'You any good at stringing bows?'
Carrot grasped the bow, compressed it easily, and slipped the other end of the string into place.
'That's a good start, Sarge,' said Nobby.
'Don't you be sarcastic with me, Nobby! It ain't strength, it's keenness of eye and steadiness of hand what counts. Now you pass me an arrow. Not that one!'
Nobby's fingers froze in the act of grasping a shaft.
'That's my lucky arrow!' spluttered Colon. 'None of you is to touch my lucky arrow!'
'Looks just like any other bloody arrow to me, Sarge,' said Nobby mildly.
'That's the one I shall use for the actual wossname, the coup de grass,' said Colon. 'Never let me down, my lucky arrow didn't. Hit whatever I shot at. Hardly even had to aim. If that dragon's got any voonerables, that arrow'll find 'em.'
He selected an identical-looking but presumably less lucky arrow and nocked it. Then he looked around the rooftops with a speculative eye.
'Better get my hand in,' he muttered. 'Of course, once you learn you never forget, it's like riding a… riding a…riding something you never forget being able to ride.'
He pulled the bowstring back to his ear, and grunted.
'Right,' he wheezed, as his arm trembled with the tension like a branch in a gale. 'See the roof of the Assassins' Guild over there?' They peered through the grubby air.
'Right, then,' said Colon. 'And do you see the weathervane on it? Do you see it?'
Carrot glanced at the arrowhead. It was weaving back and forth in a series of figure- eights.
'It's a long way off, Sarge,' said Nobby doubtfully.
'Never you mind me, you keep your eyes on the weathervane,' groaned the sergeant.
They nodded. The weathervane was in the shape of a creeping man with a big cloak; his outstretched dagger was always turned to stab the wind. At this distance, though, it was tiny.
'Okay,' panted Colon. 'Now, d'you see the man's eye?'
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