Thud!

being called. A coach was coming across the rock, and Sybil was waving from the window. That was another step forward; even wagons could get up here now.
    “You haven’t forgotten the dinner tonight, have you?” she said, a hint of suspicion in her voice.
    “No, dear.” Vimes hadn’t, but he’d hoped that it might evaporate if he didn’t think about it. It was going to be Official, with both kings and lots of important lesser kings and clan leaders. And the Special Envoy from Ankh-Morpork, unfortunately. That would be Sam Vimes, scrubbed up.
    At least there weren’t going to be tights and plumes. Even Sybil hadn’t been that farsighted. Regrettably, though, the town had a decent tailor who’d been very keen to use all that gold braid he’d bought by accident a couple of years ago.
    “Willikins will have a bath run by the time we get back,” said Sybil as the coach moved away.
    “Yes, dear,” said Vimes.
    “Don’t look so glum! You’ll be upholding the honor of Ankh-Morpork, remember!”
    “Really, dear? What shall I do with the other hand?” said Vimes, settling back into the seat.
    “Oh, Sam! Tonight you’ll walk with kings!”
    I’d sooner be walking all by myself along Treacle Mine Road at three in the morning, Vimes thought. In the rain, with the gutters gushing. But it was a wife thing. She took such a…a pride in him. He could never work out why.
    He looked down at his arm. He’s sorted that out, at least. Exit wound indeed! It was just the way the burning oil had splashed on his skin. It might look a bit like that damn symbol, enough to put the wind up the dwarfs, but no floaty eyeball was going to get past him . Common sense and facts, that’s what worked!
    After a while, it dawned on him that they weren’t going into the town. They’d gone down almost as far as the lakes, but now they were heading back up on the cliff path. He could see the valley below them, opening out.
    The kings were working their subjects hard, reasoning that tired warriors are less keen to fight. Teams swarmed over the rock like ants. Maybe there was a plan. There probably was. But the mountains would sneer at it every winter. You’d have to have squads here all the time, you’d need to scout the mountainsides to find and smash the big boulders before they caused trouble. Remember Koom Valley! Because, if you don’t, your history is…history.
    And maybe, behind the thunder and in the roar of the waters flowing underground, you’ll hear the laughter of dead kings.
    The coach came to a halt. Sybil opened the door.
    “Get down, Sam Vimes,” she said. “No arguing. It’s time for your portrait.”
    “Out here? But it’s—” Vimes began.
    “Good afternoon, Commander,” said Otto Chriek cheerfully, appearing at the doorway. “I haf set up a bench and zer light is just right for color!”
    Vimes had to agree that it was. Thunder light made the mountains gleam like gold. In the middle distance, the Tears of the King fell in a line of glittering silver. Brightly colored birds skimmed through the air. And all the way up the valley there were rainbows.
    Koom Valley, on Koom Valley Day. He’d had to be there.
    “If her ladyship vill be seated viz zer little boy on her lap and you, Commander, standink with your hand on her shoulder…?” He bustled around his big black iconograph.
    “He’s up here taking pictures for the Times ,” Sybil whispered. “And I thought, well, it’s now or never. Portraiture must move on.”
    “How long is this going to take?” said Vimes.
    “Oh, about a fraction of a second, Commander,” said Otto.
    Vimes brightened up. This was more like it.
    Of course, it never is. But it was a warm afternoon, and Vimes still felt good. They sat and stared with those fixed grins people wear when they’re wondering why a fraction of a second takes half an hour, while Otto tried to get the universe sorted out to his satisfaction.
    “Havelock will be wondering how to reward you, you know,” murmured Sybil as the vampire fussed around.
    “He can go on wondering,” said Vimes. “I’ve everything I want.”
    He smiled.
    Click!

“S ixty new officers?” said Lord Vetinari.
    “The price of peace, sir,” said Captain Carrot earnestly. “I’m sure that Commander Vimes wouldn’t settle for anything less. We are really stretched.”
    “Sixty men—and dwarfs and trolls, obviously—is more than a third of your current complement,” said the Patrician, tapping his walking