☀️ Arselia and Akonia

Oh, come on, it can't get any worse for us, and the plan is good; what could possibly go wrong anyway?

– Well-well, basically, – what if it's not the kind of chance that is one in a million?

Shnobs stared at him.

– What are you talking about?

– About how, naturally, all these last chances that are one in a million always work; there's no problem there, but... anyway, such chances are quite... how do you say it... a specific thing. Aren't they?

– Ask someone else, – Shnobs shrugged.

– But what if this chance, for example, is one in a thousand? – Colon continued with anguish in his voice.

– What?

– Has anyone ever heard of a one in a thousand chance working?

Vimes looked up from the letter.

– Don't go crazy, sergeant, – he said. – No one has ever seen a one in a thousand chance work. All odds are against it working. – Vimes moved his lips, apparently calculating. – A million to one.

– Exactly, – Shnobs agreed. – A million.

– So actually, the chance can only work if the probability of it working is exactly one in a million, – concluded the sergeant.

– I think that's correct, – Shnobs agreed.

– So, for example, a chance of one in nine hundred ninety-nine and nine hundred forty-three thousandths... – Colon began.

Vimes shook his head.

– It won't work; there's no point hoping. No one has ever said that the odds were one in nine hundred ninety-nine and nine hundred forty-three thousandths, but that it might work.

For a while, captivated by the process of own fierce calculation, they looked silently at the city spreading out before them.

Vimes scribbled something frantically. He delved into detailed calculations. First, he found the surface area of the dragon, and then began to calculate the probability of an arrow hitting some specific point on that surface.

– But don't forget, the arrow will be fired with aim! – Colon clarified. – I won't just fire blindly from the bow; I'll aim first.

Shnobs coughed.

– In that case, the chances are much higher than one in a million, – Vimes concluded. – Maybe one in a hundred. And if the dragon is flying slowly and its vulnerable spot is large, this chance becomes practically a certainty.

Colon's lips trembled, ready to utter: "Yes, a certainty, but it could still turn out..." Oh no! He shook his head.

– What should we do then? – he said aloud.

– We need to lower our chances somehow, – Shnobs suggested.

Shnobs tilted his head to the side.

– Looks very promising, – he noted critically. – It seems we're almost at the goal. I think that the chance of hitting the dragon in its vulnerable organs, if your face is smeared with soot, your tongue is sticking out, and you are standing on one leg singing the "Song of the Hedgehog," equals... Hey, Vimes, what does it equal there?