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He
peered
through
the
mist
shreds
at
the
surrounding
buildings
,
getting
his
bearings
.
So
the
dragon
had
been
hovering
-
he
paced
forward
-
here
.
"
And
,
"
said
Vimes
,
"
this
is
where
it
was
killed
.
"
He
fumbled
in
his
pockets
.
There
were
all
sorts
of
things
in
there
-
keys
,
bits
of
string
,
corks
.
His
finger
closed
on
a
stub
end
of
chalk
.
He
knelt
down
.
Errol
jumped
off
his
shoulder
and
waddled
away
to
inspect
the
detritus
of
the
celebration
.
He
always
sniffed
everything
before
he
ate
it
,
Vimes
noticed
.
It
was
a
bit
of
a
puzzle
why
he
bothered
,
because
he
always
ate
it
anyway
.
Its
head
had
been
about
,
let
’
s
see
,
here
.
He
walked
backwards
,
dragging
the
chalk
over
the
stones
,
progressing
slowly
over
the
damp
,
empty
square
like
an
ancient
worshipper
treading
a
maze
.
Here
a
wing
,
curving
away
towards
a
tail
which
stretched
out
to
here
,
change
hands
,
now
head
for
the
other
wing
.
.
.
When
he
finished
he
walked
to
the
centre
of
the
outline
and
ran
his
hands
over
the
stones
.
He
realised
he
was
half
-
expecting
them
to
be
warm
.
Surely
there
should
be
something
.
Some
,
oh
,
he
didn
’
t
know
,
some
grease
or
something
,
some
crispy
fried
dragon
lumps
.
Errol
started
eating
a
broken
bottle
with
every
sign
of
enjoyment
.
"
You
know
what
I
think
?
"
said
Vimes
.
"
I
think
it
went
somewhere
.
"
Thunder
rolled
again
.
"
All
right
,
all
right
,
"
muttered
Vimes
.
"
It
was
just
a
thought
.
It
wasn
’
t
that
dramatic
.
"
