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He
would
be
later
on
,
of
course
.
By
evening
he
’
d
be
furious
.
Drunk
and
furious
.
But
not
yet
.
Not
yet
.
It
hadn
’
t
really
sunk
in
,
and
he
knew
he
was
just
going
through
the
motions
as
a
preventative
against
thinking
.
Errol
stirred
sluggishly
in
his
box
,
raised
his
head
and
whined
.
"
What
’
s
the
matter
,
boy
?
"
said
Vimes
,
reaching
down
.
"
Upset
stomach
?
"
The
little
dragon
’
s
skin
was
moving
as
though
heavy
industry
was
being
carried
on
inside
.
Nothing
in
Diseases
of
the
Dragon
said
anything
about
this
.
From
the
swollen
stomach
came
sounds
like
a
distant
and
complicated
war
in
an
earthquake
zone
.
That
surely
wasn
’
t
right
.
Sybil
Ramkin
said
you
had
to
pay
great
attention
to
a
dragon
’
s
diet
,
since
even
a
minor
stomach
upset
would
decorate
the
walls
and
ceiling
with
pathetic
bits
of
scaly
skin
.
But
in
the
past
few
days
.
.
.
well
,
there
had
been
cold
pizzas
,
and
the
ash
from
Nobby
’
s
horrible
dog
-
ends
,
and
all
-
in
-
all
Errol
had
eaten
more
or
less
what
he
liked
.
Which
was
just
about
everything
,
to
judge
by
the
room
.
Not
to
mention
the
contents
of
the
bottom
drawer
.
"
We
really
haven
’
t
looked
after
you
very
well
,
have
we
?
"
said
Vimes
.
"
Treated
you
like
a
dog
,
really
.
"
He
wondered
what
effect
squeaky
rubber
hippos
had
on
the
digestion
.
Vimes
became
slowly
aware
that
the
distant
cheering
had
turned
to
screams
.
He
stared
vaguely
at
Errol
,
and
then
smiled
an
incredibly
evil
smile
and
stood
up
.
There
were
sounds
of
panic
and
the
mob
on
the
run
.
He
placed
his
battered
helmet
on
his
head
and
gave
it
a
jaunty
tap
.
