Feet of Clay (Discworld 19)

'Why not?'

'You're gonna go spare, sir.'

'Spare?'

'You know, sir ... throw a wobbler.'

'I might, Nobby.' Vimes sighed. 'But it'll be nothing to what'll get heaved if you don't tell me...'

'Thing is, it's the tricentre - tricera - this three-hundred-year celebration thing next year, Mr Vimes...'

'Yes?'

Nobby licked his lips. 'I dint like to ask for time offspecial. Fred said you were a bit sensitive about it all. But... you know I'm in the Peeled Nuts, sir...'

Vimes nodded. 'Those clowns who dress up and pretend to fight old battles with blunt swords,' he said.

'The Ankh-Morpork Historical Re-creation Society, sir,' said Nobby, a shade reproachfully.

'That's what I said.'

'Well... we're going to recreate the Battle of Ankh-Morpork for the celebrations, see. That means extra practice.'

'It all begins to make sense,' said Vimes, nodding wearily. 'You've been marching up and down with your tin pike, eh? In my time?'

'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!'