"Uberwald for the werewolves. Ah, yes... "joy through strength". I expect they promised you all sorts of things. You may take your hands off the Scone. I do not wish to distress you further. But why? My predecessors spoke highly of you, you are a dwarf of power and influence... and then you let yourself become a paw of the werewolves. Why?"
"Why should they be allowed to get away with it?" Dee snapped, his voice breaking with the strain.
The King looked across at Vimes. "Oh, I suspect the werewolves will regret that they - " he began.
"Not them! The... ones in Ankh-Morpork! Wearing make-up and dresses and... and abominable things!" Dee pointed a finger at Cheery. "Ha"ak! How can you even look at it! You let her," and Vimes had seldom heard a word sprayed with so much venom, "her flaunt herself, here! And it"s happening everywhere because people have not been firm, not obeyed, have let the old ways slide! Everywhere there are reports. They"re eating away at everything dwarfish with their... their soft clothes and paint and beastly ways. How can you be King and allow this? Everywhere they are doing it and you do nothing! Why should they be allowed to do this?" Now Dee was sobbing. "I can"t!"
Vimes saw that Cheery, to his amazement, was blinking back tears.
"I see," said the King. "Well, I suppose that is an explanation." He nodded to the guards. "Take... her away. Some things must wait a day or two."
Cheery saluted, suddenly. "Permission to go with her, sire?"
"What on earth for, young... young dwarf?"
"I expect she"d like someone to talk to, sire. I know I would."
"Indeed? I see your commander has no objection. Off you go, then."
The King leaned back when the guards had left with their prisoner and the prisoner"s new counsellor.
"Well, your excellency?"
"This is the real Scone?"
"You are not certain?"
"Dee was!"
"Dee... is in a difficult state of mind." The King looked at the ceiling. "I think I will tell you this because, your excellency, I really do not want you going through the rest of your time here asking silly questions. Yes, this is the true Scone."
"But how could - "
"Wait! So was the one that is, yes, ground to dust in the cave by Dee in her... madness," the King went on. "So were the... let me see... five before that. Still untouched by time after fifteen hundred years? What romantics we dwarfs are! Even the very best dwarf bread crumbles after a few hundred."
"Fakes?" said Vimes. "They were all fakes?"
Suddenly the King was holding his mining axe again. "This, milord, is my family"s axe. We have owned it for almost nine hundred years, see. Of course, sometimes it needed a new blade. And sometimes it has required a new handle, new designs on the metalwork, a little refreshing of the ornamentation... but is this not the nine-hundred-year-old axe of my family? And because it has changed gently over time, it is still a pretty good axe, y"know. Pretty good. Will you tell me this is a fake too?" He sat back again.
Vimes remembered the look on Albrecht"s face. "He knew."
"Oh, yes. A number of... more senior dwarfs know. The knowledge runs in families. The first Scone crumbled after three hundred years when the king of the time touched it. My ancestor was a guard who witnessed it, see. He got accelerated promotion, you could say. I"m sure you understand me. After that, we were a little more prepared. We would have been looking for a new one in fifty years or so in any case. I"m glad one was made in the large dwarf city of Ankh-Morpork, and I wouldn"t be at all surprised if it turns out to be an excellent keeper. Look, they"ve even got the currants right, see?"
"But Albrecht could have exposed you!" "Exposed what? He is not King, but I will be very surprised if one of his family is not King again, in the fullness of time. What goes around comes around, as the Igors say." The King leaned forward.
"You have been labouring under a misapprehension; I reckon. You think that because Albrecht dislikes Ankh-Morpork and has... oldfashioned ideas, he is a bad dwarf. But I have known him for two hundred years. He is honest and honourable... more so than me, that I"m sure of. Five hundred years ago he would have made a fine king. Today, perhaps not. Perhaps... hah... the axe of my ancestors needs a different handle. But now I am King and he accepts that with all his heart because if he did not, he"d think he wasn"t a dwarf, see? Of course he will now oppose me at every turn. Being Low King was never an easy job. But, to use one of your metaphors, we are all floating in the same boat.
We may certainly try to push one another over the side, but only a maniac like Dee would make a hole in the bottom."
"Corporal Littlebottom thought there"d be a war - " said Vimes weakly.
"Well, there are always hotheads. But while we argue about who steers the boat, we don"t deny that it"s an important voyage. I see you are tired. Let your good lady take you home. But as a nightcap... What is it, your excellency, that Ankh-Morpork wants?"
"Ankh-Morpork wants the names of the murderers," mumbled Vimes.
"No, that is what Commander Vimes wants. What is it that Ankh-Morpork wants? Gold? So often it is gold. Or iron, perhaps? You use a lot of iron."
Vimes blinked. His brain had finally given up. There was nothing left any more. He wasn"t certain he could even stand up.