'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 towards 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.
Вы читаете Guards! Guards!
