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Then
,
humming
a
mad
little
tune
,
he
sauntered
out
of
the
building
.
Errol
remained
quite
still
for
a
while
and
then
,
with
extreme
difficulty
,
half
-
crawled
and
half
-
rolled
out
of
his
box
.
Strange
messages
were
coming
from
the
massive
part
of
his
brain
that
controlled
his
digestive
system
.
It
was
demanding
certain
things
that
he
couldn
’
t
put
a
name
to
.
Fortunately
it
was
able
to
describe
them
in
minute
detail
to
the
complex
receptors
in
his
enormous
nostrils
.
They
flared
,
subjecting
the
air
of
the
room
to
an
intimate
examination
.
His
head
turned
,
triangulating
.
He
pulled
himself
across
the
floor
and
began
to
eat
,
with
every
sign
of
enjoyment
,
Carrot
’
s
tin
of
armour
polish
.
People
streamed
past
Vimes
as
he
strolled
up
the
Street
of
Small
Gods
.
Smoke
rose
into
the
air
from
the
Plaza
of
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
smouldering
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
any
more
.
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
.
