Vimes fought his way into the lee of Lady Ramkin.
'Kings,' he panted. 'Of Ankh. And Thrones. Are there?'
'What? Oh, yes. There used to be,' said Lady Ramkin. 'Hundreds of years ago. Why?'
'Some kid says he's heir to the throne!'
'That's right,' said Throat, who'd followed Vimes in the hope of clinching a sale. ' 'He made a big speech about how he was going to kill the dragon, overthrow the usurpers and right all wrongs. Everyone cheered. Hot sausages, two for a dollar, made of genuine pig, why not buy one for the lady?'
'Don't you mean pork, sir?' said Carrot warily, eyeing the glistening tubes.
'Manner of speaking, manner of speaking,' said Throat quickly. 'Certainly your actual pig products. Genuine pig.'
'Everyone cheers any speech in this city,' growled Vimes. 'It doesn't mean anything!'
'Get your pig sausages, five for two dollars!' said Throat, who never let a conversation stand in the way of trade. 'Could be good for business, could monarchy. Pig sausages! Pig sausages! Inna bun! And righting all wrongs, too. Sounds like a solid idea to me. With onions!'
'Can I press you to a hot sausage, ma'am?' said Nobby.
Lady Ramkin looked at the tray around Throat's neck. Thousands of years of good breeding came to her aid and there was only the faintest suggestion of horror in her voice when she said, 'My, they look good. What splendid foodstuffs.'
'Are they made by monks on some mystic mountain?' said Carrot.
Throat gave him an odd look. 'No,' he said patiently, 'by pigs.'
'What wrongs?' said Vimes urgently. 'Come on, tell me. What wrongs is he going to right?'
'We-ell,' said Throat, 'there's, well, taxes. That's wrong, for a start.' He had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. Paying taxes was something that, in Throat's world, happened only to other people.
'That's right,' said an old woman next to him. 'And the gutter of my house leaks something dreadful and the landlord won't do nothing. That's wrong.'
'And premature baldness,' said the man in front of her. 'That's wrong, too.' Vimes's mouth dropped open.
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