Night Watch

tower of Old Tom. And Detritus carried a siege crossbow that three men couldn’t lift, and had converted it to fire a thick sheaf of arrows all at once. Mostly they shattered in the air because of the forces involved, and the target was hit by an expanding cloud of burning splinters. Vimes had banned him from using it on people, but it was a damn good way of getting into buildings. It could open the front door and the back door at the same time.
    “Tell him to fire a warning shot,” he said. “If he hits Carcer with that thing we won’t even find a corpse.” Though I’d quite like to find a corpse, he added to himself.
    “Yes, sir.” Cheery pulled a couple of white-painted paddles out of her belt, sighted on the top of the tower, and sent a brief signal. There was an answering signal from the distant Buggy.
    “D…T…R…T…S space W…R…N…G space S…H…T,” Cheery muttered to herself as she waved the rest of the message.
    There was another answering dip from above. A moment later a red flare shot up from the top of the tower and exploded. It was an efficient way of getting everyone to pay attention. Then Vimes saw the message relayed.
    Around the University buildings, watchmen who’d also seen the order ducked into doorways. They knew about the bow.
    There were a few seconds for the troll to work out the spelling, a distant heavy thud, a sound like a swarm of hellish bees, and then a crash of tiles and masonry. Pieces of tile rained down into the square. An entire chimney, still with a wisp of smoke coming from it, smashed down a few yards from where Vimes was standing.
    Then there was the patter of dust and small bits of wood, and a gentle shower of pigeon feathers.
    Vimes shook some flakes of mortar off his helmet.
    “Yes, well, I think he’s been warned,” he said.
    Half a weathercock landed next to the chimney.
    Cheery blew some feathers off her telescope and sighted on the top of the tower again.
    “Buggy says he’s stopped moving, sir,” she reported.
    “Really? You surprise me.” Vimes adjusted his belt. “And now you can give me your crossbow. I’m going up.”
    “Sir, you said no one was to try to arrest him! That’s why I sent the signal to you!”
    “That’s right. I’m going to arrest him. Right now. While he’s counting all his bits to check that he’s still got ’em. Tell Detritus what I’m doing, ’cos I don’t want to end up as a hundred and sixty pounds of cocktail delicacies. No, don’t keep opening your mouth like that. By the time we’ve sorted out backup and armor and got everyone lined up he’ll have dug in somewhere else.”
    The last words were delivered at a run.
    Vimes reached a door and darted inside. New Hall was student accommodation, but it was still only half past ten, so most of them would be in bed. A few faces looked around doors and Vimes trotted along the corridor and reached the stairwell at the far end. That took him—walking now, and rather less sure of his future—to the top floor. Let’s see, he’d been here before…yes, there was a door ajar, and a glimpse of mops and buckets suggested that this was a janitor’s closet.
    With, at the far end, a ladder leading up to the roof.
    Vimes carefully cocked the crossbow.
    So Carcer had a Watch crossbow, too. They were good classic single-shot models, but they took a while to reload. If he fired at Vimes and missed, then that was the only shot he’d get. After that…you couldn’t plan.
    Vimes climbed the ladder, and an old song came back.
    “They rise feet up, feet up, feet up…” he hissed under his breath.
    He stopped just below the edge of the open trapdoor onto the leads. Carcer wouldn’t fall for the old helmet-on-stick trick, not with just one shot available. He’d just have to risk it.
    Vimes thrust his head up, turned it quickly, ducked out of sight for a moment and then came through the opening in a rush. He rolled clumsily when he hit the leads, and rose into a crouch. There was no one else there. He was still alive. He breathed out.
    A sloping, gabled roof rose up beside him. Vimes crept along, wedged himself against a chimney stack peppered with splinters of wood, and glanced up at the tower.
    The sky above it was livid blue-black. Storms picked up a lot of personality as they rolled across the plains, and this one looked like a record breaker. But brilliant sunlight picked out the Tower of Art and, at the top, the tiny dots of Buggy’s frantic