'Er ... not exactly, Mr Vimes . , . er... I've been riding up and down on my white horse, to tell the truth
'Oh? Playing at being a general, eh?'
'Er ... a bit more'n a general, sir...'
'Goon.'
Nobby's adam's apple bobbed nervously. 'Er... I'm going to be King Lorenzo, sir. Er ... you know... the last king, the one your... er...'
The air froze.
'You ... are going to be...' Vimes began, unpeeling each word like a sullen grape of wrath.
'I said you'd go spare,' said Nobby. 'Fred Colon said you'd go spare, too.'
'Why are you - ?'
'We drew lots, sir.'
'And you lost?'
Nobby squirmed. Er ... not exactly lost, sir. Not precisely lost. More sort of won, sir. Everyone wanted to play him. I mean, you get a horse and a good costume and everything, sir. And he was a king, when all's said and done, sir.'
'The man was a vicious monster!'
'Well, it was all a long time ago, sir,' said Nobby anxiously.
Vimes calmed down a little. 'And who drew the straw to play Stoneface Vimes?'
'Er...er...'
'Nobby!'
Nobby hung his head. 'No one, sir. No one wanted to play him, sir.' The little corporal swallowed, and then plunged onwards with the air of a man determined to get it all over with. 'So we're making a man out of straw, sir, so he'll burn nicely when we throw him on the bonfire in the evening. There's going to be fireworks, sir,' he added, with dreadful certainty.
Vimes's face shut down. Nobby preferred it when people shouted. He had been shouted at for most of his life. He could handle shouting.
'No one wanted to be Stoneface Vimes,' Vimes said coldly.
'On account of him being on the losing side, sir.'
'Losing? Vimes's Ironheads won. He ruled the city for six months.'
Nobby squirmed again. 'Yeah, but... everyone in the Society says he didn't ought to of, sir. They said it was just a fluke, sir. After all, he was outnumbered ten to one, and he had warts, sir. And he was a bit of a bastard, sir, when all's said and done. He did chop off a king's head, sir. You got to be a bit of a nasty type to do that, sir. Saving your presence, Mr Vimes.'
Vimes shook his head. What did it matter, anyway? (But it did matter, somewhere.) It had all been a long time ago. It didn't matter what a bunch of deranged romantics thought. Facts were facts.
'All right, I understand,' he said. 'It's almost funny, really. Because there's something else I've got to tell you, Nobby.'
'Yessir?' said Nobby, looking relieved.
'Do you remember your father?'
Nobby looked about to panic again. 'What kind of question is that to suddenly ask anybody, sir?'
'Purely a social enquiry.'
'Old Sconner, sir? Not much, sir. Never used to see him much except when the milit'ry police used to come for to drag him outa the attic.'