on that one, doggybag!” added Nobby, jumping from one foot to the other in vicious excitement.
    Clarence’s little piggy eyes glared at the looming bulk