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’
Maybe
,
’
he
said
.
’
It
’
s
hard
to
keep
track
of
outside
time
,
boy
.
I
bin
here
since
just
after
the
old
king
died
.
’
’
Which
king
,
Albert
?
’
’
Artorollo
,
I
think
he
was
called
.
Little
fat
man
.
Squeaky
voice
.
I
only
saw
him
the
once
,
though
.
’
’
Where
was
this
?
’
’
In
Ankh
,
of
course
.
’
’
What
?
’
said
Mort
.
They
don
’
t
have
kings
in
Ankh
-
Morpork
,
everyone
knows
that
!
’
’
This
was
back
a
bit
,
I
said
,
’
said
Albert
.
He
poured
himself
a
cup
of
tea
from
Death
’
s
personal
teapot
and
sat
down
,
a
dreamy
look
in
his
crusted
eyes
.
Mort
waited
expectantly
.
’
And
they
was
kings
in
those
days
,
real
kings
,
not
like
the
sort
you
get
now
.
They
was
monarchs
,
’
continued
Albert
,
carefully
pouring
some
tea
into
his
saucer
and
fanning
it
primly
with
the
end
of
his
muffler
.
’
I
mean
,
they
was
wise
and
fair
,
well
,
fairly
wise
.
And
they
wouldn
’
t
think
twice
about
cutting
your
head
off
soon
as
look
at
you
,
’
he
added
approvingly
.
’
And
all
the
queens
were
tall
and
pale
and
wore
them
balaclava
helmet
things
—
’
’
Wimples
?
’
said
Mort
.
