Guards! Guards!

grudgingly. “Fair enough. But at the essential moment, see, your genuine kings throw back their cloak and say ‘Lo!’ and their essential kingnessness shines through.”
    “How, exactly?” said Brother Doorkeeper.
    “—might of got the blood of kings,” muttered Brother Dunnykin. “Got no right saying I might not have got the blood of—”
    “Look, it just does, okay? You just know it when you see it.”
    “But before that they’ve got to save the kingdom,” said Brother Plasterer.
    “Oh, yes,” said Brother Watchtower heavily. “That’s the main thing, is that.”
    “What from, then?”
    “—got as much right as anyone to might have the blood of kings—”
    “The Patrician?” said Brother Doorkeeper.
    Brother Watchtower, as the sudden authority on the ways of royalty, shook his head.
    “I dunno that the Patrician is a threat, exactly,” he said. “He’s not your actual tyrant, as such. Not as bad as some we’ve had. I mean, he doesn’t actually oppress .”
    “I get oppressed all the time,” said Brother Doorkeeper. “Master Critchley, where I work, he oppresses me morning, noon and night, shouting at me and everything. And the woman in the vegetable shop, she oppresses me all the time.”
    “That’s right,” said Brother Plasterer. “My landlord oppresses me something wicked. Banging on the door and going on and on about all the rent I allegedly owe, which is a total lie. And the people next door oppress me all night long. I tell them, I work all day, a man’s got to have some time to learn to play the tuba. That’s oppression, that is. If I’m not under the heel of the oppressor, I don’t know who is.”
    “Put like that—” said Brother Watchtower slowly—“I reckon my brother-in-law is oppressing me all the time with having this new horse and buggy he’s been and bought. I haven’t got one. I mean, where’s the justice in that? I bet a king wouldn’t let that sort of oppression go on, people’s wives oppressing ’em with why haven’t they got a new coach like our Rodney and that.”
    The Supreme Grand Master listened to this with a slightly lightheaded feeling. It was as if he’d known that there were such things as avalanches, but had never dreamed when he dropped the little snowball on top of the mountain that it could lead to such astonishing results. He was hardly having to egg them on at all.
    “I bet a king’d have something to say about landlords,” said Brother Plasterer.
    “And he’d outlaw people with showy coaches,” said Brother Watchtower. “Probably bought with stolen money, too, I reckon.”
    “I think,” said the Supreme Grand Master, tweaking things a little, “that a wise king would only, as it were, outlaw showy coaches for the undeserving .”
    There was a thoughtful pause in the conversation as the assembled Brethren mentally divided the universe into the deserving and the undeserving, and put themselves on the appropriate side.
    “It’d be only fair,” said Brother Watchtower slowly. “But Brother Plasterer was right, really. I can’t see a skion manifesting his destiny just because Brother Doorkeeper thinks the woman in the vegetable shop keeps giving him funny looks. No offense.”
    “ And bloody short weight,” said Brother Doorkeeper. “And she—”
    “Yes, yes, yes,” said the Supreme Grand Master. “Truly the right-thinking folk of Ankh-Morpork are beneath the heel of the oppressors. However, a king generally reveals himself in rather more dramatic circumstances. Like a war, for example.”
    Things were going well. Surely, for all their self-centered stupidity, one of them would be bright enough to make the suggestion?
    “There used to be some old prophecy or something,” said Brother Plasterer. “My grandad told me.” His eyes glazed with the effort of dramatic recall. “‘Yea, the king will come bringing Law and Justice, and know nothing but the Truth, and Protect and Serve the People with his Sword.’ You don’t all have to look at me like that, I didn’t make it up.”
    “Oh, we all know that one. And a fat lot of good that’d be,” said Brother Watchtower. “I mean, what does he do, ride in with Law and Truth and so on like the Four Horse-men of the Apocralypse? Hallo everyone,” he squeaked, “I’m the king, and that’s Truth over there, watering his horse. Not very practical, is it? Nah. You can’t trust old legends.”
    “Why not?” said Brother Dunnykin, in a peeved