Mark Spain Crescendo I

Mark Spain Crescendo IMark Spain CordobaMark Spain Contemplation
Magrat calmed down. Of course it existed. Every castle had one. And of course this one was used. There was a trodden path through the dust to the rack a few feet away from the door, where a few suits of unraveling chain-mail hung on a rack, next to the Magrat followed him, in a daze.
The kings of Lancre had never thrown anything away. At least, they’d never thrown anything away if it was possible to kill someone with it.
There was armor for men. There was armor for horses. There was armor for fighting dogs. There was even armor for ravens, although King Gumt the Stupid’s plan for an aerial attack force had never really got off the ground. There were more pikes, and swords, cutlasses, rapiers, epees, broadswords, flails, momingstars, maces, clubs, and huge knobs with spikes. They pikes.Shawn probably came in here every day.It was the armory.Greebo hopped down from Magrat’s shoulders and wan-dered off down the cobwebbed avenues, in his endless search for anything small and squeaky.