Jean Francois Millet The sower

Jean Francois Millet The sowerJean Francois Millet SpringJean Francois Millet Man with a hoe
Ridcully’s tones did not change as he turned around, except that a slight extra syrup was added.
A figure had apparently stepped out of the wall. It was human, but only by default. Thin, pale, and clad all in dusty black, the Patrician always put Ridcully in mind of a predatory flamingo, if you could find a flamingo that was black turned up in ones and twos, gradually filling the room.
The Patrician sat gloomily staring at the paper-work on his desk as they argued.
‘Well, it’s not us,’ said the head of the Alchemists. ‘Things are always flying through the air when you fellows are around,’ said Ridcully.and had the patience of a rock.‘Ah, Lord Vetinari,’ he said, ‘I am so glad you are unhurt.’ ‘I will see you gentlemen in the Oblong Office, ‘ said the Patrician. Behind him, a panel in the wall slid back noiselessly.‘I, um, I believe there are a number of guards upstairs trying to free -‘ the Chief Priest began.The Patrician waved a thin hand at him.’I wouldn’t dream of stopping them,’ he said. ‘It gives them something to do and makes them feel important. Otherwise they just have to stand around all day looking fierce and controlling their bladders. Come this way.’The leaders of the other Ankh-Morpork Guilds