'I don't reckon he was the right king, anyway,' said Carrot. 'Talking of kings: anyone want a crisp?'
'There's no right longs,'' said Colon, but without much rancour. Ten dollars a month was going to make a big difference. Mrs Colon was acting very differently towards a man bringing home another ten dollars a month. Her notes on the kitchen table were a lot more friendly.
'No, but I mean, there's nothing special about having an ancient sword,' said Carrot. 'Or a birthmark. I mean, look at me. I've got a birthmark on my arm.'
'My brother's got one, too,' said Colon. 'Shaped like a boat.'
'Mine's more like a crown thing,' said Carrot.
'Oho, that makes you a king, then,' grinned Nobby. 'Stands to reason.'
'I don't see why. My brother's not an admiral,' said Colon reasonably.
'And I've got this sword,' said Carrot.
He drew it. Colon took it from his hand, and turned it over and over in the light from the flare over the Drum's door. The blade was dull and short, and notched like a saw. It was well-made and there might have been an inscription on it once, but it had long ago been worn into indecipherability by sheer use.
'It's a nice sword,' he said thoughtfully. 'Well-balanced.'
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