Men at Arms by Terry Pratchett Page B

know.”
    “Well…at this time of year the males fight. Make themselves look big, you know? That’s why I always keep them apart.”
    Vimes shook his head. “There was only one dragon,” he said.
    Behind them, Carrot leaned over the next pen, where a pear-shaped male dragon opened one eye and glared at him.
    “Whosagoodboyden?” murmured Carrot. “I’m sure I’ve got a bit of coal somewhere—”
    The dragon opened the other eye, blinked, and then was fully awake and rearing up. Its ears flattened. Its nostrils flared. Its wings unfurled. It breathed in. From its stomach came the gurgle of rushing acids as sluices and valves were opened. Its feet left the floor. Its chest expanded—
    Vimes hit Carrot at waist height, bearing him to the ground.
    In its pen the dragon blinked. The enemy had mysteriously gone. Scared off!
    It subsided, blowing off a huge flame.
    Vimes unclasped his hands from his head and rolled over.
    “What’d do you do that for, captain?” said Carrot. “I wasn’t—”
    “It was attacking a dragon!” shouted Vimes. “One that wouldn’t back down!”
    He pulled himself to his knees and tapped Carrot’s breastplate.
    “You polish that up real bright!” he said. “You can see yourself in it. So can anything else!”
    “Oh, yes, of course there’s that ,” said Lady Sybil.“Everyone knows you should keep dragons away from mirrors—”
    “Mirrors,” said Carrot. “Hey, there were bits of—”
    “Yes. He showed Chubby a mirror,” said Vimes.
    “The poor little thing must have been trying to make himself bigger than himself,” said Carrot.
    “We’re dealing here,” said Vimes, “with a twisted mind.”
    “Oh, no! You think so?”
    “Yes.”
    “But…no…you can’t be right. Because Nobby was with us all the time.”
    “ Not Nobby,” said Vimes testily. “Whatever he might do to a dragon, I doubt if he’d make it explode. There’s stranger people in this world than Corporal Nobbs, my lad.”
    Carrot’s expression slid into a rictus of intrigued horror.
    “Gosh,” he said.
     
    Sergeant Colon surveyed the butts. Then he removed his helmet and wiped his forehead.
    “I think perhaps Lance-Constable Angua shouldn’t have another go with the longbow until we’ve worked out how to stop her…her getting in the way.”
    “Sorry, sergeant.”
    They turned to Detritus, who was standing sheepishly behind a heap of broken longbows. Crossbows were out of the question. They sat in his massive hands like a hairpin. In theory the longbow would be a deadly weapon in his hands, just as soon as he mastered the art of when to let go.
    Detritus shrugged.
    “Sorry, mister,” he said. “Bows aren’t troll weapon.”

    “Ha!” said Colon. “As for you, Lance-Constable Cuddy—”
    “Just can’t get the hang of aiming, sergeant.”
    “I thought dwarfs were famous for their skills in battle!”
    “Yeah, but…not these skills,” said Cuddy.
    “Ambush,” murmured Detritus.
    Since he was a troll, the murmur bounced off distant buildings. Cuddy’s beard bristled.
    “You devious troll, I get my—”
    “Well now,” said Sergeant Colon quickly, “I think we’ll stop training. You’ll have to…sort of pick it up as you go along, all right?”
    He sighed. He was not a cruel man, but he’d been either a soldier or a guard all his life, and he was feeling put-upon. Otherwise he wouldn’t have said what he said next.
    “I don’t know, I really don’t. Fighting among yourselves, smashing your own weapons…I mean, who do we think we’re fooling? Now, it’s nearly noon, you take a few hours off, we’ll see you again tonight. If you think it’s worth turning up.”
    There was a spang! noise. Cuddy’s crossbow had gone off in his hand. The bolt whiffled past Corporal Nobbs’ ear and landed in the river, where it stuck.
    “Sorry,” said Cuddy.
    “Tsk, tsk,” said Sergeant Colon.
    That was the worst part. It would have been better all round if he’d called the