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Vimes
felt
curiously
elated
as
he
stepped
out
into
the
city
’
s
throbbing
streets
again
.
He
was
definitely
detecting
things
.
They
were
little
bits
of
things
,
like
a
jigsaw
.
No
one
of
them
made
any
real
sense
,
but
they
all
hinted
at
a
bigger
picture
.
All
he
needed
to
do
was
find
a
corner
,
or
a
bit
of
an
edge
.
.
.
He
was
pretty
certain
it
wasn
’
t
a
wizard
,
whatever
the
Librarian
might
think
.
Not
a
proper
,
paid
-
up
wizard
.
This
sort
of
thing
wasn
’
t
their
style
.
And
there
was
,
of
course
,
this
business
about
the
lair
.
The
most
sensible
course
would
be
to
wait
and
see
if
the
dragon
turned
up
tonight
,
and
try
and
see
where
.
That
meant
a
high
place
.
Was
there
some
way
of
detecting
dragons
themselves
?
He
’
d
had
a
look
at
Cut
-
me
-
own
-
Throat
Dibbler
’
s
dragon
detectors
,
which
consisted
solely
of
a
piece
of
wood
on
a
metal
stick
.
When
the
stick
was
burned
through
,
you
’
d
found
your
dragon
.
Like
a
lot
of
Cut
-
me
-
own
-
Throat
’
s
devices
,
it
was
completely
efficient
in
its
own
special
way
while
at
the
same
time
being
totally
useless
.
There
had
to
be
a
better
way
of
finding
the
thing
than
waiting
until
your
fingers
were
burned
off
.
The
setting
sun
spread
out
on
the
horizon
like
a
lightly
-
poached
egg
.
The
rooftops
of
Ankh
-
Morpork
sprouted
a
fine
array
of
gargoyles
even
in
normal
times
,
but
now
they
were
alive
with
as
ghastly
an
array
of
faces
as
ever
were
seen
outside
a
woodcut
about
the
evils
of
gin
-
drinking
among
the
non
-
woodcut
-
buying
classes
.
Many
of
the
faces
were
attached
to
bodies
holding
a
fearsome
array
of
homely
weapons
that
had
been
handed
down
from
generation
to
generation
for
centuries
,
often
with
some
force
.
From
his
perch
on
the
roof
of
the
Watch
House
Vimes
could
see
the
wizards
lining
the
rooftops
of
the
University
,
and
the
gangs
of
opportunist
hoard
-
researchers
waiting
in
the
streets
,
shovels
at
the
ready
.
If
the
dragon
really
did
have
a
bed
somewhere
in
the
city
,
then
it
would
be
sleeping
on
the
floor
tomorrow
.
From
somewhere
below
came
the
cry
of
Cut
-
me
-
own
-
Throat
Dibbler
,
or
one
of
his
colleagues
,
selling
hot
sausages
.
Vimes
felt
a
sudden
surge
of
civic
pride
.
There
had
to
be
something
right
about
a
citizenry
which
,
when
faced
with
catastrophe
,
thought
about
selling
sausages
to
the
participants
.
The
city
waited
.
A
few
stars
came
out
.
