'Hooray, hooray, hooray!' he giggled, almost choking.
'What on earth d'you mean?' Lady Ramkin demanded.
'Put out more flags! Blow the cymbals, roast the tocsin! We've crowned it! We've got a king after all! What ho!'
'Have you been drinking?' she snapped.
'Not yet!' sniggered Vimes. 'Not yet! But I will be!'
He laughed on, knowing that when he stopped black depression was going to drop on him like a lead souffle. But he could see the future stretching out ahead of them . . .
... after all, it was definitely noble. And it didn't carry money, and it couldn't answer back. It could certainly do something for the inner cities, too. Like torching them to the bedrock.
We'll really do it, he thought. That's the Ankh-Morpork way. If you can't beat it or corrupt it, you pretend it was your idea in the first place.
Vivat Draco.
He became aware that the small child had wandered up again. It waved its flag gently at him and said, 'Can I shout hurrah again now?'
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