Lady Ramkin shook herself free. A ragged cheer went up and started to grow in volume. Even in their current state of mind, the people of Ankh-Morpork always appreciated a performance.
She grabbed a handful of chain and wrapped it around one pudgy fist.
'Some of those guards don't know how to treat…' she began.
'No time, no time,' said Vimes, grabbing her arm. It was like trying to drag a mountain.
The cheering stopped, abruptly.
There was a sound behind Vimes. It was not, particularly, a loud noise. It just had a peculiarly nasty carrying quality. It was the click of four sets of talons hitting the flagstones at the same time.
Vimes looked around and up.
Soot clung to the dragon's hide. A few pieces of charred wood had lodged here and there, and were still smouldering. The magnificent bronze scales were streaked with black.
It lowered its head until Vimes was a few feet away from its eyes, and tried to focus on him.
Probably not worth running, Vimes told himself. It's not as if I've got the energy anyway.
He felt Lady Ramkin's hand engulf his.
'Jolly well done,' she said. 'It nearly worked.'
Charred and blazing wreckage rained down around the distillery. The pond was a swamp of debris, covered with a coating of ash. Out of it, dripping slime, rose Sergeant Colon.
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