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wings under his shapeless robe. Some of them could fly like a bat, Vimes recalled. He wondered how old this one was. They could “live” almost forever…
    “I believe you’re here because it is considered, ah-ha, appropriate that you have a coat of arms. I am afraid that this is not possible. Ah-ha. A Vimes coat of arms has existed, but it cannot be resurrected. It would be against the rules.”
    “What rules?”
    There was a thump as a book was taken down and opened.
    “I’m sure you know your ancestry, Commander. Your father was Thomas Vimes, his father was Gwilliam Vimes—”
    “It’s Old Stoneface, isn’t it,” said Vimes flatly. “It’s something to do with Old Stoneface.”
    “Indeed. Ah-ha. Suffer-Not-Injustice Vimes. Your ancestor. Old Stoneface, indeed, as he was called. Commander of the City Watch in 1688. And a regicide. He murdered the last king of Ankh-Morpork, as every schoolboy knows.”
    “Executed!”
    The shoulders shrugged. “Nevertheless, the family crest was, as we say in heraldry, Excretus Est Ex Altitudine . That is to say, Depositatum De Latrina . Destroyed. Banned. Made incapable of resurrection. Lands confiscated, house pulled down, page torn out of history. Ah-ha. You know, Commander, it is interesting that so many of, ah-ha, ‘Old Stoneface’s’ descendants”—the inverted commas dropped neatly around the nickname like an old lady carefully picking up something nasty in a pair of tongs—“have been officers of the Watch. I believe, Commander, that you too have acquired the nickname. Ah-ha. Ah-ha. I have wondered whether there is some inherited urge to expunge the infamy. Ah-ha.”
    Vimes gritted his teeth. “Are you telling me I can’t have a coat of arms?”
    “This is so. Ah-ha.”
    “Because my ancestor killed a—” He paused. “No, it wasn’t even execution,” he said. “You execute a human being. You slaughter an animal”
    “He was the king,” said Dragon mildly.
    “Oh, yes. And it turned out that down in the dungeons he had machines for—”
    “Commander,” said the vampire, holding up his hands, “I feel you do not understand me. Whatever else he was , he was the king. You see, a crown is not like a watchman’s helmet, ah-ha. Even when you take it off, it’s still on the head.”
    “Stoneface took it off all right!”
    “But the King did not even get a trial.”
    “No willing judge could be found,” said Vimes.
    “Except you…that is, your ancestor…”
    “Well? Someone had to do it. Some monsters should not walk under the living sky.”
    Dragon found the page he had been looking for and turned the book around. “This was his escutcheon,” he said.
    Vimes looked down at the familiar sign of the morpork owl perched on an ankh. It was atop a shield divided into four quarters, with a symbol in each quarter.
    “What’s this crown with a dagger through it?”
    “Oh, a traditional symbol, ah-ha. Indicates his role as defender of the crown.”
    “Really? And the bunch of rods with an axe in it?” He pointed.
    “A fasces. Symbolizes that he is… was an officer of the law. And the axe was an interesting harbinger of things to come, yes? But axes, I’m afraid, solve nothing.”
    Vimes stared at the third quarter. It contained a painting of what seemed to be a marble bust.
    “Symbolizing his nickname, ‘Old Stoneface’,” said Dragon helpfully. “He asked that some reference be made. Sometimes heraldry is nothing more than the art of punning.”
    “And this last one? A bunch of grapes? Bit of a boozer, was he?” said Vimes sourly.
    “No. Ah-ha. Word play. Vimes = Vines.”
    “Ah. The art of bad punning,” said Vimes. “I bet that had you people rolling on the floor.”
    Dragon shut the book and sighed. “There is seldom a reward for those who do what must be done. Alas, such is precedent, and I am powerless.” The old voice brightened up. “But, still…I was extremely pleased, Commander, to hear of your marriage to Lady Sybil.