Guards! Guards!

importance.”
    Wonse looked down his list of other things that were also of the utmost importance. Crowning the king, for one thing. The high priests of fifty-three religions were all claiming the honor. It was going to be a scrum. And then there were the crown jewels.
    Or rather, there weren’t the crown jewels. Somewhere in the preceding generations the crown jewels had disappeared. A jeweller in the Street of Cunning Artificers was doing the best he could in the time with gilt and glass.
    Vimes could wait.
    “Tell him to come back another day,” said Wonse.
    “Good of you to see us,” said Vimes, appearing in the doorway.
    Wonse glared at him.
    “Since you’re here…” he said. Vimes dropped his helmet on Wonse’s desk in what the secretary thought was an offensive manner, and sat down.
    “Take a seat,” said Wonse.
    “Have you had breakfast yet?” said Vimes.
    “Now really—” Wonse began.
    “Don’t worry,” said Vimes cheerfully. “Constable Carrot will go and see what’s in the kitchens. This chap will show him the way.”
    When they had gone Wonse leaned across the drifts of paperwork.
    “There had better,” he said, “be a very good reason for—”
    “The dragon is back,” said Vimes.
    Wonse stared at him for a while.
    Vimes stared back.
    Wonse’s senses came back from whatever corners they’d bounced into.
    “You’ve been drinking, haven’t you,” he said.
    “No. The dragon is back. ”
    “Now, look—” Wonse began.
    “I saw it,” said Vimes flatly.
    “A dragon? You’re sure?”
    Vimes leaned across the desk. “No! I could be bloody mistaken!” he shouted. “It may have been something else with sodding great big claws, huge leathery wings and hot, fiery breath! There must be masses of things like that!”
    “But we all saw it killed!” said Wonse.
    “I don’t know what we saw!” said Vimes, “But I know what I saw!”
    He leaned back, shaking. He was suddenly feeling extremely tired.
    “Anyway,” he said, in a more normal voice, “it’s flamed a house in Bitwash Street. Just like the other ones.”
    “Any of them get out?”
    Vimes put his head in his hands. He wondered how long it was since he’d last had any sleep, proper sleep, the sort with sheets. Or food, come to that. Was it last night, or the night before? Had he ever, come to think of it, ever slept at all in all his life? It didn’t seem like it. The arms of Morpheus had rolled up their sleeves and were giving the back of his brain a right pummeling, but bits were fighting back. Any of them get…?
    “Any of who?” he said.
    “The people in the house, of course,” said Wonse. “I assume there were people in it. At night, I mean.”
    “Oh? Oh. Yes. It wasn’t like a normal house. I think it was some sort of secret society thing,” Vimes managed. Something was clicking in his mind, but he was too tired to examine it.
    “Magic, you mean?”
    “Dunno,” said Vimes. “Could be. Guys in robes.”
    He’s going to tell me I’ve been overdoing it, he said. He’ll be right, too.
    “Look,” said Wonse, kindly. “People who mess around with magic and don’t know how to control it, well, they can blow themselves up and—”
    “Blow themselves up?”
    “And you’ve had a busy few days,” said Wonse soothingly.
    “If I’d been knocked down and almost burned alive by a dragon I expect I’d be seeing them all the time.”
    Vimes stared at him with his mouth open. He couldn’t think of anything to say. Whatever stretched and knotted elastic had been driving him along these last few days had gone entirely limp.
    “You don’t think you’ve been overdoing it, do you?” said Wonse.
    Ah, thought Vimes. Jolly good.
    He slumped forward.

    The Librarian leaned cautiously over the top of the bookcase and unfolded an arm into the darkness.
    There it was.
    His thick fingernails grasped the spine of the book, pulled it gently from its shelf and hoisted it up. He raised the lantern carefully.
    No doubt about it. The Summoning of Dragons . Single copy, first edition, slightly foxed and extremely dragoned.
    He set the lamp down beside him, and began to read the first page.

    “Mmm?” said Vimes, waking up.
    “Brung you a nice cup of tea, Cap’n,” said Sergeant Colon. “And a figgin.”
    Vimes looked at him blankly.
    “You’ve been asleep,” said Sergeant Colon helpfully. “You was spark out when Carrot brought you back.”
    Vimes looked around at the now-familiar surroundings of