To his astonishment Carrot patted him companion-ably on the shoulder.
“I know how it is,” he said sympathetically. “I had this girl back home, her name was Minty, and her father-”
“Look, for the last time, there is absolutely nothing between-” Vimes began.
There was a rattle beside them. A small avalanche of plaster and thatch rolled down. The rubble heaved, and opened one eye. One big black pupil floating in a bloodshot glow tried to focus on them.
“We must be mad,” said Vimes.
“Oh, no, sir,” said Carrot. “There's plenty of precedents. In 1135 a hen was arrested for crowing on Soul Cake Thursday. And during the regime of Psy-choneurotic Lord Snapcase a colony of bats was executed for persistent curfew violations. That was in 1401. August, I think. Great days for the law, they were,” said Carrot dreamily. “In 1321, you know, a small cloud was prosecuted for covering the sun during the climax of Frenzied Earl Hargath's investiture ceremony.”
“I hope Colon gets a move on with-” Vimes stopped. He had to know. “How?” he said. “What can you do to a cloud?”
“The Earl sentenced it to be stoned to death,” said Carrot. “Apparently thirty-one people were killed.” He pulled out his notebook and glared at the dragon.
“Can it hear us, do you think?” he said.
“I suppose so.”
' 'Well, then.'' Carrot cleared his throat and turned back to the stunned reptile. “It is my duty to warn you that you are to be reported for consideration of prosecution on some or all of the following counts, to whit: One, (One) i, that on or about 18th Grune last, in a place known as Sweetheart Lane, the Shades, you did unlawfully vent flame in a manner likely to cause grievous bodily harm, in contravention of Clause Seven of the Industrial Processes Act, 1508; AND THAT, One, (One) ii, that on or about 18th Grune last, in a place known as Sweetheart Lane, the Shades, you caused or did cause to cause the death of six persons unknown-”
Vimes wondered how long the rubble would hold the creature down. Several weeks would be necessary, if the length of the charge sheet was anything to go by.
The crowd went silent. Even Sybil Ramkin was standing in astonishment.
' 'What's the matter?'' said Vimes to the upturned faces. "Haven't you ever seen a dragon being arrested before?
“-Sixteen (Three) ii, on the night of Grune 24th last, you did flame or cause to flame those premises known as the Old Watch House, Ankh-Morpork, valued at two hundred dollars; AND THAT, Sixteen (Three) iii, on the night of Grune 24th last, upon being apprehended by an officer of the Watch in the execution of his duty-”
“I think we should hurry up,” whispered Vimes. “It's getting rather restive. Is all this necessary?”
“Well, I believe one can summarise,” said Carrot. “In exceptional circumstances, according to Bregg's Rules for-”
“It may come as a surprise, but these are exceptional circumstances, Carrot,” said Vimes. “And they're going to be really astonishingly exceptional if Colon doesn't hurry up with that rope.”
More rubble moved as the dragon strained to get up. There was a thump as a heavy beam was shouldered aside. The crowd began to run for it.
It was at this point that Enrol came back over the rooftops in a series of minor explosions, leaving a trail of smoke rings. Dipping low, he buzzed the crowd and sent the front rank stumbling backwards.
He was also wailing like a foghorn.
Vimes grabbed Carrot and stumbled down the heap as the king started to scrabble desperately to get free.
“He's come back for the kill!” he shouted. “It probably took him all this time just to slow down!”
Now Errol was hovering over the fallen dragon, and hooting shrilly enough to bust bottles.
The great dragon stuck its head up in a cascade of plaster dust. It opened its mouth but, instead of the lance of white fire that Vimes tensed himself to expect, it merely made a noise like a kitten. Admittedly a kitten shouting into a tin bath at the bottom of a cave, but still a kitten.
Broken spars fell aside when the huge creature got unsteadily to its feet. The great wings opened, showering the surrounding streets with dust and bits of thatch. Some of it clanged off the helmet of Sergeant Colon, hurrying back with what looked like a small washing line coiled over his arm.
“You're letting it get up!” Vimes shouted, pushing the sergeant to safety. “You're not supposed to let it get up, Errol! Don't let it get up!”
Lady Ramkin frowned. “That's not right,” she said. “They never usually fight like that. The winner usually kills the loser.”
“Right on!” shouted Nobby.
“And then half the time he explodes with the excitement in any case.”
“Look, it's me!” Vimes yelled, as Errol hovered unconcernedly over the scene. “I bought you the fluffy ball! The one with the bell in it! You can't do this to us!”
“No, wait a minute,” said Lady Ramkin, laying a hand on his arm. “I'm not sure we haven't got hold of the wrong end of the stick here-”
The great dragon leapt into the air and brought its wings down with a whump that flattened a few more buildings. The huge head swung around, the bleary eyes caught sight of Vimes.
There seemed to be some thought going on inside them.
Errol arced across the sky and hovered protectively in front of the captain, facing the thing down. For a moment it looked as though he might be turned into a small flying charcoal biscuit, and then the dragon lowered its gaze in a slightly embarrassed way and started to rise.
It climbed in a wide spiral, gathering speed as it did so. Errol went with it, orbiting the huge body like a tug around a liner.
“It's-it's as though he's fussing over it,” said Vimes.
“Add up the bastard!” shouted Nobby enthusiastically.
“Total, Nobby,” said Colon. “You mean 'total'.”
Vimes felt Lady Ramkin's gaze on the back of his neck. He looked at her expression.
Realisation dawned. “Oh,” he said.
Lady Ramkin nodded.
“Really?” said Vimes.