'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.
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