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           Thelittledragontriedtolickherface."What’shebeeneating?"

           "Thelastthing,Ithink,wasakettle,"saidVimes.

           "Akettleofwhat?"

           "No.Akettle.Ablackthingwithahandleandspout.Hesniffeditforages,thenheateit."

           Enrolgrinnedweaklyathim,andbelched.Theybothducked.

           "Oh,andthenwefoundhimeatingsootoutofthechimney,"Vimeswenton,astheirheadsroseagainovertherailings.

           TheyleanedbackoverthereinforcedbunkerthatwasoneofLadyRamkin’ssickbaypens.Ithadtobereinforced.Usuallyoneofthefirstthingsasickdragondidwaslosecontrolofitsdigestiveprocesses.

           "Hedoesn’tlooksick,exactly,"shesaid."Justfat."

           "Hewhinesalot.Andyoucansortofseethingsmovingunderhisskin.YouknowwhatIthink?Youknowyousaidtheycanrearrangetheirdigestivesystem?"

           "Oh,yes.Allthestomachsandpancreaticcrackerscanbehookedupinvariousways,yousee.Totakeadvantage-"

           "Ofwhatevertheycanfindtomakeflamewith,"saidVimes."Yes.Ithinkhe’stryingtomakesomesortofveryhotflame.Hewantstochallengethebigdragon.Everytimeittakestotheairhejustsitstherewhining."

           "Anddoesn’texplode?"

           "Notthatwe’venoticed.Imean,I’msureifhedid,we’dspotit."

           "Hejusteatsindiscriminately?"

           "Hardtobesure.Hesniffseverything,andeatsmostthings.Twogallonsoflampoil,forexample.Anyway,Ican’tleavehimdownthere.Wecan’tlookafterhimproperly.