The horn rang out again. The noise seemed to have a number of echoes that lived a life of their own. It sounded like a challenge. If that wasn't what it was, then the horn blower was soon going to be in trouble, because the dragon gave Vimes a smouldering look, unfolded its enormous wings, leapt heavily into the air and, against all the rules of aeronautics, flew slowly away in the direction of the sound.
Nothing in the world should have been able to fly like that. The wings thumped up and down with a noise like potted thunder, but the dragon moved as though it was idly sculling through the air. If it stopped flapping, the movement suggested, it would simply glide to a halt. It floated, not flew. For something the size of a barn with an armour-plated hide, it was a pretty good trick.
It passed over their heads like a barge, heading for the Plaza of Broken Moons.
'Follow it!' shouted Lady Ramkin.
'That's not right, it flying like that. I'm pretty sure there's something in one of the Witchcraft Laws,' said Carrot, taking out his notebook. 'And it's damaged the roof. It's really piling up the offences, you know.'
'You all right, Captain?' said Sergeant Colon.
'I could see right up its nose,' said Captain Vimes dreamily. His eyes focused on the worried face of the sergeant. 'Where's it gone?' he demanded. Colon pointed along the street.
Vimes glowered at the shape disappearing over the rooftops.
'Follow it!' he said.
The horn sounded again.
Other people were hurrying towards the plaza. The dragon drifted ahead of them like a shark heading towards a wayward airbed, its tail flicking slowly from side to side.
'Some loony is going to fight it!' said Nobby.
'I thought someone would have a go,' said Colon. 'Poor bugger'll be baked in his own armour.'
This seemed to be the opinion of the crowds lining the plaza. The people of Ankh-Morpork had a straightforward, no-nonsense approach to entertainment, and while they were looking forward to seeing a dragon slain, they'd be happy to settle instead for seeing someone being baked alive in his own armour. You didn't get the chance every day to see someone baked alive in their own armour. It would be something for the children to remember.
Vimes was jostled and bounced around by the crowd as more people flooded into the plaza behind them.
The horn sounded a third challenge.
'That's a slug-horn, that is,' said Colon knowledgeably. 'Like a tocsin, only deeper.'
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