Vimes threw up his hands.
'Don't you worry, guv,' said Nobby quickly. 'He's — he's probably gone to, to have a drink. Or something. Maybe it's the end of round one. Or something.'
'I mean, he ate our kettle and everything,' said Colon uncertainly. 'He wouldn't just run away after eating a kettle. Stands to reason. Anyone who could eat a kettle wouldn't run away from anything. '
'And my armour polish,' said Carrot. 'It was nearly a whole dollar for the tin.'
'There you are then,' said Colon. 'It's like I said.'
'Look,' said Vimes, as patiently as he could manage. 'He's a nice dragon, I liked him as much as you, a very nice little chap, but he's just done the sensible thing, for gods' sake, he's not going to get burned to bits just to save us. Life just doesn't work like that. You might as well face it.'
Overhead the great dragon strutted through the air and flamed a nearby tower. It had won.
'I've never seen that before,' said Lady Ramkin. 'Dragons normally fight to the death.'
'At last they've bred one who's sensible,' said Vimes morosely. 'Let's be honest: the chances of a dragon the size of Errol beating something that big are a million-to-one'
There was one of those silences you get after one clear bright note has been struck and the world pauses.
The rank looked at one another.
'Million-to-one?' asked Carrot nonchalantly.
'Definitely,' said Vimes. 'Million-to-one.'
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