Feet of Clay

You belonged to It, It belonged to you.

You couldn't turn your back on It because there It was, in front of you.

Dorfl was responsible for every tick and swerve of It.

You couldn't say, 'I had orders.' You couldn't say, 'It's not fair.' No one was listening. There were no Words. You owned yourself.

Dorfl orbited a pair of glowing suns and hurtled off again.

Not Thou Shalt Not. Say I Will Not.

Dorfl tumbled through the red sky, then saw a dark hole ahead. The golem felt it dragging at him, and streamed down through the glow and the hole grew larger and sped across the edges of Dorfl's vision...

The golem opened his eyes.

NO MASTER!

Dorfl unfolded in one movement and stood upright. He reached out one arm and extended a finger.

The golem pushed the finger easily into the wall where the argument had taken place, and then dragged it carefully through the splintering brickwork. It took him a couple of minutes but it was something Dorfl felt needed to be said.

Dorfl completed the last letter and poked a row of three dots after it. Then the golem walked away, leaving behind:

NO MASTER...

A blue overcast from the cigars hid the ceiling of the smoking-room.

'Ah, yes. Captain Carrot,' said a chair. 'Yes... indeed... but... is he the right man?'

S got a birthmark shaped like a crown. I seen it,' said Nobby helpfully.

'But his background...'

'He was raised by dwarfs,' said Nobby. He waved his brandy glass at a waiter. 'Same again, mister.'

'I shouldn't think dwarfs could raise anyone very high,' said another chair. There was a hint of laughter.

'Rumours and folklore,' someone murmured.

'This is a large and busy and above all complex city. I'm afraid that having a sword and a birthmark are not much in the way of qualifications. We would need a king from a lineage that is used to command.'

'Like yours, my lord.'

There was a sucking, draining noise as Nobby attacked the fresh glass of brandy. 'Oh, I'm used to command, all right,' he said, lowering the glass. 'People are always orderin' me around.'

'We would need a king who had the support of the great families and major guilds of the city.'

'People like Carrot,' said Nobby.

'Oh, the people

'Anyway, whoever got the job'd have his work cut out,' said Nobby. 'Ole Vetinari's always pushin' paper. What kinda fun is that? 'S no life, sittin' up all hours, worryin', never a moment to yerself.' He held out the empty glass. 'Same again, my old mate. Fill it right up this time, eh? No sense in havin' a great big glass and only sloshin'a bit in the bottom, is there?'

'Many people prefer to savour the bouquet,' said a quietly horrified chair. They enjoy sniffing it.'

Nobby looked at his glass with the red-veined eyes of one who'd heard rumours about what the upper crust got up to. 'Nah,' he said. ‘I'll go on stickin' it in my mouth, if it's all the same to you.'

'If we may get to the point,' said another chair, 'a king would not have to spend every moment running the city. He would of course have people to do that. Advisors. Counsellors. People of experience.'

'So what'd he have to do?' said Nobby.

'He'd have to reign,' said a chair.

'Wave.'

'Preside at banquets.'

'Sign things.'

'Guzzle good brandy disgustingly.'

'Reign.'

'Sounds like a good job to me,' said Nobby. 'All right for some, eh?'

'Of course, a king would have to be someone who could recognize a hint if it was dropped on his head from a great height/ said a speaker sharply, but the other chairs shushed him into silence.

Nobby managed to find his mouth after several goes and took another long pull at his cigar. 'Seems to me,' he said, 'seems to me, what you want to do is find some nob with time on his hands and say, Yo, it's your lucky day. Let's see you wave that hand. '

'Ah! That's a good idea! Does any name cross your mind, my lord? Have a drop more brandy.'

'Why, thanks, you're a toff. O' course, so 'm I, eh? That's right, flunkey, all the way to the top. No, can't think of anyone that fits the bill.'

'In fact, my lord, we were indeed thinking of offering the crown to you—'

Nobby's eyes bulged. And then his cheek bulged.

It is not a good idea to spray finest brandy across the room, especially when your lighted cigar is in the way. The flame hit the far wall, where it left a perfect chrysanthemum of scorched woodwork, while in accordance with a fundamental rule of physics Nobby's chair screamed back on its castors and thudded into the door.

'King?' Nobby coughed, and then they had to slap him on the back until he got his breath again. 'King?' he wheezed. 'And have Mr Vimes cut me head off?'

'All the brandy you can drink, my lord,' said a wheedling voice.

S no good if you ain't got a throat for it to go down!'

'What're you talking about?'

'Mr Vimes?d go spare! He'd go spared

'Good heavens, man—'

'My lord,' someone corrected.

'My lord, I mean - when you're king you can tell that wretched Sir Samuel what to do. You'll be, as you would call it, the boss . You could—'

'Tell ole Stoneface what to do?' said Nobby.

That's right!'