Now Errol was hovering over the fallen dragon, and hooting shrilly enough to bust bottles.
The great dragon stuck its head up in a cascade of plaster dust. It opened its mouth but, instead of the lance of white fire that Vimes tensed himself to expect, it merely made a noise like a kitten. Admittedly a kitten shouting into a tin bath at the bottom of a cave, but still a kitten.
Broken spars fell aside when the huge creature got unsteadily to its feet. The great wings opened, showering the surrounding streets with dust and bits of thatch. Some of it clanged off the helmet of Sergeant Colon, hurrying back with what looked like a small washing line coiled over his arm.
'You're letting it get up!' Vimes shouted, pushing the sergeant to safety. 'You're not supposed to let it get up, Errol! Don't let it get up!'
Lady Ramkin frowned. 'That's not right,' she said. 'They never usually fight like that. The winner usually kills the loser.'
'Right on!' shouted Nobby.
'And then half the time he explodes with the excitement in any case.'
'Look, it's me!' Vimes yelled, as Errol hovered unconcernedly over the scene. 'I bought you the fluffy ball! The one with the bell in it! You can't do this to us!'
'No, wait a minute,' said Lady Ramkin, laying a hand on his arm. 'I'm not sure we haven't got hold of the wrong end of the stick here…'
The great dragon leapt into the air and brought its wings down with a whump that flattened a few more buildings. The huge head swung around, the bleary eyes caught sight of Vimes.
There seemed to be some thought going on inside them.
Errol arced across the sky and hovered protectively in front of the captain, facing the thing down. For a moment it looked as though he might be turned into a small flying charcoal biscuit, and then the dragon lowered its gaze in a slightly embarrassed way and started to rise.
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