(Discworld Novel 7)
The seventh Discworld novel.
'Look after the dead', said the priests, 'and the dead will look after you.'
Wise words in all probability, but a tall order when you have just become the pharaoh of a small and penniless country whose largesse - and indeed treasury - is unlikely to stretch to the building of a monumental pyramid to honour your dead father. And particularly when your only visible means of support is a recently acquired qualification from the Guild of Assassins where running a kingdom and basic financial acumen were not prerequisites for course entry.
“'As funny as Wodehouse and as witty as Waugh'”
“'Imagine a collision between Jonathan Swift at his most scatologically-minded and J.R.R. Tolkien on speed'”
“'The best kind of parody - funny and smart and still a good story'”
Mail on Sunday
“'Like Dickens, much of Pratchett's appeal lies in his humanism, both in a sentimental regard for his characters' good fortune, and in that his writing is generous-spirited and inclusive'”