Стража! Стража!

           Justafewmorenights,thoughttheSupremeGrandMaster.Bytomorrowthepeople’llbesodesperate,they’dcrownevenaone-leggedtrollifhegotridofthedragon.Andwe’llhaveaking,andhe’llhaveanadvisor,atrustedman,ofcourse,andthisstupidrabblecangobacktothegutter.Nomoredressingup,nomoreritual.

           Nomoresummoningthedragon.

           Icangiveitup,hethought.IcangiveitupanytimeIlike.

           ThestreetsoutsidethePatrician’spalacewerethronged.Therewasamanicairofcarnival.Vimesranapractisedeyeovertheassortmentbeforehim.ItwastheusualAnkh-Morporkmobintimesofcrisis;halfofthemwereheretocomplain,aquarterofthemwereheretowatchtheotherhalf,andtheremainderwereheretorob,importuneorsellhot-dogstotherest.Therewereafewnewfaces,though.Therewereanumberofgrimmenwithbigswordsslungovertheirshouldersandwhipsslungontheirbelts,stridingthroughthecrowds.

           "Newsspreadsquick,don’tit,"observedafamiliarvoicebyhisear."Morning,Captain."

           Vimeslookedintothegrinning,cadaverousfaceofCut-me-own-ThroatDibbler,purveyorofabsolutelyanythingthatcouldbesoldhurriedlyfromanopensuitcaseinabusystreetandwasguaranteedtohavefallenoffthebackofanoxcart.

           "Morning,Throat,"saidVimesabsently."What’reyouselling?"

           "Genuinearticle,Captain."Throatleanedcloser.Hewasthesortofpersonwhocouldmake"Goodmorning"soundlikeaonce-in-a-lifetime,never-to-be-repeatedoffer.