Feet of Clay

He sidled past a cow that had got its head stuck in someone's window.

Nobby as king? Oh, yes. No one ever gave a Nobbs anything except maybe a skin disease or sixty lashes. It was a dog-eat-Nobbs world, right enough. If there were to be a world competition for losers, a Nobbs would come firs— last.

He stopped running and went to earth in a doorway. In its welcome shadows he extracted a very short cigarette end from behind his ear and lit it.

Now that he felt safe enough to think about more than flight he wondered about all the animals that seemed to be on the streets. Unlike the family tree that had borne Fred Colon as its fruit, the creeping vine of the Nobbses had flourished only within city walls. Nobby was vaguely aware of animals as being food in a primary stage and left it at that. But he was pretty sure they weren't supposed to be wandering around untidily like this.

Gangs of men were trying to round them up. Since they were tired and working at cross-purposes, and the animals were hungry and bewildered, all that was happening was that the streets were getting a lot muddier.

Nobby became aware that he was not alone in the doorway.

He looked down.

Also lurking in the shadows was a goat. It was unkempt and smelly, but it turned its head and gave Nobby the most knowing look he'd ever seen on the face of an animal. Unexpectedly, and most uncharacteristically, Nobby was struck by a surge of fellow-rfeeling.

He pinched out the end of his cigarette and passed it down to the goat, which ate it.

'You and me both,' said Nobby.

Miscellaneous livestock scattered madly as Carrot, Angua and Cheri made their way down the Shambles. They especially tried to keep away from Angua. It seemed to Cheri that an invisible barrier was advancing in front of them. Some animals tried to climb walls or scattered madly into side alleys.

'Why are they so scared?' said Cheri.

'Can't imagine,' said Angua.

A few maddened sheep ran away from them as they walked around the candle-factory. Light from its high windows indicated that candlemaking continued all night.

They make nearly half a million candles every twenty-four hours,' said Carrot. 'I heard they've got very advanced machinery. It sounds very interesting. I'd love to see it.'

At the rear of the premises light blazed out into the fog. Crates of candles were being manhandled on to a succession of carts.

'Looks normal enough,' said Carrot, as they eased themselves into a conveniently shadowy doorway. 'Busy, though.'

'I don't see what good this is going to do,' said Angua. 'As soon as they see us they can destroy any evidence. And, even if we find arsenic, so what? There's no crime in owning arsenic, is there?'

'Er ... is there a crime in owning that? whispered Cheri.

A golem was walking slowly up the alley. It was quite unlike any other golem they had seen. The others were ancient and had repaired themselves so many times they were as shapeless as a gingerbread man, but this one looked like a human, or at least like humans wished they could look. It resembled a statue made of white clay. Around its head, part of the very design, was a crown.

'I was right,' murmured Carrot. 'They did make themselves a golem. The poor devils. They thought a king would make them free.'

'Look at its legs,' said Angua.

As the golem walked, lines of red light appeared and disappeared all over its legs, and across its body and arms.

'It's cracking,' she said.

'I knew you couldn't bake pottery in an old bread oven!' said Cheri. 'It's not the right shapel'

The golem pushed open a door and disappeared into the factory.

'Let's go,' said Carrot.

'Commander Vimes told us to wait for him,' said Angua.

'Yes, but we don't know what might be going on in there,' said Carrot. 'Besides, he likes us to use our initiative. We can't just hang around now.'

He darted across the alley and opened the door.

There were crates piled inside, with a narrow passageway between them. From all around them, but slightly muffled by the crates, came the clicking and rattling of the factory. The air smelled of hot wax.

Cheri was aware of a whispered conversation going on several feet above her little round helmet.

‘I wish Mr Vimes hadn't wanted us to bring her. Supposing something happens to her?'

'What are you talking about?'

'Well... you know... she's a girl.'

'So what? There's at least three female dwarfs in the Watch already and you don't worry about them.'

'Oh, come on ... name one.'

'Lars Skulldrinker,for a start.'

'No! Really?'

'Are you calling this nose a liar?'

'But he broke up a fight in the Miner's Arms single-handedly last week!'

' Well? Why do you assume females are weaker? You wouldn't worry about me taking on a vicious bar crowd by myself.'

'I'd give aid where necessary.'

' To me or to them?'

'That's unfair!'

'Is it?'

'I wouldn't help them unless you got really rough.'

'Ah, so? And they say chivalry is dead...'

'Anyway, Cheri is...a bit different. I'm sure he... she's good at alchemy, but we'd better watch her back in a fight. Hold on...'