'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
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