Terry Pratchett - Night Watch

“Get them!” Vimes yelled, and leapt the barricade.

There was no plan any more. Dickins and his men poured out of the cart. There were still loaded crossbows out there, but a bow is suddenly not the weapon you want to be holding when angry swords are approaching from both directions.

It'll come when you call…

All plans, all futures, all politics…were elsewhere. Vimes scooped up a fallen sword and with a weapon in either hand screamed wordless defiance and launched himself at the nearest enemy. The man went down headless.

He saw Snouty go down in the melee, and sprang over him to catch his attacker in a windmill of blades. And then he spun around to confront Knock, who dropped his sword and fled. And Vimes ran on, not fighting but hacking, ducking strokes without seeing them, blocking attacks without turning his head, letting the ancient senses do their work. Someone was slicing towards young Sam; Vimes brought a sword down on the arm in true self-defence. He moved on, in the centre of a widening circle. He wasn't an enemy, he was a nemesis.

And as suddenly as it had come the beast withdrew, leaving an angry man with two swords.

Carcer had retreated to the side of the street, with his men—far fewer men now.

Colon was on his knees, throwing up. Dickins was down, and Vimes knew he was dead. Nobby was down too, but that was just because someone had kicked him hard and he'd probably decided that staying down was best. There were a lot of Carcer's men down, more than half. Some more had fled a maniac with two swords. Some had even fled Reg Shoe, who was sitting on the barricade, staring at the sheer weight of arrows in him. As he watched, his brain seemingly decided that he must be dead on this evidence, and he fell backwards. But in a few hours, his brain would be in for a surprise.

No one knew why some people became natural zombies, substituting sheer stubborn will power for blind life force. But attitude played a part. For Reg Shoe, life was only just beginning…

Young Sam was upright. He looked as though he'd thrown up, but he'd done well to survive his first real melee. He gave Vimes a weak smile.

“What's happening now, sarge?” he managed, taking off his helmet and wiping his forehead.

Vimes sheathed a sword and quietly slipped one of Mrs Goodbody's little friends out of his pocket.

“That depends on what happens over there,” he said, nodding towards the other end of the street. Sam obediently turned to look, and fell asleep.

Vimes pocketed the cosh, and saw Coates looking at him.

“Whose side are you on, Ned?” he said.

“What did you hit the kid for?” said Ned.

“So he's out of it. You got anything to say?”

“Not much, sarge.” Ned grinned. “We're all learning a lot today, ain't we?”

"True enough,' said Vimes.

“There's even bigger bastards than you, for a start.”

This time Vimes grinned. “But I try harder, Ned.”

“You know Carcer?”

“He's a murderer. And just about everything else, too. A stone-cold killer. With brains,” said Vimes.

“This is going to go the distance?”

“Yep. It's got to. We've got to stop this, Ned. This is the only chance. It stops here or not at all. Can you imagine him loose now he's pally with Snapcase?”

“Yes. I can,” said Ned. “Just as well I wasn't planning anything this evening, eh? But you can tell me one thing, sarge. How do you know all this?”

Vimes hesitated. But at a time like this, what difference did it make?

“I'm from this city,” said Vimes. “But, oh, there was a hole in time, something like that. You want to know? I travelled here in time, Ned, and that's the truth.”

Ned Coates looked him up and down. Blood covered Vimes's armour, and his hands, and half his face, and he was holding a bloody sword in his hand.

“From how far back?” he said.

Time stopped. Coates froze and faded in colour, into a world made up of shades of grey.

“Nearly there, your grace,” said Sweeper, behind Vimes.

“Ye gods!” yelled Vimes, flinging his sword to the ground. “You are not making any friends here, you know?”

The sword hadn't hit the ground. It hung a few inches from his hands, and had faded to greyness.

“There's just a few things we need to tell you,” said Sweeper, as if a sword in mid-air was a minor consideration.

“What's happened to the bloody sword?” said Vimes, to whom it wasn't.

“Time has stopped for everyone but you,” said Sweeper patiently. “Actually that sentence is wrong in every particular, but it's quite a useful lie. It'll just take us a moment to set things up…”

Now Vimes had time, of some kind, to look around. The whole street was darker, as if the fight had been taking place in the half-light just before dawn. The only colour was in the robes and faces of Sweeper and Qu as they manoeuvred a handcart out of an alley. It held a couple of small stone columns, and the body of John Keel, wrapped in a shroud.

“We have some good news,” said Sweeper.

“You have?” said Vimes weakly. He walked over to the body.

“Indeed,” said Qu, unshipping the stone cylinders. “We thought we might have to persuade you to remove all your armour but you will not, I think, need to do this.”

“That's because it will stay here,” said Lu-Tze. “Belongs here, see?”

“No,” said Vimes, “I don't know what the hell you're talking about.” He touched the body. “So cold,” he said. “That's what I remember. He was so cold.”

“A morgue does that to people,” said Sweeper, in a matter-of-fact voice.

“Now please pay attention, commander,” said Qu. “When we operate the—”

Vimes looked up, violence in his eyes. Sweeper laid a hand on Qu's arm.

“We've got things to do for a minute or two,” he said.

“Yes, but it's vital that he knows how—”

“We've got things to do for a minute or two ,” Sweeper repeated, making a face.

“Oh? What? Oh. Yes. Er…we've got, er…things. To do. Things to do…er…things.”

They wandered away. Out of the corner of his eye Vimes saw them walking back and forth across the street, as if taking measurements.

He looked back at John Keel. But what could you say? Sorry you're dead? Keel had originally died on the barricades, not in a street fight. But he was just as dead, all the same.

Vimes was hazy on religion. He attended Watch funerals and went to such religious events as the proper fulfilling of the office of Commander entailed, but as for the rest…well, you saw things sometimes that made it impossible to believe not only in gods, but also in common humanity and your own eyes. From what he could remember, Keel had felt the same way. You got on with things. If there were any gods, you expected them to get on with things, too, and didn't interrupt them while they were working.

What could you say to a dead copper? What would he want said?

Ah…

He leaned closer. “Carcer's going to bloody swing for this,” he said, and stood back.

Behind him, Sweeper coughed theatrically. “Ready, your grace?” he said.

“Ready enough,” said Vimes.

“We were telling you about the armour,” said Sweeper. “It'll—”

“The thing is, commander,” Qu interrupted, “that you and this fellow Carcer and all the clothes and possessions you arrived with form an elongated trans-time anomaly, which is under considerable tension.”

Vimes turned and looked at Sweeper.

“It's very, very hard to move things out of the time where they belong but it takes much less effort to move them back to where they were,” Sweeper translated.

Vimes carried on staring.

“Everything really, really wants to stay where it should be,” Sweeper tried.