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"
Fair
enough
.
Fair
enough
,
"
said
the
chief
beggar
amiably
.
He
sighed
.
It
wasn
’
t
a
rewarding
job
,
being
chief
beggar
.
It
was
the
differentials
that
did
for
you
.
Low
-
grade
beggars
made
a
reasonable
enough
living
on
pennies
,
but
people
tended
to
look
the
other
way
when
you
asked
them
for
a
sixteen
-
bedroom
mansion
for
the
night
.
Vimes
resumed
his
study
of
the
sky
.
Up
on
the
dais
the
High
Priest
of
Blind
Io
,
who
last
night
by
dint
of
elaborate
ecumenical
argument
and
eventually
by
a
club
with
nails
in
it
had
won
the
right
to
crown
the
king
,
fussed
over
his
preparations
.
By
the
small
portable
sacrificial
altar
a
tethered
billy
goat
was
peacefully
chewing
the
cud
and
possibly
thinking
,
in
Goat
:
What
a
lucky
billy
goat
I
am
,
to
be
given
such
a
good
view
of
the
proceedings
.
This
is
going
to
be
something
to
tell
the
kids
.
Vimes
scanned
the
diffused
outlines
of
the
nearest
buildings
.
A
distant
cheering
suggested
that
the
ceremonial
procession
was
on
its
way
.
There
was
a
scuffle
of
activity
around
the
dais
as
Lupine
Wonse
chivvied
a
scramble
of
servants
who
rolled
a
purple
carpet
down
the
steps
.
Across
the
square
,
amongst
the
ranks
of
Ankh
-
Morpork
’
s
faded
aristocracy
,
Lady
Ramkin
’
s
face
tilted
upwards
.
Around
the
throne
,
which
had
been
hastily
created
out
of
wood
and
gold
foil
,
a
number
of
lesser
priests
,
some
of
them
with
slight
head
wounds
,
shuffled
into
position
.
Vimes
shifted
in
his
seat
,
aware
of
the
sound
of
his
own
heartbeat
,
and
glared
at
the
haze
over
the
river
.
.
.
.
and
saw
the
wings
.
