The dragon — the dragon — was peering down interestedly over the guttering. Its face alone was taller than a man. Its eyes were the size of very large eyes, coloured a smouldering red and filled with an intelligence that had nothing to do with human beings. It was far older, for one thing. It was an intelligence that had already been long basted in guile and marinated in cunning by the time a group of almost-monkeys were wondering whether standing on two legs was a good career move. It wasn't an intelligence that had any truck with, or even understood, the arts of diplomacy.
It wouldn't play with you, or ask you riddles. But it understood all about arrogance and power and cruelty and if it could possibly manage it, it would burn your head off. Because it liked to.
It was even more angry than usual at the moment. It could sense something behind its eyes. A tiny, weak, alien mind, bloated with self-satisfaction. It was infuriating, like an unscratchable itch. It was making it do things it didn't want to do ... and stopping it from doing things it wanted to do very much.
Those eyes were, for the moment, focused on Errol, who was going frantic. Vimes realized that all that stood between him and a million degrees of heat was the dragon's vague interest in why Vimes had a smaller dragon under his arm.
'Don't make any sudden moves,' said Lady Ramkin's voice behind him. 'And don't show fear. They can always tell when you're afraid.'
'Is there any other advice you can offer at this time?' said Vimes slowly, trying to speak without moving his lips.
'Well, tickling them behind their ears often works.'
'Oh,' said Vimes weakly.
'And a good sharp 'no!' and taking away their food bowl.'
'Ah?'
'And hitting them on the nose with a roll of paper is what I do in extreme cases.'
In the slow, brightly-outlined, desperate world Vimes was now inhabiting, which seemed to revolve around the craggy nostrils a few metres away from him, he became aware of a gentle hissing sound.
The dragon was taking a deep breath.
The intake of air stopped. Vimes looked into the darkness of the flame ducts and wondered whether he'd see anything, whether there'd be some tiny white glow or something, before fiery oblivion swept over him.
At that moment a horn rang out.
The dragon raised its head in a puzzled way and made a noise that sounded vaguely interrogative without being in any way a word.
Вы читаете Guards! Guards!
