"He doesn't look a bad king," said Mort. "Why would anyone want to kill him?"
SEE THE MAN NEXT TO HIM? WITH THE LITTLE MOUSTACHE AND THE GRIN LIKE A LIZARD? Deart pointed with his scythe.
"Yes?"
HIS COUSIN, THE DUKE OF STO HELIT. NOT THE NICEST OF PEOPLE, said Death. A HANDY MAN WITH A BOTTLE OF POISON. FIFTH IN LINE TO THE THRONE LAST YEAR, NOW SECOND IN LINE. BIT OF A SOCIAL CLIMBER, YOU MIGHT SAY.
"Oh," he [King Olerve] said, "I didn't expect to see you so soon."
YOUR MAJESTY, said Death, FEW DO.
(Mort by Terry Practhett)
