Guards! Guards!

Broken Moons.
    The dragon squatted in the middle of it, on what remained of the coronation dais. It had a self-satisfied expression.
    There was no sign of the throne, or of its occupant, although it was possible that complicated forensic examination of the small pile of charcoal in the wrecked and smoldering woodwork might offer some clue.
    Vimes caught hold of an ornamental fountain to steady himself as the crowds stampeded by. Every street out of the plaza was packed with struggling bodies. Not noisy ones, Vimes noticed. People weren’t wasting their breath with screaming anymore. There was just this solid, deadly determination to be somewhere else.
    The dragon spread its wings and flapped them luxuriously. The people at the rear of the crowd took this as a signal to climb up the backs of the people in front of them and run for safety from head to head.
    Within a few seconds the square was empty of all save the stupid and the terminally bewildered. Even the badly trampled were making a spirited crawl for the nearest exit.
    Vimes looked around him. There seemed to be a lot of fallen flags, some of which were being eaten by an elderly goat which couldn’t believe its luck. He could distantly see Cut-me-own-Throat on his hands and knees, trying to restore the contents of his tray.
    By Vimes’s side a small child waved a flag hesitantly and shouted “Hurrah.”
    Then everything went quiet.
    Vimes bent down.
    “I think you should be going home,” he said.
    The child squinted up at him.
    “Are you a Watch man?” it said.
    “No,” said Vimes. “And yes.”
    “What happened to the king, Watch man?”
    “Er. I think he’s gone off for a rest,” said Vimes.
    “My auntie said I shouldn’t talk to Watch men,” said the child.
    “Do you think it might be a good idea to go home and tell her how obedient you’ve been, then?” said Vimes.
    “My auntie said, if I was naughty, she’d put me on the roof and call the dragon,” said the child, conversationally. “My auntie said it eats you all up starting with the legs, so’s you can see what’s happening.”
    “Why don’t you go home and tell your auntie she’s acting in the best traditions of Ankh-Morpork child-rearing?” said Vimes. “Go on. Run along.”
    “It crunches up all your bones,” said the child happily. “And when it gets to your head, it—”
    “Look, it’s up there!” shouted Vimes. “The great big dragon that crunches you up! Now go home !”
    The child looked up at the thing perched on the crippled dais.
    “I haven’t seen it crunch anyone yet,” it complained.
    “Push off or you’ll feel the back of my hand,” said Vimes.
    This seemed to fit the bill. The child nodded understandingly.
    “Right. Can I shout hurrah again?”
    “If you like,” said Vimes.
    “Hurrah.”
    So much for community policing, Vimes thought. He peered out from behind the fountain again.
    A voice immediately above him rumbled, “Say what you like, I still swear it’s a magnificent specimen.”
    Vimes’s gaze traveled upward until it crested the edge of the fountain’s top bowl.
    “Have you noticed,” said Sybil Ramkin, hauling herself upright by a piece of eroded statuary and dropping down in front of him, “how every time we meet, a dragon turns up?” She gave him an arch smile. “It’s a bit like having your own tune. Or something.”
    “It’s just sitting there,” said Vimes hurriedly. “Just looking around. As if it’s waiting for something to happen.”
    The dragon blinked with Jurassic patience.
    The roads off the square were packed with people. That’s the Ankh-Morpork instinct, Vimes thought. Run away, and then stop and see if anything interesting is going to happen to other people.
    There was a movement in the wreckage near the dragon’s front talon, and the High Priest of Blind Io staggered to his feet, dust and splinters cascading from his robes. He was still holding the ersatz crown in one hand.
    Vimes watched the old man look upward into a couple of glowing red eyes a few feet away.
    “Can dragons read minds?” whispered Vimes.
    “I’m sure mine understand every word I say,” hissed Lady Ramkin. “Oh, no! The silly old fool is giving it the crown!”
    “But isn’t that a smart move?” said Vimes. “Dragons like gold. It’s like throwing a stick for a dog, isn’t it?”
    “Oh dear,” said Sybil Ramkin. “It might not, you know. Dragons have such sensitive mouths.”
    The great dragon blinked at the tiny