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"
That
’
s
it
,
"
said
Brother
Watchtower
.
"
A
potent
authority
.
"
"
Oh
,
I
see
,
"
said
Brother
Plasterer
.
"
Right
.
Okay
.
That
’
s
what
the
king
’
ll
be
.
"
"
That
’
s
it
,
"
said
Brother
Watchtower
.
"
No
-
one
going
to
argue
with
a
potent
authority
,
are
they
?
"
"
Too
right
,
"
said
Brother
Watchtower
.
"
Stroke
of
luck
,
then
,
finding
the
true
king
right
now
,
"
said
Brother
Plasterer
.
"
Million
to
one
chance
,
really
.
"
"
We
haven
’
t
found
the
right
king
.
We
don
’
t
need
the
right
king
,
"
said
the
Supreme
Grand
Master
wearily
.
"
For
the
last
time
!
I
’
ve
just
found
us
a
likely
lad
who
looks
good
in
a
crown
and
can
take
orders
and
knows
how
to
flourish
a
sword
.
Now
just
listen
.
.
.
"
Flourishing
,
of
course
,
was
important
.
It
didn
’
t
have
much
to
do
with
wielding
.
Wielding
a
sword
,
the
Supreme
Grand
Master
considered
,
was
simply
the
messy
business
of
dynastic
surgery
.
It
was
just
a
matter
of
thrust
and
cut
.
Whereas
a
king
had
to
flourish
one
.
It
had
to
catch
the
light
in
just
the
right
way
,
leaving
watchers
in
no
doubt
that
here
was
Destiny
’
s
chosen
.
He
’
d
taken
a
long
time
preparing
the
sword
and
shield
.
It
had
been
very
expensive
.
The
shield
shone
like
a
dollar
in
a
sweep
’
s
earhole
but
the
sword
,
the
sword
was
magnificent
.
.
.
It
was
long
and
shiny
.
It
looked
like
something
some
genius
of
metalwork
-
one
of
those
little
Zen
guys
who
works
only
by
the
light
of
dawn
and
can
beat
a
club
sandwich
of
folded
steels
into
something
with
the
cutting
edge
of
a
scalpel
and
the
stopping
-
power
of
a
sex
-
crazed
rhinoceros
on
bad
acid
-
had
made
and
then
retired
in
tears
because
he
’
d
never
,
ever
,
do
anything
so
good
again
.
There
were
so
many
jewels
on
the
hilt
it
had
to
be
sheathed
in
velvet
,
you
had
to
look
at
it
through
smoked
glass
.
Just
laying
a
hand
on
it
practically
conferred
kingship
.
