Стража! Стража!

           Therewasstillplentyofthunderabout,andagreen,freshsmellintheair.AfewshredsofmistfromtheAnkhhoveredoverthestones.Itwouldbedawnsoon.

           Vimes’sfootstepsechoedwetlyfromthesurroundingbuildingsashepickedhiswayacrosstheplaza.Theboyhadstoodhere.

           Hepeeredthroughthemistshredsatthesurroundingbuildings,gettinghisbearings.Sothedragonhadbeenhovering-hepacedforward-here.

           "And,"saidVimes,"thisiswhereitwaskilled."

           Hefumbledinhispockets.Therewereallsortsofthingsinthere-keys,bitsofstring,corks.Hisfingerclosedonastubendofchalk.

           Hekneltdown.Erroljumpedoffhisshoulderandwaddledawaytoinspectthedetritusofthecelebration.Healwayssniffedeverythingbeforeheateit,Vimesnoticed.Itwasabitofapuzzlewhyhebothered,becausehealwaysateitanyway.

           Itsheadhadbeenabout,let’ssee,here.

           Hewalkedbackwards,draggingthechalkoverthestones,progressingslowlyoverthedamp,emptysquarelikeanancientworshippertreadingamaze.Hereawing,curvingawaytowardsatailwhichstretchedouttohere,changehands,nowheadfortheotherwing...

           Whenhefinishedhewalkedtothecentreoftheoutlineandranhishandsoverthestones.Herealisedhewashalf-expectingthemtobewarm.

           Surelythereshouldbesomething.Some,oh,hedidn’tknow,somegreaseorsomething,somecrispyfrieddragonlumps.Errolstartedeatingabrokenbottlewitheverysignofenjoyment."YouknowwhatIthink?"saidVimes."Ithinkitwentsomewhere."

           Thunderrolledagain.