Terry Pratchett - Guards! Guards!

"Yes, very good, Brother Watchtower."

"There aren't any more kings, is the point I'm try­ing to make," said Brother Watchtower helpfully.

"As Brother Watchtower says, the line of-"

"It was you talking about chivalry that give me the clue," said Brother Watchtower.

"Quite so, and-"

"You get that with kings, chivalry," said Brother Watchtower happily. "And knights. And they used to have these-"

“However,'' said the Supreme Grand Master sharply, "it may well be that the line of the kings of Ankh is not as defunct as hitherto imagined, and that progeny of the line exists even now. Thus my re­searches among the ancient scrolls do indicate."

He stood back expectantly. There didn't seem to be the effect he'd expected, however. Probably they can manage 'defunct', he thought, but I ought to have drawn the line at 'progeny'.

Brother Watchtower had his hand up again.

"Yes?"

"You saying there's some sort of heir to the throne hanging around somewhere?" said Brother Watchtower.

"This may be the case, yes."

"Yeah. They do that, you know," said Brother Watchtower knowledgeably. "Happens all the time. You read about it. Scions, they're called. They go lurking around in the distant wildernesses for ages, handing down the secret sword and birthmark and so forth from generation to generation. Then just when the old kingdom needs them, they turn up and turf out any usurpers that happen to be around. And then there's general rejoicing."

The Supreme Grand Master felt his own mouth drop open. He hadn't expected it to be as easy as this.

"Yes, all right," said a figure the Supreme Grand Master knew to be Brother Plasterer. "But so what? Let's say a scion turns up, walks up to the Patrician, says 'What ho, I'm king, here's the birthmark as per spec, now bugger off'. What's he got then? Life ex­pectancy of maybe two minutes, that's what."

"You don't listen, " said Brother Watchtower. "The thing is, the scion has to arrive when the kingdom is threatened, doesn't he? Then everyone can see, right? Then he gets carried off to the palace, cures a few people, announces a half-holiday, hands round a bit of treasure, and Bob's your uncle."

"He has to marry a princess, too," said Brother Doorkeeper. ' 'On account of him being a swineherd.''

They looked at him.

"Who said anything about him being a swineherd?" said Brother Watchtower. "I never said he was a swineherd. What's this about swineherds?"

"He's got a point, though," said Brother Plasterer. "He's generally a swineherd or a forester or similar, your basic scion. It's to do with being in wossname. Cognito. They've got to appear to be of, you know, humble origins."

"Nothing special about humble origins," said a very small Brother, who seemed to consist entirely of a little perambulatory black robe with halitosis. "I've got lots of humble origins. In my family we thought swineherding was a posh job."

"But your family doesn't have the blood of kings, Brother Dunnykin,'' said Brother Plasterer.

"We might of…" said Brother Dunnykin sulkily.

"Right, then," said Brother Watchtower grudg­ingly. "Fair enough. But at the essential moment, see your genuine kings throw back their cloak and say 'Lo!' and their essential kingnessness shines through."

"How, exactly?" said Brother Doorkeeper.

"….might of got the blood of kings," muttered Brother Dunnykin. "Got no right saying I might not have got the blood of…"

"Look, it just does, okay? You just know it when you see it."

"But before that they've got to save the kingdom," said Brother Plasterer.

"Oh, yes," said Brother Watchtower heavily. "That's the main thing, is that."

"What from, then?"

"…got as much right as anyone to might have the blood of kings…''

"The Patrician?" said Brother Doorkeeper.

Brother Watchtower, as the sudden authority on the ways of royalty, shook his head.

"I dunno that the Patrician is a threat, exactly," he said. "He's not your actual tyrant, as such. Not as bad as some we've had. I mean, he doesn't actually oppress.''

"I get oppressed all the time," said Brother Door­keeper. "Master Critchley, where I work, he op­presses me morning, noon and night, shouting at me and everything. And the woman in the vegetable shop, she oppresses me all the time."

"That's right," said Brother Plasterer. "My land­lord oppresses me something wicked. Banging on the door and going on and on about all the rent I allegedly owe, which is a total lie. And the people next door oppress me all night long. I tell them, I work all day, a man's got to have some time to learn to play the tuba. That's oppression, that is. If I'm not under the heel of the oppressor, I don't know who is."

"Put like that," said Brother Watchtower slowly, "I reckon my brother-in-law is oppressing me all the time with having this new horse and buggy he's been and bought. I haven't got one. I mean, where's the justice in that? I bet a king wouldn't let that sort of oppression go on, people's wives oppressing 'em with why haven't they got a new coach like our Rodney and that."

The Supreme Grand Master listened to this with a slightly light-headed feeling. It was as if he'd known that there were such things as avalanches, but had never dreamed when he dropped the little snowball on top of the mountain that it could lead to such aston­ishing results. He was hardly having to egg them on at all.

"I bet a king'd have something to say about land­lords," said Brother Plasterer.

"And he'd outlaw people with showy coaches," said Brother Watchtower. "Probably bought with stolen money, too, I reckon."

"I think," said the Supreme Grand Master, tweak­ing things a little, "that a wise king would only, as it were, outlaw showy coaches for the undeserving. "

There was a thoughtful pause in the conversation as the assembled Brethren mentally divided the universe into the deserving and the undeserving, and put them­selves on the appropriate side.

"It'd be only fair," said Brother Watchtower slowly. "But Brother Plasterer was right, really. I can't see a scion manifesting his destiny just because Brother Doorkeeper thinks the woman in the vegetable shop keeps giving him funny looks. No offense."

"And bloody short weight," said Brother Door­keeper. "And she…"

"Yes, yes, yes," said the Supreme Grand Master. "Truly the right-thinking folk of Ankh-Morpork are beneath the heel of the oppressors. However, a king generally reveals himself in rather more dramatic cir­cumstances. Like a war, for example."

Things were going well. Surely, for all their self-centred stupidity, one of them would be bright enough to make the suggestion?

"There used to be some old prophecy or some­thing," said Brother Plasterer. "My grandad told me." His eyes glazed with the effort of dramatic re­call. " 'Yea, the king will come bringing Law and Justice, and know nothing but the Truth, and Protect and Serve the People with his Sword.' You don't all have to look at me like that, I didn't make it up."

"Oh, we all know that one. And a fat lot of good that'd be," said Brother Watchtower. "I mean, what does he do, ride in with Law and Truth and so on like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? Hallo every­one," he squeaked, "I'm the king, and that's Truth over there, watering his horse. Not very practical, is it? Nah. You can't trust old legends."

"Why not?" said Brother Dunnykin, in a peeved voice.

" 'Cos they're legendary. That's how you can tell," said Brother Watchtower.

"Sleeping princesses is a good one," said Brother Plasterer. "Only a king can wake 'em up."

"Don't be daft," said Brother Watchtower severely. "We haven't got a king, so we can't have princesses. Stands to reason."

"Of course, in the old days it was easy," said Brother Doorkeeper happily.