Guards! Guards! (Discworld 8)

“S'right,” said Nobby. “He'd probably be really angry. Dragons are probably, you know, royal animals. Like deer. A man could probably have his tridlins plucked just for thinking about killing one, when there's a king around.”[17]

“Makes you glad you're common,” said Colon.

“Commoner,” corrected Nobby.

“That's not a very civic attitude-” Carrot began. He was interrupted by Errol.

The little dragon came trotting up the middle of the street, stumpy tail high, his eyes fixed on the clouds above him. He went right by the rank without giving them any attention at all.

“What's up with him?” said Nobby.

A clatter behind them introduced the Ramkin coach.

“Men?” said Vimes hesitantly, peering through the fog.

“Definitely,” said Sergeant Colon.

“Did you see a dragon go past? Apart from Errol?”

“Well, er,” said the sergeant, looking at the other two. “Sort of, sir. Possibly. It might of been.”

“Then don't stand there like a lot of boobies,” said Lady Ramkin. “Get in! Plenty of room inside!”

There was. When it was built, the coach had probably been the marvel of the day, all plush and gilt and tasselled hangings. Time, neglect and the ripping out of the seats to allow its frequent use to transport dragons to shows had taken their toll, but it still reeked of privilege, style and, of course, dragons.

“What do you think you're doing?” said Colon, as it rattled off through the fog.

“Wavin',” said Nobby, gesturing graciously to the billows around them.

“Disgusting, this sort of thing, really,” mused Sergeant Colon. “People goin' around in coaches like this when there's people with no roof to their heads.”

“It's Lady Ramkin's coach,” said Nobby. “She's all right.”

“Well, yes, but what about her ancestors, eh? You don't get big houses and carriages without grindin' the faces of the poor a bit.”

“You're just annoyed because your missus has been embroidering crowns on her undies,” said Nobby.

“That's got nothing to do with it,” said Sergeant Colon indignantly. “I've always been very firm on the rights of man.”

“And dwarf,” said Carrot.

“Yeah, right,” said the sergeant uncertainly. “But all this business about kings and lords, it's against basic human dignity. We're all born equal. It makes me sick.”

“Never heard you talk like this before, Frederick,” said Nobby.

"It's Sergeant Colon to you, Nobby.

“Sorry, Sergeant.”

The fog itself was shaping up to be a real Ankh-Morpork autumn gumbo.* Vimes squinted through it as the droplets buckled down to a good day's work soaking him to the skin.

“I can just make him out,” he said. “Turn left here.”

“Any ideas where we are?” said Lady Ramkin.

“Business district somewhere,” said Vimes shortly. Errol's progress was slowing a bit. He kept looking up and whining.

“Can't see a damn thing above us in the fog,” he said. “I wonder if-”