Guards! Guards! (Discworld 8)

“Just checking,” he repeated. “Part of my duty, see. Going around, sort of thing. It's not that I'm frightened of being up on the roofs by myself, you understand. Thick up here, isn't it.”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“Everything all okay?” Nobby's muffled voice sidled its way through the thick air, quickly followed by its owner.

“Yes, Corporal,” said Carrot.

“What you doing up here?” Colon demanded.

“I was just coming up to check Lance-constable Carrot was all right,” said Nobby innocently. “What were you doing, Sergeant?”

“We're all all right,” said Carrot, beaming. “That's good, isn't it.”

The two NCOs shifted uneasily and avoided looking at one another. It seemed like a long way back to their posts, across the damp, cloudy and, above all, exposed rooftops.

Colon made an executive decision.

“Sod this,” he said, and found a piece of fallen statuary to sit on. Nobby leaned on the parapet and winkled a damp dog-end from the unspeakable ashtray behind his ear.

“Heard the procession go by,” he observed. Colon filled his pipe, and struck a match on the stone beside him.

“If that dragon's alive,” he said, blowing out a plume of smoke and turning a small patch of fog into smog, “then it'll have got the hell away from here, I'm telling you. Not the right sort of place for dragons, a city,” he added, in the tones of someone doing a great job of convincing himself. “It'll have gone off to somewhere where there's high places and plenty to eat, you mark my words.”

“Somewhere like the city, you mean?” said Carrot.

“Shut up,” said the other two in unison.

“Chuck us the matches, Sergeant,” said Nobby.

Colon tossed the bundle of evil yellow-headed lucifers across the leads. Nobby struck one, which was immediately blown out. Shreds of fog drifted past him.

“Wind's getting up,” he observed.

“Good. Can't stand this fog,” said Colon. “What was I saying?”

“You were saying the dragon'll be miles away,” prompted Nobby.

“Oh. Right. Well, it stands to reason, doesn't it? I mean, I wouldn't hang around here if I could fly away. If I could fly, I wouldn't be sitting on a roof on some manky old statue. If I could fly, I'd-”

“What statue?” said Nobby, cigarette halfway to his mouth.

“This one,” said Colon, thumping the stone. “And don't try to give me the willies, Nobby. You know there's hundreds of mouldy old statues up on Small Gods.”

“No I don't,” said Nobby. “What I do know is, they were all taken down last month when they re-leaded the roof. There's just the roof and the dome and that's it. You have to take notice of little things like that,” he added, “when you're detectoring.”

In the damp silence that followed Sergeant Colon looked down at the stone he was sitting on. It had a taper, and a scaly pattern, and a sort of indefinable tail-like quality. Then he followed its length up and into the rapidly-thinning fog.

On the dome of Small Gods the dragon raised its head, yawned, and unfolded its wings.

The unfolding wasn't a simple operation. It seemed to go on for some time, as the complex biological machinery of ribs and pleats slid apart. Then, with wings outstretched, the dragon yawned, took a few steps to the edge of the roof, and launched itself into the air.

After a while a hand appeared over the edge of the parapet. It flailed around for a moment until it got a decent grip.

There was a grunt. Carrot hauled himself back on to the roof and pulled the other two up behind him. They lay flat out on the leads, panting. Carrot observed the way that the dragon's talons had scored deep grooves in the metal. You couldn't help noticing things like that.

“Hadn't,” he panted, “hadn't we better warn people?”

Colon dragged himself forward until he could look across the city.