Vimes turned sharply to Lady Ramkin.
'How do they fight?' he said urgently. 'How do dragons fight?'
'I... that is, well, they just flap at each other and blow flame,' she said. 'Swamp dragons, that is. I mean, who's ever seen a noble dragon fight?' She patted her nightie. 'I must take some notes, I've got my memo book somewhere ...'
'In your nightshirt?'
'It's amazing how ideas come to one in bed, I've always said.'
Flames roared into the space where Errol had been, but he wasn't there. The king tried to spin in mid-air. The little dragon circled in an easy series of smoke rings, weaving a cat's cradle in the sky with the huge adversary gyrating helplessly in the middle. More flames, hotter and longer, stabbed at him and missed.
The crowd watched in breathless silence.
' 'allo, Captain,' said an ingratiating voice.
Vimes looked down. A small and stagnant pond disguised as Nobby grinned sheepishly up at him.
'I thought you were dead!' he said.
'We're not,' said Nobby.
'Oh. Good.' There didn't seem much else to say.
'What do you reckon on the fight, then?'
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