Guards Guards - Tank

Flames roared into the space where Errol had been, but he wasn't there. The king tried to spin in mid-air. The little dragon circled in an easy series of smoke rings, weaving a cat's cradle in the sky with the huge adversary gyrating helplessly in the middle. More flames, hotter and longer, stabbed at him and missed.

The crowd watched in breathless silence.

“ 'allo, Captain,” said an ingratiating voice.

Vimes looked down. A small and stagnant pond disguised as Nobby grinned sheepishly up at him.

“I thought you were dead!” he said.

“We're not,” said Nobby.

“Oh. Good.” There didn't seem much else to say.

“What do you reckon on the fight, then?”

Vimes looked back up. Smoke trails spiralled across the city.

“I'm afraid it's not going to work,” said Lady Ramkin. “Oh. Hallo, Nobby.”

“Afternoon, ma'am,” said Nobby, touching what he thought was his forelock.

“What d'you mean, it's not going to work?” said Vimes. “Look at him go! It hasn't hit him yet!”

“Yes, but his flame has touched it several times. It doesn't seem to have any effect. It's not hot enough, I think. Oh, he's dodging well. But he's got to be lucky every time. It has only got to be lucky once.”

The meaning of this sank in.

“You mean,” said Vimes, “all this is just-just show? He's just doing it to impress?”

***

Guards Guards - p323-324