“But not one for a king,” said Carrot. “Kings' swords are big and shiny and magical and have jewels on and when you hold them up they catch the light, ting. ”
“Ting, ” said Colon. “Yes. I suppose they have to, really.”
“I'm just saying you can't go round giving people thrones just because of stuff like that,'' said Carrot. ”That's what Captain Vimes said."
“Nice job, mind,” said Nobby. “Good hours, kinging.”
“Hmm?” Colon had momentarily been lost in a little world of speculation. Real kings had shiny swords, obviously. Except, except, except maybe your real real king of, like, days of yore, he would have a sword that didn't sparkle one bit but was bloody efficient at cutting things. Just a thought.
“I say kinging's a good job,” Nobby repeated. “Short hours.”
“Yeah. Yeah. But not long days,” said Colon. He gave Carrot a thoughtful look.
“Ah. There's that, of course.”
“Anyway, my father says being king's too much like hard work,” said Carrot. “All the surveying and assaying and everything.” He drained his pint. “It's not the kind of thing for the likes of us. Us-” he looked proudly-“guards. You all right, Sergeant?”
“Hmm? What? Oh. Yes.” Colon shrugged. What about it, anyway? Maybe things turned out for the best. He finished the beer. “Best be off,” he said. “What time was it?”
“About twelve o'clock,” said Carrot.
“Anything else?”
Carrot gave it some thought.' 'And all's well?'' he said.
“Right. Just testing.”
“You know,” said Nobby, “the way you say it, lad, you could almost believe it was true.”
...
Let the eye of attention pull back . . .
This is the Disc, world and mirror of worlds, borne through space on the back of four giant elephants who stand on the back of Great A'Tuin the Sky Turtle. Around the Rim of this world the ocean pours off endlessly into the night. At its Hub rises the ten-mile spike of the Cori Celesti, on whose glittering summit the gods play games with the fates of men . . .
. . . if you know what the rules are, and who are the players.
On the far edge of the Disc the sun was rising. The light of the morning began to flow across the patchwork of seas and continents, but it did so slowly, because light is tardy and slightly heavy in the presence of a magical field.
On the dark crescent, where the old light of sunset had barely drained from the deepest valleys, two specks, one big, one small, flew out of the shadow, skimmed low across the swells of the Rim ocean, and struck out determinedly over the totally unfathomable, star-dotted depths of space.
Perhaps the magic would last. Perhaps it wouldn't. But then, what does?
o;I, er,” he said. “If you, er. If you'd said, er. I'd, er. Dress more suitable, er. Extremely, er. Very. Er.”
She bore down upon him like a glittering siege engine.
In a sort of dream he allowed himself to be ushered to a seat. He must have eaten, because servants appeared out of nowhere with things stuffed with other things, and came back later and took the plates away. The butler reanimated occasionally to fill glass after glass with strange wines. The heat from the candles was enough to cook by. And all the time Lady Ramkin talked in a bright and brittle way-about the size of the house, the responsibilities of a huge estate, the feeling that it was time to take One's Position in Society More Seriously, while the setting sun filled the room with red and Vimes's head began to spin.
Society, he managed to think, didn't know what was going to hit it. Dragons weren't mentioned once, although after a while something under the table put its head on Vimes's knee and dribbled.
Vimes found it impossible to contribute to the conversation. He felt outflanked, beleaguered. He made one sally, hoping maybe to reach high ground from which to flee into exile.
“Where do you think they've gone?” he said.
“Where what?” said Lady Ramkin, temporarily halted.
“The dragons. You know. Errol and his wi-female.”