“Don't let him kiss me!” squeaked Colon.
“Do you think picking someone up by their ankles and bouncing their head on the floor comes under the heading of Striking a Superior Officer?” said Carrot.
“I'm not pressing charges, me,” said the sergeant hurriedly.
“Can we get on?” said Vimes impatiently. “We're going to see if Errol can sniff out the dragon's lair. Lady Ramkin thinks it's got to be worth a try.”
“You mean set a deep hole with spring-loaded sides, tripwires, whirling knife blades driven by water power, broken glass and scorpions, to catch a thief, Captain?” said the sergeant doubtfully. “Ow!”
“Yes, we don't want to lose the scent,” said Lady Ramkin. “Stop being a big baby, Sergeant.”
“Brilliant idea about using Errol, ma'am, if I may make so bold,” said Nobby, while the sergeant blushed under his bandage.
Vimes was not certain how long he would be able to put up with Nobby the social mountaineer.
Carrot said nothing. He was gradually coming to terms with the fact that he probably wasn't a dwarf, but dwarf blood flowed in his veins in accordance with the famous principle of morphic resonance, and his borrowed genes were telling him that nothing was going to be that simple. Finding a hoard even when the dragon wasn't at home was pretty risky. Anyway, he was certain he'd know if there was one around. The presence of large amounts of gold always made a dwarf's palms itch, and his weren't itching.
“We'll start by that wall in the Shades,” said the captain.
Sergeant Colon glanced sideways at Lady Ramkin, and found it impossible to show cowardice in the face of the supportive. He contented himself with, “Is that wise, Captain?”
“Of course it isn't. If we were wise, we wouldn't be in the Watch.”
“I say! All this is tremendously exciting,” said Lady Ramkin.
“Oh, I don't think you should come, m'lady-” Vimes began.
“-Sybil, please!-”
“-it's a very disreputable area, you see.”
“But I'm sure I shall be perfectly safe with your men,” she said. “I'm sure vagabonds just melt away when they see you.”
That's dragons, thought Vimes. They melt away when they see dragons, and just leave their shadows on the wall. Whenever he felt that he was slowing down, or that he was losing interest, he remembered those shadows, and it was like having dull fire poured down his backbone. Things like that shouldn't be allowed to happen. Not in my city.
...
In fact the Shades were not a problem. Many of its denizens were out hoard-hunting anyway, and those that remained were far less inclined than hitherto to lurk in dark alleys. Besides, the more sensible of them recognised that Lady Ramkin, if waylaid, would probably tell them to pull up their socks and not be silly, in a voice so used to command that they would probably find themselves doing it.
The wall hadn't been knocked down yet and still bore its grisly fresco. Errol sniffed around it, trotted up the alley once or twice, and went to sleep.
“Dint work,” said Sergeant Colon.
“Good idea, though,” said Nobby loyally.
“It could be all the rain and people walking about, I suppose,” said Lady Ramkin.
Vimes scooped up the dragon. It had been a vain hope anyway. It was just better to be doing something than nothing.
“We'd better get back,” he said. "The sun's gone down.''
They walked back in silence. The dragon's even tamed the Shades, Vimes thought. It's taken over the whole city, even when it isn't here. People'11 start tying virgins to rocks any day now.
It's a metaphor of human bloody existence, a dragon. And if that wasn't bad enough, it's also a bloody great hot flying thing.
He pulled out the key to the new headquarters. While he was fumbling in the lock, Errol woke up and started to yammer.
“Not now,” Vimes said. His side twinged. The night had barely started and already he felt too tired.