Jack Vettriano on Parade

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They had drawn some knobbly clubs. Ridcully knew the Guild laws. Of course, they had to be enforced. You couldn't run a city without them. This certainly wasn't licensed music ‑ if ever there was unlicensed music, this was it. Nevertheless . . . he a scythe, after all, grass didn't have teeth ‑ and then the fireball burned his fingers, and then, as he sucked frantically at them, he realized that there was something in the sound. Something extra.
'Oh, no,' he said, as the fireball floated to the floor and set fire to the Bursar's boot, 'it's alive.'
He grabbed the beer mug, finished the contents hur­riedly, and rammed it upside down on the tabletop.
The moon shone over the Klatchian desert, in the vicinity of the dotted line. Both sides rolled up his sleeve and prepared a quick fireball, just in case.One of the men dropped his club and clutched his foot. The other one spun around as if something had slapped his ear. Satchelmouth's hat dented, as if someone had just hit him on the head.Ridcully, one eye watering terribly, thought he made out the Tooth Fairy girl bringing the handle of a scythe down on Satchelmouth's head.The Archchancellor was quite a bright man but often had trouble in forcing his train of thought to change tracks. He was having difficulty with the idea of

Vincent van Gogh The Yellow House

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Susan looked around. The cat was watching them anxiously from behind the washstand.
Susan felt some response was called for.
'That was very . . was trying to make faces at the cat.
'What'll happen to him?'
SQUEAK.
'Oh.' Behind them a former mourner tipped a drawer out on to the floor. The cat was beginning to tremble.
Susan stepped out through the wall.
Clouds curled behind Binky like a wake.
'Well, that wasn't too bad. I mean, no blood or anything. And he was very . kind of you . . .' she said.'Hah! Mangy thing! Thirteen years of sleepin' and crappin' and waiting for the next meal to turn up? Never took half an hour's exercise in his big fat life. Up until they find the will, anyway. Then he's going to be the richest fastest cat in the world–’The voice faded. So did its owner.'What a dreadful old man,' said Susan.She looked down at the Death of Rats, who

Claude Monet Monet Water Lillies I

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Vimes pulled the candelabra towards him and thumped the paper with a finger.
'Well, look what it says here. I mean, opening those old Watch Houses? On the gates? What's the point in that? Right out there on the , and one other per shift. The rest you'll move around on, oh, a monthly rota. You want to keep everyone on their toes, yes? And that way everyone gets to walk every street. That's very important. And . . . wish I had a map here . . . oh . . . thank you, dear. Right. Now, see here. You've got a strength of fixty-six, nominal, OK? But you're taking over day watch too, plus you've got to allow for days off, two grandmother's funerals per year per man – gods know how your undead'll sort out that one, maybe they edge?''Oh, I'm sure matters of organization detail can be changed, sir,' said Carrot.'Keep a general gate guard, yes, but if you're going to have any kind of finger on the pulse of . . . look, you'd need one along Elm Street somewhere, dose to the Shades and the docks, and another one halfway up Short Street, and maybe a smaller one in Kingsway. Somewhere up there, anyway. You've got to think about population centres. How many men based per Watch House?''I thought ten, sir. Allowing for shifts.''No, can't do that. Use six at most. A corporal, say

Pop art nina on yellow

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' he shouted. 'How did you find out, eh? Who told you?'
'I really couldn't say,' said Carrot. 'But it makes sense anyway. There's only one entrance to each Guild, but the Guild Houses are back to back. Someone just had to cut through the wall.'
'I assure you we didn't know about it,' said the clown.
Sergeant Colon was lost in admiration. He'd seen people bluff on a bad hand, but he'd never seen anyone bluff with no cards.'What do you mean, dwarfs don't?'
'No-one's told us what everyone knows about dwarfs,' said Cuddy.
'Well . . . I expect they thought you knew,' said Nobby, 'We thought it was just a prank,' said the clown. 'We thought young Beano had just done it with humorous intent, and then he turned up dead and we didn't—' 'You'd better show me the hole,' said Carrot. The rest of the Watch stood to variations on the theme of At Ease in the courtyard.'Corporal Nobbs?''Yes, Lance-Constable Cuddy?''What is it everyone says about dwarfs?''Oh, come on, you're pulling my leg, right? Everyone knows that who knows anything about dwarfs,' said Nobby.Cuddy coughed.'Dwarfs don't,' he said.

Gustav Klimt The Music

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'People think it'd be the Fools or the Assassins. Ask anyone. They'll say "the oldest Guild in Ankh-Morpork is certainly the Fools' Guild or the Assassins' Guild". But they aren't. They're quite recent. But there's been a Beggars' Guild for centuries.'of the murderous, evil-minded, self-centred individuals they suspect themselves to be. But the point was that if Carrot had erupted into a song and dance, people would have joined in. Carrot could have jollied a circle of standing stones to form up behind him and do a rumba.
'There's some very interesting old statuary in the main courtyard,' he said. 'Including a very good one of Jimi, the God of Beggars. I'll show you. They won't mind.'
He rapped on the door.'Really?' said Angua, weakly. In the last hour she'd learned more about Ankh-Morpork than any reasonable person wanted to know. She vaguely suspected that Carrot was trying to court her. But, instead of the usual flowers or chocolate, he seemed to be trying to gift-wrap a city.And, despite all her better instincts, she was feeling jealous. Of a city! Ye gods, I've known him a couple of days!It was the way he wore the place. You expected him any moment to break into the kind of song that has suspicious rhymes and phrases like 'my kind of town' and 'I wanna be a part of it' in it; the kind of song where people dance in the street and give the singer apples and join in and a dozen lowly matchgirls suddenly show amazing choreo-graphical ability and everyone acts like cheery lovable citizens instead

Claude Monet Cliffs near Dieppe 2

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smell anything,' Angua lied.
'Liar,' said the voice.
'Or hear anything.'

Captain – silent, owlish, polite dwarfs. The news had got around. He wasn't telling anyone anything they didn't know. Many of them were holding weapons. Mr Strong-inthearm was there. Captain Vimes had talked to him before about his speeches on the subject of the need for grinding all trolls in little bits and using them to make roads. But the dwarf wasn't saying anything now. He was just looking smug. There was an air of quiet, polite menace, that said: We'll listen to you. Then we'll do what we decide to do.
He hadn't even been sure which one was Mrs Ham-merhock. They all looked Vimes' boots told him he was in Scoone Avenue. His feet were doing the walking of their own volition; his mind was somewhere else. In fact, some of it was dissolving gently in Jimkin Bearhugger's finest nectar. If only they hadn't been so damn polite! There were a number of things he'd seen in his life which he'd always try, without success, to forget. Up until now he would have put, at the top of the list, looking at the tonsils of a giant dragon as it drew the breath intended to turn him into a small pile of impure charcoal. He still woke up sweating at the memory of the little pilot light. But he dreaded now that it was going to be replaced by the recollection of all those impassive dwarf faces, watching him politely, and the feeling that his words were dropping into a deep pit.After all, what could he say? 'Sorry he's dead – and that's official. We're putting our worst men on the case' ?The late Bjorn Hammerhock's house had been full of dwarfs

Leonardo da Vinci Annunciation

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dawned on the Patrician that he was working on both ends of this conversation. He shuffled through the papers on his desk.
'And of course I shall have to promote a new chief officer for the Night Watch,' said the Patrician. 'Have you any suggestions, 'Try it one more time, Lance-Constable Detritus,' he said. 'The trick is, you stops your hand just above your ear. Now, just get up off the floor and try salutin' one more time. Now, then . . . Lance-Constable Cuddy?'
'Here!'captain?'Vimes appeared to descend from whatever cloud his mind had been occupying. This was guard work.'Well, not Fred Colon . . . He's one of Nature's sergeants . . .' Sergeant Colon, Ankh-Morpork City Guard (Night Watch) surveyed the bright faces of the new recruits.He sighed. He remembered his first day. Old Sergeant Wimbler. What a tartar! Tongue like a whiplash! If the old boy had lived to see this . . .What was it called? Oh, yeah. Affirmative action hirin' procedure, or something. Silicon Anti-Defamation League had been going on at the Patrician, and now—