Стража! Стража!

           Thedoorleftthewallaheadofagreatbillowofblacksmokeandsailedintotheair,tumblingslowly,toploughintotherhododendrons.

           Somethingveryenergeticandhotwashappeninginthatbuilding.Moresmokepouredout,thickandoilyandsolid.Oneofthewallsfoldedinonitself,andthenanotheronetoppledsluggishlyontothelawn.

           Swampdragonsshotdeterminedlyoutofthewreckagelikechampagnecorks,wingswhirringfrantically.

           Stillthesmokeunrolled.Buttherewassomethinginthere,somepointoffiercewhitelightthatwasgentlyrising.

           Itdisappearedfromviewasitpassedastrickenwindow,andthen,withapieceofrooftilestillspinningonthetopofhishead,ErrolclimbedabovehisownsmokeandascendedintotheskiesofAnkh-Morpork.

           Thesunlightglintedoffhissilverscalesashehoveredaboutahundredfeetup,turningslowly,balancingnicelyonhisownflame...

           Vimes,awaitingdeathontheplaza,realisedthathismouthwashangingopen.Heshutitagain.

           TherewasabsolutelynosoundinthecitynowbutthenoiseofErrol’sascent.

           Theycanrearrangetheirownplumbing,Vimestoldhimselfbemusedly.Tosuitcircumstances.He’smadeitworkinreverse.Buthisthingys,hisgenes...surelyhemusthavebeenhalfwaytoitanyway.Nowonderthelittlebuggerhasgotsuchstubbywings.Hisbodymusthaveknownhewasn’tgoingtoneedthem,excepttosteer.

           Goodgrief.I’mwatchingthefirsteverdragontoflamebackwards.

           Heriskedaglanceimmediatelyabovehim.