Guards! Guards! (Discworld 8)

His nostrils flared, turning more or less of their own volition.

The other dragons craned over the pen walls, watching him cautiously.

There was another distant gastric roar. Errol shifted painfully.

The dragons exchanged glances. Then, one by one, they lay down carefully on the floor and put their paws over their eyes.

...

Nobby put his head on one side. “It looks promising,” he said critically. “We might be nearly there. I reckon the chances of a man with soot on his face, his tongue sticking out, standing on one leg and singing The Hedgehog Song ever hitting a dragon's voonerables would be ... what'd you say, Carrot?”

“A million to one, I reckon,” said Carrot virtuously.

Colon glared at them.

“Listen, lads,” he said, “you're not winding me up, are you?”

Carrot looked down at the plaza below them.

“Oh, bloody hell,” he said softly.

“Wassat?” said Colon urgently, looking around.

“They're chaining a woman to a rock!”

The rank stared over the parapet. The huge and silent crowd that lined the plaza stared too, at a white figure struggling between half a dozen palace guards.

“Wonder where they got the rock from?” said Colon. “We're on loam here, you know.”

“Fine strapping wench, whoever she is,” said Nobby approvingly, as one of the guards wheeled off bow-legged and collapsed. “That's one lad who won't know what to do with his evenin's for a few weeks. Got a mean right knee, so she has.”

“Anyone we know?” said Colon.

Carrot squinted.

“It's Lady Ramkin!” he said, his mouth dropping open.

“Never!”

“He's right. In a nightie,” said Nobby.

“The buggers!” Colon snatched up his bow and fumbled for an arrow. “I'll give 'em voonerables! Well-spoken lady like her, it's a disgrace!”

“Er,” said Carrot, who had glanced over his shoulder. “Sergeant?”

“This is what it comes to!” muttered Colon. "Decent women can't walk down the street without being eaten! Right, you bastards, you're . . . you're geography-''

'' Sergeant!'' Carrot repeated urgently.

“It's history, not geography,” said Nobby. “That's what you're supposed to say. History. 'You're history!' you say.”

“Well, whatever,” snapped Colon. “Let's see how-”

“Sergeant!”

Nobby was looking behind them, too.

“Oh, shit,” he said.