Free Thud! by Terry Pratchett

Watch. Yes?”
    The two dwarfs, staring straight ahead, nodded imperceptibly.
    “Good,” said Vimes. “And that means you, that’s both of you, are impeding me in the execution of my duty. That gives me, oooh, a whole range of options. The one I’m thinking of right now is summoning Constable Dorfl. He’s a golem. Nothing impedes him in the execution of his duty, believe me. You’ll be picking bits of that door off the floor for weeks . And I wouldn’t stand in his way, if I was you. Oh, and it’d be lawful, which means that if anyone puts up a fight it gets really interesting. Look, I’m only telling you this because I’ve done my share of guarding over the years, and there are times when looking tough works and there are times—and this, I suggest, is one of them—when going and asking the people inside what you should do next is a very good career move.”
    “Can’t leave our post,” said one of the dwarfs.
    “Don’t worry about that,” said Vimes, standing. “I’ll stand guard for you.”
    “You can’t do that!”
    Vimes bent down to the dwarf’s ear.
    “ I am Commander of the Watch,” he hissed, no longer Mr. Friendly. He pointed at the cobblestones. “ This is my street. I can stand where I like. You are standing on my street. It’s the public highway. That means that there are about a dozen things I could arrest you for, right now. That would cause trouble, right enough, but you would be bang in the middle of it. My advice to you, one guard to another, is to hop off smartly and speak to someone highe—further up the ladder, okay?”
    He saw worried eyes peering out from between the rampant eyebrows and the luxuriant mustache, spotted the tiny little tells he’d come to recognize, and added: “Off you go, ma’am.”
    The dwarf hammered on the door. The hatch slid back. Whispering transpired. The door opened. The dwarf hurried in. The door closed. Vimes turned, took up station beside it, and stood to attention slightly more theatrically than necessary.
    There were one or two outbreaks of laughter. Dwarfs they may be, but in Ankh-Morpork people always wanted to see what would happen next.
    The remaining guard hissed: “We’re not allowed to smoke on duty!”
    “Oops, sorry,” said Vimes, and removed the cigar, tucking it behind his ear for later. This got a few more chuckles. Let ’em laugh, said Vimes to himself. At least they’re not throwing things.
    The sun shone down. The crowd stood still. Sergeant Angua stared at the sky, her face carefully blank. Detritus had settled into the absolute, rock-like stillness of a troll with nothing to do right now. Only Ringfounder looked uneasy. This probably was not a good time and place to be a dwarf with a badge, Vimes thought. But why? All we’ve been doing in the last couple of weeks is trying to stop two bunches of idiots from killing one another.
    And now this. This morning was going to cost him an earful, he thought, although Sybil never shouted when she told him off. She just spoke sadly, which was a lot worse.
    The bloody family portrait, that was the trouble. It seemed to involve an awful lot of sittings, but it was a tradition in Sybil’s family, and that was that. It was more or less the same portrait, every generation: the happy family group against a panorama of their rolling acres. Vimes had no rolling acres, only aching feet, but as the inheritor of the Ramkin wealth, he was, he’d learned, also the owner of Crundells, a huge stately home out in the country. He’d never even seen it yet. Vimes didn’t mind the countryside if it stayed put and didn’t attack, but he liked pavement under his feet and didn’t much care for being pictured as some kind of squire. So far, his excuses for avoiding the interminable sittings had been reasonable, but it was a close-run thing…
    More time passed. Some of the dwarfs in the crowd wandered off. Vimes didn’t move, not even when he heard the hatch in the door open for a moment and then