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Vimes
made
an
animal
-
a
mammalian
animal
-
noise
in
the
back
of
his
throat
,
and
ran
out
into
the
empty
streets
.
Silence
filled
the
ancestral
home
of
the
Ramkins
.
The
front
door
swung
back
and
forth
on
its
hinges
,
letting
in
the
common
,
badly
-
brought
up
breeze
which
wandered
through
the
deserted
rooms
,
gawping
and
looking
for
dust
on
the
top
of
the
furniture
.
It
wound
up
the
stairs
and
banged
through
the
door
of
Sybil
Ramkin
’
s
bedroom
,
rattling
the
bottles
on
the
dressing
table
and
riffling
through
the
pages
of
Diseases
of
the
Dragon
.
A
really
fast
reader
could
have
learned
the
symptoms
of
everything
from
Abated
Heels
to
Zigzag
Throat
.
And
down
below
,
in
the
low
,
warm
and
foul
-
smelling
shed
that
housed
the
swamp
dragons
,
it
seemed
that
Errol
had
got
them
all
.
Now
he
sat
in
the
centre
of
his
pen
,
swaying
and
moaning
softly
.
White
smoke
rolled
slowly
from
his
ears
and
drifted
towards
the
floor
.
From
somewhere
inside
his
swollen
stomach
came
complex
explosive
hydraulic
noises
,
as
though
desperate
teams
of
gnomes
were
trying
to
drive
a
culvert
through
a
cliff
in
a
thunderstorm
.
His
nostrils
flared
,
turning
more
or
less
of
their
own
volition
.
The
other
dragons
craned
over
the
pen
walls
,
watching
him
cautiously
.
There
was
another
distant
gastric
roar
.
Errol
shifted
painfully
.
The
dragons
exchanged
glances
.
Then
,
one
by
one
,
they
lay
down
carefully
on
the
floor
and
put
their
paws
over
their
eyes
.
Nobby
put
his
head
on
one
side
.
"
It
looks
promising
,
"
he
said
critically
.
"
We
might
be
nearly
there
.
I
reckon
the
chances
of
a
man
with
soot
on
his
face
,
his
tongue
sticking
out
,
standing
on
one
leg
and
singing
The
Hedgehog
Song
ever
hitting
a
dragon
’
s
voonerables
would
be
.
.
.
what
’
d
you
say
,
Carrot
?
"
