Guards! Guards! Read Free

They go lurking around in the distant wildernesses for ages, handing down the secret sword and birthmark and so forth from generation to generation. Then just when the old kingdom needs them, they turn up and turf out any usurpers that happen to be around. And then there’s general rejoicing.”
    The Supreme Grand Master felt his own mouth drop open. He hadn’t expected it to be as easy as this.
    “Yes, all right,” said a figure the Supreme Grand Master knew to be Brother Plasterer. “But so what? Let’s say a skion turns up, walks up to the Patrician, says ‘What ho, I’m king, here’s the birthmark as per spec, now bugger off.’ What’s he got then? Life expectancy of maybe two minutes, that’s what.”
    “You don’t listen ,” said Brother Watchtower. “The thing is, the skion has to arrive when the kingdom is threatened, doesn’t he? Then everyone can see, right? Then he gets carried off to the palace, cures a few people, announces a half-holiday, hands around a bit of treasure, and Bob’s your uncle.”
    “He has to marry a princess, too,” said Brother Doorkeeper. “On account of him being a swineherd.”
    They looked at him.
    “Who said anything about him being a swineherd?” said Brother Watchtower. “I never said he was a swineherd. What’s this about swineherds?”
    “He’s got a point, though,” said Brother Plasterer. “He’s generally a swineherd or a forester or similar, your basicskion. It’s to do with being in wossname. Cognito. They’ve got to appear to be of, you know, humble origins.”
    “Nothing special about humble origins,” said a very small Brother, who seemed to consist entirely of a little perambulatory black robe with halitosis. “I’ve got lots of humble origins. In my family we thought swineherding was a posh job.”
    “But your family doesn’t have the blood of kings, Brother Dunnykin,” said Brother Plasterer.
    “We might of,” said Brother Dunnykin sulkily.
    “Right, then,” said Brother Watchtower 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