Chapter sevenThey do not mess about, my lads of the Guard Corps.
Directly before the mobs advancing on us a massive burst of fire and smoke blossomed. Almost immediately another fire pot dropped over on the other side of the ring. The crowds halted, open-mouthed. A fishmonger ripped off his scale-coated apron which had caught alight. He flung it from him with a yelp, and two more bursts of fire and smoke smashed the crowds back. Even then, even then, so unaccustomed were Lohvians to fliers that many did not think to look up.
Perhaps they put the gouts of flame and smoke down to the wizardry of the sorcerer of Whonban. I looked up again in great relief. Rollo the Runner, as I will now call him, looked up with me. He said: “Oh!”
Two airboats circled, and with delicate precision dropped a
