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.
Vimes looked around him. There seemed to be a lot of fallen flags, some of which were being eaten by an elderly goat which couldn't believe its luck. He could distantly see Cut-me-own-Throat on his hands and knees, trying to restore the contents of his tray.
By Vimes's side a small child waved a flag hesitantly and shouted "Hurrah".
Then everything went quiet.
Vimes bent down.
"I think you should be going home," he said.
The child squinted up at him.
"Are you a Watch man?" it said.
"No," said Vimes. "And yes."
"What happened to the king, Watch man?"
"Er. I think he's gone off for a rest," said Vimes.
"My auntie said I shouldn't talk to Watch men," said the child.
"Do you think it might be a good idea to go home and tell her how obedient you've been, then?" said Vimes.
"My auntie said, if I was naughty, she'd put me on the roof and call the dragon," said the child, conversationally. "My auntie said it eats you all up starting with the legs, so's you can see what's happening."
"Why don't you go home and tell your auntie she's acting in the best traditions of Ankh-Morpork child-rearing?" said Vimes. "Go on. Run along."
"It crunches up all your bones," said the child happily. "And when it gets to your head, it-"
"Look, it's up there!" shouted Vimes. "The great big dragon that crunches you up! Now go home!"
The child looked up at the thing perched on the crippled dais.
"I haven't seen it crunch anyone yet," it complained.
"Push off or you'll feel the back of my hand," said Vimes.
This seemed to fit the bill. The child nodded understandingly.
"Right. Can I shout hurrah again?"
"If you like," said Vimes.
"Hurrah."
So much for community policing, Vimes thought. He peered out from behind the fountain again.
A voice immediately above him rumbled, "Say what you like, I still swear it's a magnificent specimen."
Vimes's gaze travelled upwards until it crested the edge of the fountain's top bowl.
"Have you noticed," said Sybil Ramkin, hauling herself upright by a piece of eroded statuary and dropping down in front of him, "how every time we meet, a dragon turns up?" She gave him an arch smile. "It's a bit like having your own tune. Or something."
"It's just sitting there," said Vimes hurriedly. "Just looking around. As if it's waiting for something to happen."
The dragon blinked with Jurassic patience.
The roads off the square were packed with people. That's the Ankh-Morpork instinct, Vimes thought. Run away, and then stop and see if anything interesting is going to happen to other people.
There was a movement in the wreckage near the dragon's front talon, and the High Priest of Blind Io staggered to his feet, dust and splinters cascading from his robes. He was still holding the ersatz crown in one hand.
Vimes watched the old man look upwards into a couple of glowing red eyes a few feet away.
"Can dragons read minds?" whispered Vimes.
"I'm sure mine understand every word I say," hissed Lady Ramkin. "Oh, no! The silly old fool is giving it the crown!"
"But isn't that a smart move?" said Vimes. "Dragons like gold. It's like throwing a stick for a dog, isn't it?"
"Oh dear," said Sybil Ramkin. "It might not, you know. Dragons have such sensitive mouths."
The great dragon blinked at the tiny circle of gold.
Then, with extreme delicacy, it extended one metre-long claw and hooked the thing out of the priest's trembling fingers.
"What d'you mean, sensitive?" said Vimes, watching the claw travel slowly towards the long, horse-like face.
"A really incredible sense of taste. They're so, well, chemically orientated."
"You mean it can probably taste gold?" whispered Vimes, watching the crown being carefully licked.
"Oh, certainly. And smell it."
Vimes wondered what the chances were of the crown being made of gold. Not high, he decided. Gold foil over copper, perhaps. Enough to fool human beings. And then he wondered what someone's reaction would be if they were offered sugar which turned out, once you'd put three spoonfuls in your coffee, to be salt.
The dragon removed the claw from its mouth in one graceful movement and caught the high priest, who was just sneaking away, a blow which knocked him high into the air. When he was screaming at the top of the arc the great mouth came around and…
"Gosh!" said Lady Ramkin.
There was a groan from the watchers.
"The temperature of the thing!" said Vines. "I mean, nothing left! Just a wisp of smoke!"