Guards! Guards!

“We’ve never had an enemy we couldn’t bribe or corrupt.”
    “Until now,” said Colon darkly.
    “You catch on fast,” said the guard. “So you’re going to broadcast it. On pain of pain.”
    Carrot peered over Colon’s shoulder.
    “What’s a virgin?” he said.
    “An unmarried girl,” said Colon quickly.
    “What, like my friend Reet?” said Carrot, horrified.
    “Well, no,” said Colon.
    “She’s not married, you know. None of Mrs. Palm’s girls are married.”
    “Well, yes,” said Colon.
    “Well, then,” said Carrot, with an air of finality. “We’re not having any of that kind of thing, I hope.”
    “People won’t stand for it,” said Colon. “You mark my words.”
    The guards stepped back, out of range of Carrot’s rising wrath.
    “They can please themselves,” said the senior guard.
    “But if you don’t proclaim it, you can try explaining things to His Majesty.”
    They hurried off.
    Nobby darted out into the street. “Dragon on your vest!” he shouted. “If your old mum knew about this she’d turn in her vat, you goin’ around with a dragon on your vest!”
    Colon wandered back to the table and spread out the scroll.
    “Bad business,” he mumbled.
    “It’s already killed people,” said Carrot. “Contrary to sixteen separate Acts in Council.”
    “Well, yes. But that was just like, you know, the hurly-burly of this and that,” said Colon. “Not that it wasn’t bad, I mean, but people sort of participating , just handing over some slip of a girl and standing around watching as if it’s all proper and legal, that’s much worse.”
    “I reckon it all depends on your point of view,” said Nobby thoughtfully.
    “What d’you mean?”
    “Well, from the point of view of someone being burned alive, it probably doesn’t matter much,” said Nobby philosophically.
    “People won’t stand for it, I said,” said Colon, ignoring this. “You’ll see. They’ll march on the palace, and what will the dragon do then, eh?”
    “Burn ’em all,” said Nobby promptly.
    Colon looked puzzled. “It wouldn’t do that, would it?” he said.
    “Don’t see what’s to prevent it, do you?” said Nobby. He glanced out of the doorway. “He was a good lad, that boy. Used to run errands for my grandad. Who’d have thought he’d go around with a dragon on his chest…”
    “What are we going to do , Sergeant?” said Carrot.
    “I don’t want to be burned alive,” said Sergeant Colon.
    “My wife’d give me hell. So I suppose we’ve got to wossname, proclaim it. But don’t worry, lad,” he said, patting Carrot on one muscular arm and repeating, as if he hadn’t quite believed himself the first time, “it won’t come to that. People’ll never stand for it.”

    Lady Ramkin ran her hands over Errol’s body.
    “Damned if I know what’s going on in there,” she said. The little dragon tried to lick her face. “What’s he been eating?”
    “The last thing, I think, was a kettle,” said Vimes.
    “A kettle of what?”
    “No. A kettle. A black thing with a handle and spout. He sniffed it for ages, then he ate it.”
    Errol grinned weakly at him, and belched. They both ducked.
    “Oh, and then we found him eating soot out of the chimney,” Vimes went on, as their heads rose again over the railings.
    They leaned back over the reinforced bunker that was one of Lady Ramkin’s sickbay pens. It had to be reinforced. Usually one of the first things a sick dragon did was lose control of its digestive processes.
    “He doesn’t look sick, exactly,” she said. “Just fat.”
    “He whines a lot. And you can sort of see things moving under his skin. You know what I think? You know you said they can rearrange their digestive system?”
    “Oh, yes. All the stomachs and pancreatic crackers can be hooked up in various ways, you see. To take advantage—”
    “Of whatever they can find to make flame with,” said Vimes. “Yes. I think he’s trying to make some sort of very hot flame. He wants to challenge the big dragon. Every time it takes to the air he just sits there whining.”
    “And doesn’t explode?”
    “Not that we’ve noticed. I mean, I’m sure if he did, we’d spot it.”
    “He just eats indiscriminately?”
    “Hard to be sure. He sniffs everything, and eats most things. Two gallons of lamp oil, for example. Anyway, I can’t leave him down there. We can’t look after him properly. It’s not as if we need to find out where the dragon is now,”