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- Стр. 189/357
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’
But
she
’
s
queen
already
,
isn
’
t
she
?
’
’
In
a
way
,
but
officially
she
’
s
not
queen
until
she
’
s
crowned
.
’
Cutwell
grinned
,
his
face
a
pattern
of
shade
in
the
candlelight
,
and
added
,
’
If
you
want
a
way
of
thinking
about
it
,
then
it
’
s
like
the
difference
between
stopping
living
and
being
dead
.
’
Twenty
minutes
earlier
Mort
had
been
feeling
tired
enough
to
take
root
.
Now
he
could
feel
a
fizzing
in
his
blood
.
It
was
the
kind
of
late
-
night
,
frantic
energy
that
you
knew
you
would
pay
for
around
midday
tomorrow
,
but
for
now
he
felt
he
had
to
have
some
action
or
else
his
muscles
would
snap
out
of
sheer
vitality
.
’
I
want
to
see
her
,
’
he
said
.
’
If
you
can
’
t
do
anything
,
there
might
be
something
I
can
do
.
’
There
’
s
guards
outside
her
room
,
’
said
Cutwell
.
’
I
mention
this
merely
as
an
observation
.
I
don
’
t
imagine
for
one
minute
that
they
’
ll
make
the
slightest
difference
.
’
It
was
midnight
in
Ankh
-
Morpork
,
but
in
the
great
twin
city
the
only
difference
between
night
and
day
was
,
well
,
it
was
darker
.
The
markets
were
thronged
,
the
spectators
were
still
thickly
clustered
around
the
whore
pits
,
runners
-
up
in
the
city
’
s
eternal
and
byzantine
gang
warfare
drifted
silently
down
through
the
chilly
waters
of
the
river
with
lead
weights
tied
to
their
feet
,
dealers
in
various
illegal
and
even
illogical
delights
plied
their
sidelong
trade
,
burglars
burgled
,
knives
flashed
starlight
in
alleyways
,
astrologers
started
their
day
’
s
work
and
in
the
Shades
a
nightwatch
-
man
who
had
lost
his
way
rang
his
bell
and
cried
out
:
’
Twelve
o
’
clock
and
all
’
s
arrrrrgghhhh
,
.
.
.
’
However
,
the
Ankh
-
Morpork
Chamber
of
Commerce
would
not
be
happy
at
the
suggestion
that
the
only
real
difference
between
their
city
and
a
swamp
is
the
number
of
legs
on
the
alligators
,
and
indeed
in
the
more
select
areas
of
Ankh
,
which
tend
to
be
in
the
hilly
districts
where
there
is
a
chance
of
a
bit
of
wind
,
the
nights
are
gentle
and
scented
with
habiscine
and
Cecillia
blossoms
.
On
this
particular
night
they
were
scented
with
saltpetre
,
too
,
because
it
was
the
tenth
anniversary
of
the
accession
of
the
Patrician
and
he
had
invited
a
few
friends
round
for
a
drink
,
five
hundred
of
them
in
this
case
,
and
was
letting
off
fireworks
.
Laughter
and
the
occasional
gurgle
of
passion
filled
the
palace
gardens
,
and
the
evening
had
just
got
to
that
interesting
stage
where
everyone
had
drunk
too
much
for
their
own
good
but
not
enough
actually
to
fall
over
.
It
is
the
kind
of
state
in
which
one
does
things
that
one
will
recall
with
crimson
shame
in
later
life
,
such
as
blowing
through
a
paper
squeaker
and
laughing
so
much
that
one
is
sick
.
