The dragon accelerated.
The drunken rooftops of Ankh-Morpork blurred as it passed over, wings sneering at the air. Its neck stretched out straight ahead, the pilot flames of its nostrils streamed behind it, the sound of its flight panned across the sky.
Colon's hands shook. The dragon seemed to be aiming at his throat, and it was moving too fast, far too fast. . .
'This is it!' said Carrot. He glanced towards the Hub, in case any gods had forgotten what they were there for, and added, speaking slowly and distinctly, 'It's a million-to-one-chance, but it might just work!'
'Fire the bloody thing!' screamed Nobby.
'Picking my spot, lad, picking my spot,' quavered Colon. 'Don't you worry, lads, I told you this is my lucky arrow. First-class arrow, this arrow, had it since I was a lad, you'd be amazed at the things I shot at with this, don't you worry.'
He paused, as the nightmare bore down on him on wings of terror.
'Er, Carrot?' he said meekly.
'Yes, Sarge?'
'Did your old grandad ever say what a voonerable spot looks like?'
And then the dragon wasn't approaching any more, it was there, passing a few feet overhead, a streaming mosaic of scales and noise, filling the entire sky.
Colon fired.
They watched the arrow rise straight and true.
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