Men at Arms (Discworld 15)

as attacking a dragon!' shouted Vimes. 'One that wouldn't back down!'

He pulled himself to his knees and tapped Carrot's breast-plate.

'You polish that up real bright!' he said. 'You can see yourself in it. So can anything else!'

'Oh, yes, of course there's that,' said Lady Sybil. 'Everyone knows you should keep dragons away from mirrors—'

'Mirrors,' said Carrot. 'Hey, there were bits of—'

'Yes. He showed Chubby a mirror,' said Vimes.

'The poor little thing must have been trying to make himself bigger than himself,' said Carrot.

'We're dealing here,' said Vimes, 'with a twisted mind.'

'Oh, no! You think so?'

'Yes.'

'But . . . no . . . you can't be right. Because Nobby was with us all the time.'

'Not Nobby,' said Vimes testily. 'Whatever he might do to a dragon, I doubt if he'd make it explode. There's stranger people in this world than Corporal Nobbs, my lad.'

Carrot's expression slid into a rictus of intrigued horror.

'Gosh,' he said.

Sergeant Colon surveyed the butts. Then he removed his helmet and wiped his forehead.

'I think perhaps Lance-Constable Angua shouldn't have another go with the longbow until we've worked out how to stop her . . . her getting in the way.'

'Sorry, sergeant.'

They turned to Detritus, who was standing sheepishly behind a heap of broken longbows. Crossbows were out of the question. They sat in his massive hands like a hairpin. In theory the longbow would be a deadly weapon in his hands, just as soon as he mastered the art of when to let go.

Detritus shrugged.

'Sorry, mister,' he said. 'Bows aren't troll weapon.'

'Ha!' said Colon. 'As for you, Lance-Constable Cuddy—'

'Just can't get the hang of aiming, sergeant.'

'I thought dwarfs were famous for their skills in battle!'

'Yeah, but . . . not these skills,' said Cuddy.

'Ambush,' murmured Detritus.

Since he was a troll, the murmur bounced off distant buildings. Cuddy's beard bristled.

'You devious troll, I get my—'

'Well now,' said Sergeant Colon quickly, 'I think we'll stop training. You'll have to . . . sort of pick it up as you go along, all right?'

He sighed. He was not a cruel man, but he'd been either a soldier or a guard all his life, and he was feeling put-upon. Otherwise he wouldn't have said what he said next.

'I don't know, I really don't. Fighting among yourselves, smashing your own weapons . . . I mean, who do we think we're fooling? Now, it's nearly noon, you take a few hours off, we'll see you again tonight. If you think it's worth turning up.'