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and down. “Joining the watch, are you?”
    “I hope to prove worthy, yes,” said Carrot.
    The guard gave him what could loosely be called an old-fashioned look. It was practically neolithic.
    “What was it you done?” he said.
    “I’m sorry?” said Carrot.
    “You must of done something,” said the guard.
    “My father wrote a letter,” said Carrot proudly. “I’ve been volunteered.”
    “Bloody hellfire,” said the guard.

    Now it was night again, and beyond the dread portal:
    “Are the Wheels of Torment duly spun?” said the Supreme Grand Master.
    The Elucidated Brethren shuffled around their circle.
    “Brother Watchtower?” said the Supreme Grand Master.
    “Not my job to spin the Wheels of Torment,” muttered Brother Watchtower. “’s Brother Plasterer’s job, spinning the Wheels of Torment—”
    “No it bloody well isn’t, it’s my job to oil the Axles of the Universal Lemon,” said Brother Plasterer hotly. “You always say it’s my job—”
    The Supreme Grand Master sighed in the depths of his cowl as yet another row began. From this dross he was going to forge an Age of Rationality?
    “Just shut up, will you?” he snapped. “We don’t really need the Wheels of Torment tonight. Stop it, the pair of you. Now, Brethren—you have all brought the items as instructed?”
    There was a general murmuring.
    “Place them in the Circle of Conjuration,” said the Supreme Grand Master.
    It was a sorry collection. Bring magical things, he’d said. Only Brother Fingers had produced anything worthwhile. It looked like some sort of altar ornament, best not to ask from where. The Supreme Grand Master stepped forward and prodded one of the other things with his toe.
    “What,” he said, “is this?”
    “’s a amulet,” muttered Brother Dunnykin. “’s very powerful. Bought it off a man. Guaranteed. Protects you against crocodile bites.”
    “Are you sure you can spare it?” said the Supreme Grand Master. There was a dutiful titter from the rest of the Brethren.
    “Less of that, brothers,” said the Grand Master, spinning around. “Bring magical things, I said. Not cheap jewelry and rubbish! Good grief, this city is lousy with magic!” He reached down. “What are these things, for heaven’s sake?”
    “They’re stones,” said Brother Plasterer uncertainly.
    “I can see that. Why’re they magical?”
    Brother Plasterer began to tremble. “They’ve got holes in them, Supreme Grand Master. Everyone knows that stones with holes in them are magical.”
    The Supreme Grand Master walked back to his place on the circle. He threw his arms up.
    “Right, fine, okay,” he said wearily. “If that’s how we’re going to do it, that’s how we’re going to do it. If we get a dragon six inches long we’ll all know the reason why. Won’t we, Brother Plasterer. Brother Plasterer? Sorry. I didn’t hear what you said? Brother Plasterer?”
    “I said yes, Supreme Grand Master,” whispered Brother Plasterer.
    “Very well. So long as that’s quite understood.” The Supreme Grand Master turned and picked up the book.
    “And now,” he said, “if we are all quite ready…”
    “Um.” Brother Watchtower meekly raised his hand.
    “Ready for what, Supreme Grand Master?” he said.
    “For the summoning, of course. Good grief, I should have thought—”
    “But you haven’t told us what we’re supposed to do , Supreme Grand Master,” whined Brother Watchtower.
    The Grand Master hesitated. This was quite true, but he wasn’t going to admit it.
    “Well, of course,” he said. “It’s obvious. You have to focus your concentration. Think hard about dragons,” he translated. “All of you.”
    “That’s all, is it?” said Brother Doorkeeper.
    “Yes.”
    “Don’t we have to chant a mystic prune or something?”
    The Supreme Grand Master stared at him. Brother Doorkeeper managed to look as defiant in the face of oppression as an anonymous shadow in a black cowl could look. He