In the early morning, two men stand in the middle of the misty plaza, only accompanied by a chopping block and a basket. It is traditional for this sort of undertaking to take place in the early morning. No one is visible, yet the entire world watches. History is being made.
One of the men, a reasonably tall, whip like figure, is holding an axe. Close inspection proves that it is a very sharp axe, designed to do its job. It has to be, for it is the symbol of justice, slicing through the strands of evil and injustice, not that the wielder particularly cares. He just sees the grim job at hand, the job everyone else is too scared to do. The second figure, a gross and venal man with a suspiciously rat like face, kneels and says something with a sneer, something he is used to doing, which earns him a boxing around the ears which he is not used to.
The axe man raises the blade slowly. It is a war axe, large, perfectly balanced and very deadly. At the zenith of its ascent, it flashes in the early morning light, cutting through the mist which is burning away. The axe man reaffirms his position, and then brings the blade down with a very final thump. There is a second thump as the other man's head lands, both the death knell of the monarchy and the wake up gong for change. The first man says nothing. Like his descendant, he believes that would make it murder.
Suffer-not-injustice 'Stoneface' Vimes cleaned the axe blade and walked away into the sunrise. Behind him, the last King of Ankh-Morpork's life blood stained the cobbles. Though Vimes had not said it, justice had been done.