'Not so much bad as ... odd.'
'Actually, I found that after a few minutes the nose shuts down and then it's - '
'My point is that, in some strange way, he attracts people.'
'Like a public hanging.'
There was a period of reflective silence.
'Good humoured little tit, though, in his way.'
'Not too bright, though.'
'Give him his pint of beer and a plate of whatever those things with toenails were and he seems as happy as a pig in muck.'
'I think that's somewhat insulting.'
Tm sorry.'
'I've known some splendid pigs.'
'Indeed.'
'But I can certainly see him drinking his beer and eating feet while he signs the royal proclamations.'
'Yes, indeed. Er. Do you think he can read?'
'Does it matter?'
There was some more silence, filled with the busy racing of minds.
Then someone said, 'Another thing... we won't have to worry about establishing a royal succession that might be inconvenient.'
'Why do you think that?'
'Can you see any princess marrying him?'
'We-ell... they have been known to kiss frogs...'
'Frogs, I grant you.'
'... And, of course, power and royalty are powerful aphrodisiacs...'
'How powerful, would you say?'
More silence. Then: 'Probably not that powerful.'
'He should do nicely.'
'Splendid.'
'Dragon did well. I suppose the little tit isn't really an earl, by any chance?'
'Don't be silly.'
Cheri Littlebottom sat awkwardly on the high stool behind the desk. All she had to do, she'd been told, was check the patrols off and on-duty when the shift changed.
A few of the men gave her an odd look but they said nothing, and she was beginning to relax when the four dwarfs on the King's Way beat came in.