Guards! Guards!

had been hastily created out of wood and gold foil, a number of lesser priests, some of them with slight head wounds, shuffled into position.
    Vimes shifted in his seat, aware of the sound of his own heartbeat, and glared at the haze over the river.
    …and saw the wings.
Dear Mother and Father [wrote Carrot, in between staring dutifully into the fog] Well, the town is On Fate for the coronation, which is more complicated than at home, and now I am on Day duty as well. This is a shame because, I was going to watch the Coronation with Reet, but it does not do to complain. I must go now because we are expecting a dragon any minute although it does not exist really. Your loving son, Carrot.
PS. Have you seen anything of Minty lately?
    “You idiot!”
    “Sorry,” said Vimes. “Sorry.”
    People were climbing back into their seats, many of them giving him furious looks. Wonse was white with fury.
    “How could you have been so stupid ?” he raged.
    Vimes stared at his own fingers.
    “I thought I saw—” he began.
    “It was a raven ! You know what ravens are? There must be hundreds of them in the city!”
    “In the fog, you see, the size wasn’t easy to—” Vimes mumbled.
    “And poor Master Greetling, you ought to have known what loud noises do to him!” The head of the Teachers’ Guild had to be led away by some kind people.
    “Shouting out like that!” Wonse went on.
    “Look, I said I’m sorry! It was an honest mistake!”
    “I’ve had to hold up the procession and everything!”
    Vimes said nothing. He could feel hundreds of amused or unsympathetic eyes on him.
    “Well,” he muttered, “I’d better be getting back to the Yard—”
    Wonse’s eyes narrowed. “No,” he snapped. “But you can go home, if you like. Or anywhere your fancies take you. Give me your badge.”
    “Huh?”
    Wonse held out his hand.
    “Your badge,” he repeated.
    “My badge?”
    “That’s what I said. I want to keep you out of trouble.”
    Vimes looked at him in astonishment. “But it’s my badge !”
    “And you’re going to give it to me,” said Wonse grimly. “By order of the king.”
    “What d’you mean? He doesn’t even know!” Vimes heard the wailing in his own voice.
    Wonse scowled. “But he will,” he said. “And I don’t expect he’ll even bother to appoint a successor.”
    Vimes slowly unclipped the verdigrised disc of copper, weighed it in his hand, and then tossed it to Wonse without a word.
    For a moment he considered pleading, but something rebelled. He turned, and stalked off through the crowd.
    So that was it.
    As simple as that. After half a lifetime of service. No more City Watch. Huh. Vimes kicked at the pavement. It’d be some sort of Royal Guard now.
    With plumes in their damn helmets.
    Well, he’d had enough. It wasn’t a proper life anyway, in the Watch. You didn’t meet people in the best of circumstances. There must be hundreds of other things he could do, and if he thought for long enough he could probably remember what some of them were.
    Pseudopolis Yard was off the route of the procession, and as he stumbled into the Watch House he could hear the distant cheering beyond the rooftops. Across the city the temple gongs were being sounded.
    Now they are ringing the gongs, thought Vimes, but soon they will—they will—they will not be ringing the gongs. Not much of an aphorism, he thought, but he could work on it. He had the time, now.
    Vimes noticed the mess.
    Errol had started eating again. He’d eaten most of the table, the grate, the coal scuttle, several lamps and the squeaky rubber hippo. Now he lay in his box again, skin twitching, whimpering in his sleep.
    “A right mess you’ve made,” said Vimes enigmatically. Still, at least he wouldn’t have to tidy it up.
    He opened his desk drawer.
    Someone had eaten into that, too. All that was left was a few shards of glass.

    Sergeant Colon hauled himself onto the parapet around the Temple of Small Gods. He was too old for this sort of thing. He’d joined for the bell ringing, not sitting around on high places waiting for dragons to find him.
    He got his breath back, and peered through the fog.
    “Anyone human still up here?” he whispered.
    Carrot’s voice sounded dead and featureless in the dull air.
    “Here I am, Sergeant,” he said.
    “I was just checking if you were still here,” said Colon.
    “I’m still here, Sergeant,” said Carrot, obediently.
    Colon joined him.
    “Just checking you were not