The Carpet People

'Well ... welcome. My house is your house', his brow suddenly furrowed and he looked worried, 'although only in a metaphorical sense, you understand, because I would not, much as I always admired your straightforward approach, and indeed your forthright stance, actually give you my house, it being the only house I have, and therefore the term is being extended in an, as it were, gratuitous fashion —'

Most armies are in fact run by their sergeants — the officers are there just to give things a bit of tone and prevent warfare from becoming a mere lower-class brawl.

The Deftmenes are mad and the Dumii are sane, thought Snibril, and that's just the same as being mad except that it's quieter. If only you could mix them together, you'd end up with normal people.

Normally its narrow streets were crowded with stalls, and people from all over the Carpet. They'd all be trying to cheat one another in that open-and-above-board way known as 'doing business'.

The sign outside the shop said Apothecary, which meant that the shop was owned by a sort of early chemist, who would give you herbs and things until you got better or at least stopped getting any worse.

On the fifth day the Governor of the town called all the tribal chieftains to an audience in the market square, to hear their grievances. He didn't always do anything about them, but at least they got heard, and he nodded a lot, and everyone felt better about it at least until they got home. This is politics.

'I can't have your subjects throwing my family over the balcony, that would never do.'

'Good,' said Snibril.

'I'll do it myself.'

When they're standing right in front of you, kings are a kind of speech impediment.

'Waiting is the worst part,' said Pismire.

'No it isn't,' said Owlglass, who wasn't even being trusted to hold a sword. 'I expect that having long sharp swords stuck in you is the worst part.'

This book had two authors, and they were both the same person.

Keep 'em busy. That was one of the three rules of being chief that old Grimm had passed on to him. Act confidently, never say 'I don't know,' and when all else fails, keep 'em busy.

They called themselves the Munrungs. It meant The People, or The True Human Beings.

It's what most people call themselves, to begin with. And then one day the tribe meets some other People or, if it's not been a good day, The Enemy. If only they'd think up a name like Some More True Human Beings, it'd save a lot of trouble later on.

I wish that the people who sing about the deeds of heroes would think about the people who have to clear up after them.

'Stop that!' he shouted. 'You're soldiers! You're not supposed to fight!'

'But we should kill him!'

'No. You've been listen to Brocando too often,' said Bane.

Brocando bristled. 'You know what he is! Why not kill--' he began, but he was interrupted.

'Because it doesn't matter what he is. It matters what we are.'

'Whose side are they on?' said Brocando.

'Sides? Their own, I suppose, just like everyone else.'

'What would Deftmenes be if we went around obeying orders all the time?'

'They might be ruling the Carpet,' said Pismire.

'Ha!' said Brocando, 'but the trouble about obeying orders is, it becomes a habit. And then everything depends on who's giving the orders.'

Anyway, just because you're sworn enemies doesn't mean you can't be friends, does it?