Guards! Guards! (Discworld 8)

“Oh,” he said.

“Of course, there will probably be other acquisitions in the way of land, property and so forth, and the king wishes it to be fully understood that loyal Privy Councillors will be richly rewarded.”

“And, er,” said the head assassin, who was beginning to feel that he had got a firm grip on the nature of the king's mental processes, “no doubt the, er-”

“Privy Councillors,” said Wonse.

“No doubt they will respond with even greater generosity in the matter of, for example, treasure?”

“I am sure such considerations haven't crossed the king's mind,” said Wonse, “but the point is very well made.”

“I thought it would be.”

The next course was fat pork, beans and floury potatoes. More, as they couldn't help noticing, fattening food.

Wonse had a glass of water.

“Which brings us on to a further matter of some delicacy which I am sure that well-travelled, broad-minded gentlemen such as yourselves will have no difficulty in accepting,” he said. The hand holding the glass was beginning to shake.

“I hope it will also be understood by the population at large, especially since the king will undoubtedly be able to contribute in so many ways to the well-being and defence of the city. For example, I am sure that the people will rest more contentedly in their beds knowing that the dr-the king is tirelessly protecting them from harm. There can, however, be ridiculous ancient . . . prejudices . . . which will only be eradicated by ceaseless work ... on the part of all men of good will.”

He paused, and looked at them. The head assassin said later that he had looked into the eyes of many men who, obviously, were very near death, but he had never looked into eyes that were so clearly and unmistakably looking back at him from the slopes of Hell.

He hoped he would never, he said, ever have to look into eyes like that again.

“I am referring,” said Wonse, each word coming slowly to the surface like bubbles in some quicksand, “to the matter of ... the king's . . . diet.”

There was a terrible silence. They heard the faint rustle of wings behind them, and the shadows in the corners of the hall grew darker and seemed to close in.

“Diet,” said the head thief, in a hollow voice.

“Yes,” said Wonse. His voice was almost a squeak. Sweat was dripping down his face. The head assassin had once heard the word “rictus” and wondered when you should use it correctly to describe someone's expression, and now he knew. That was what Wonse's face had become; it was the ghastly rictus of someone trying not to hear the words his own mouth was saying.

“We, er, we thought,” said the head assassin, very carefully, “that the dr- the king, well, must have been arranging matters for himself, over the weeks.”

“Ah, but poor stuff, you know. Poor stuff. Stray animals and so forth,” said Wonse, staring hard at the tabletop. “Obviously, as king, such makeshifts are no longer appropriate.”

The silence grew and took on a texture. The councillors thought hard, especially about the meal they had just eaten. The arrival of a huge trifle with a lot of cream on it only served to concentrate their minds.

“Er,” said the head merchant, “how often is the king hungry?”

“All the time,” said Wonse, “but it eats once a month. It is really a ceremonial occasion.”

“Of course,” said the head merchant. “It would be.”

“And, er,” said the head assassin, “when did the king last, er, eat?”

“I'm sorry to say it hasn't eaten properly ever since it came here,” said Wonse.

“Oh.”

“You must understand,” said Wonse, fiddling desperately with his wooden cutlery, “that merely waylaying people like some common assassin-”

“Excuse me-” the head assassin began.

“Some common murderer, I mean-there is no ... satisfaction there. The whole essence of the king's feeding is that it should be, well... an act of bonding between king and subjects. It is, it is perhaps a living allegory. Reinforcing the close links between the crown and the community,” he added.

“The precise nature of the meal-” the head thief began, almost choking on the words. “Are we talking about young maidens here?”