There were trainee Assassins in the streets around the Guild, still sweeping up debris.
Assassins in daylight,' snarled Vimes. 'I'm amazed they don't turn to dust.'
'That's vampires, sir,' said Carrot.
'Hah! You're right. Assassins and licensed thieves and bloody vampires! You know, this was a great old city once, lad.'
Unconsciously, they fell into step . . . proceeding.
'When we had kings, sir?'
'Kings? Kings? Hell, no!'
A couple of Assassins looked around in surprise.
'I'll tell you,' said Vimes. A monarch's an absolute ruler, right? The head honcho—'
'Unless he's a queen,' said Carrot.
Vimes glared at him, and then nodded.
'OK, or the head honchette—'
'No, that'd only apply if she was a young woman. Queens tend to be older. She'd have to be a . . . a honcharina? No, that's for very young princesses. No. Um. A honchesa, I think.'
Vimes paused. There's something in the air in this city, he thought. If the Creator had said, 'Let there be light' in Ankh-Morpork, he'd have got no further because of all the people saying 'What colour?'
'The supreme ruler, OK,' he said, starting to stroll forward again.
'OK.'
'But that's not right, see? One man with the power of life and death.'
'But if he's a good man—' Carrot began.
'What? What? OK. OK. Let's believe he's a good man. But his second-in-command – is he a good man too? You'd better hope so. Because he's the supreme ruler, too, in the name of the king. And the rest of the court . . . they've got to be good men. Because if just one of them's a bad man the result is bribery and patronage.'
'The Patrician's a supreme ruler,' Carrot pointed out. He nodded at a passing troll. 'G'day, Mr Carbuncle.'
'But he doesn't wear a crown or sit on a throne and he doesn't tell you it's right that he should rule,' said Vimes. 'I hate the bastard. But he's honest. Honest like a corkscrew.'
'Even so, a good man as king—'
'Yes? And then what? Royalty pollutes people's minds, boy. Honest men start bowing and bobbing just because someone's grandad was a bigger murdering bastard than theirs was. Listen! We probably had good kings, once! But kings breed other kings! And blood tells, and you end up with a bunch of arrogant, murdering bastards! Chopping off queens' heads and fighting their cousins every five minutes! And we had centuries of that! And then one day a man said “No more kings!” and we rose up and we fought the bloody nobles and we dragged the king off his throne and we dragged him into Sator Square and we chopped his bloody head off! Job well done!'
?'
' 'S'right. Then our friend nips into the hole for a few seconds, right, comes out again, trots around the courtyard and next minute there's Assassins everywhere and he's among 'em. What the hell. Another man in black. No-one notices, see?'
'You mean he's still in there?'
'How do I know? Hoods and cloaks, everyone in black 'How come you were able to fee this?'
'Oh, I always nip into the Assassins' Guild on a Wednesday night. Mixed grill night, see?' Gaspode sighed at Angua's blank expression. 'The cook always does a mixed grill of a Wednesday night. No-one ever eats the black pudding. So it's round the kitchens, see, woof woof, beg beg, who's a good boy then, look at the little bugger, he looks as though he understands every word I'm sayin', let's see what we've got here for a good doggy . . .'
He looked embarrassed for a moment.
'Pride is all very well, but a sausage is a sausage,' he said.