Part 19 (2/2)
Sybil was pushed out of the coach. Behind her, a man stepped out. He was holding a crossbow.
”Your Grace Vimes!” he shouted. The word bounced back and forth between the cliffs.
”I know you're here, Your Grace Vimes! And here is your lady! And there are many of us! Come out out, Your Grace Vimes!”
Flakes of snow hissed over the fires.
Then there was a whisper in the air followed by a second smack of steel into muscle. One of the hooded figures collapsed into the mud, clutching at its leg.
Inigo slowly got to his feet. The man holding the crossbow appeared not to notice.
”It is like chess, Your Grace Vimes! We have disarmed the troll and the dwarf! And I have the queen! And if you shoot at me, can you be sure I won't have time to fire?”
Firelight glowed on the twisted trees bordering the road.
Several seconds pa.s.sed.
Then the sound of Vimes's crossbow landing in the circle of light was very loud.
”Well done, Your Grace Vimes! And now yourself, if you please!”
Inigo made out the shape that appeared at the very edge of the light, with both hands up.
”Are you all right, Sybil?” said Vimes.
”A bit cold, Sam.”
”You're not hurt?”
”No, Sam.”
”Keep your hands where I can see them, Your Grace Vimes!”
”And are you going to promise me you'll let her go?” said Vimes.
A flame flickered near Vimes's face, a bright pool in the darkness, as he lit a cigar.
”Now, Your Grace Vimes, why ever should I do that? But I am sure Ankh-Morpork will pay a lot for you!”
”Ah. I thought so,” said Vimes. He shook the match out, and the cigar end glowed for a moment. ”Sybil?”
”Yes, Sam?”
”Duck.”
There was a second filled only with the indrawing of breath, and then, as Lady Sybil dived forward, Vimes's hand came around from behind him in an arc, there was a silken sound, and the man's head was flung back.
Inigo leapt and caught his crossbow as it was dropped, then rolled and came up firing. Another figure staggered.
Vimes was aware of a commotion elsewhere as he grabbed Sybil and helped her back into the coach. Inigo had vanished, but a scream in the dark didn't sound like anyone that Vimes knew.
And then...only the hiss of snow in the fire.
”I...think they're gone, sir,” said Cheery's voice.
”Not as fast as us! Detritus?”
”Sir?”
”Are you okay?”
”Feelin' very tactful, sir.”
”You two take that coach, I'll take this, and let's get the h.e.l.l out of here, shall we?”
”Where's Mister Skimmer?” said Sybil.
There was another scream from the woods.
”Forget him!”
”But he's-”
”Forget him!”
The snow was falling thicker as they climbed the pa.s.s. The deep snow dragged at the wheels, and all Vimes could see were the darker shapes of the horses against the whiteness. Then the clouds parted briefly, and he wished they hadn't, because here they revealed that the darkness on the left of his wasn't rock any more but a sheer drop.
At the top of the pa.s.s the lights of an inn glowed out onto the thickening snow. Vimes drove the carriage into the yard.
”Detritus?”
”Sir?”
”I'll watch our backs. Make sure this place is okay, will you?”
”Yessir.”
The troll jumped down, slotting a fresh bundle of arrows into the Piecemaker. Vimes spotted his intention just in time.
”Just knock knock, Sergeant.”
”Right you are, sir.”
The troll knocked and entered. The buzz of sound from inside suddenly ceased. Vimes heard, m.u.f.fled by the door, ”Der Duke of Ankh-Morpork is coming in. Anyone have a problem with dis? Just say der word.” And in the background, the little humming, singing noise the Piecemaker made under tension.
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