Carrot found the golem’s slate and pencil and pushed them into Dorfl’s hand, then stood back.
The burning gaze followed him as he removed his sword belt, undid his breastplate, took off his jerkin and pulled his woollen vest over his head.
The glow was reflected from his muscles. They glistened in the candlelight.
‘No weapons,’ said Carrot. ‘No armour. You see? Now listen to me . .
Dorfl lurched forward and swung a fist.
Carrot did not move.
The fist stopped a hair’s-breadth from Carrot’s unblinking eyes.
‘I didn’t think you could,’ he said, as the golem swung again and the fist jerked to a stop a fraction of an inch from Carrot’s stomach. ‘But sooner or later you’ll have to talk to me. Write, anyway. ‘
Dorfl paused. Then it picked up the slate pencil.
TAKE MY WORDS!
‘Tell me about the golem who killed people. ‘
The pencil did not move.
‘The others have killed themselves,’ said Carrot.
I KNOW.
‘How do you know?’
The golem watched him. Then it wrote:
CLAY OF MY CLAY.
‘You feel what other golems feel?’ said Carrot.
Dorfl nodded.
‘And people are killing golems,’ said Carrot. ‘I don’t know if I can stop that. But I can try. I think I know what’s happening, Dorfl. Some of it. I think I know who you were following. Clay of your clay. Shaming you all. Something went wrong. You tried to put it right. I think . . . you all had such hopes. But the words in your head’ll defeat you every time . . . ‘
The golem stayed motionless.
‘You sold him, didn’t you, ‘ said Carrot quietly. ‘Why?’
The words were scribbled quickly.
GOLEM MUST HAVE A MASTER.
‘Why? Because the words say so?’
GOLEM MUST HAVE A MASTER.
Carrot sighed. Men had to breathe, fish had to swim, golems had to have a master. ‘I don’t know if I can sort this out, but no one else is going to try, believe me,’ he said.
Dorfl did not move.
Carrot went back to where he had been standing. ‘I’m wondering if the old priest and Mr Hopkinson did something … or helped to do something,’ he said, watching the golem’s face. Im wondering if . . . afterwards . . . something turned against them, found the world a bit too much . . .’
Dorfl remained impassive.
Carrot nodded. ‘Anyway, you’re free to go. What happens now is up to you. I’ll help you if I can. If a golem is a thing then it can’t commit murder, and I’ll still try to find out why all this is happening. If a golem can commit murder, then you are people, and what is being done to you is terrible and must be stopped. Either way, you win, Dorfl.’ He turned his back and fiddled with some papers on his desk. ‘The big trouble,’ he added, ‘is that everyone wants someone else to read their minds for them and then make the world work properly. Even golems, perhaps.’
He turned back to face the golem. ‘I know you’ve all got a secret. But, the way things are going, there won’t be any of you left to keep it.’
He looked hopefully at Dorfl.
NO. CLAY OF MY CLAY. I WILL NOT BETRAY.
Carrot sighed. ‘Well, I won’t force you.’ He grinned. ‘Although, you know, I could. I could write a few extra words on your chem. Tell you to be talkative.’
The fires rose in Dorfls eyes.
‘But I won’t. Because that would be inhumane. You haven’t murdered anyone. I can’t deprive you of your freedom because you haven’t got any. Go on. You can go. It’s not as if I don’t know where you live.’
TO WORK IS TO LIVE.
‘What is it golems want, Dorfl? I’ve seen you golems walking around the streets and working all the time, but what is it you actually hope to achieve?’
The slate pencil scribbled.
RESPITE.
Then Dorfl turned around and walked out of the building,
‘D*mn!’ said Carrot, a difficult linguistic feat. He drummed his fingers on the desk, then got up abruptly, put his clothing back on and stalked down the corridor to find Angua.
She was leaning against the wall in Corporal Littlebottom’s office, talking to the dwarf.
‘I’ve sent Dorfl home,’ said Carrot.
‘Has he got one?’ said Angua.
‘Well, back to the slaughterhouse, anyway. But it’s probably not a good time for a golem to be out alone so I’m just going to stroll along after him and keep . . . Are you all right, Corporal Little-bottom?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Cheri.
‘You’re wearing a. ..a. ..a…’ Carrot’s mind rebelled at the thought of what the dwarf was wearing and settled for: ‘A kilt?’
‘Yes, sir. A skirt, sir. A leather one, sir.’
Carrot tried to find a suitable response and had to resort to:’Oh.’
Ill come with you,’ said Angua. ‘Cheri can keep an eye on the desk.’
‘A … kilt,’ said Carrot. ‘Oh. Well, er … just keep an eye on things. We won’t be long. And . . . er … just keep behind the desk, all right?’
‘Come on,’ said Angua.
When they were out in the fog Carrot said, ‘Do you think there’s something a bit … odd about Littlebottom?’
‘Seems like a perfectly ordinary female to me,’ said Angua.
‘Female? He told you he was female?’
‘She,’ Angua corrected. This is Ankh-Morpork, you know. We’ve got extra pronouns here.’
She could smell his bewilderment. Of course, everyone knew that, somewhere down under all those layers of leather and chain mail, dwarfs came in enough different types to ensure the future production of more dwarfs, but it was not a subject that dwarfs discussed other than at those essential points in a courtship when embarrassment might otherwise arise.
‘Well, I would have thought she’d have the decency to keep it to herself,’ Carrot said finally. ‘I mean, I’ve nothing against females. I’m pretty certain my stepmother is one. But I don’t think it’s very clever, you know, to go around drawing attention to the fact.’
‘Carrot, I think you’ve got something wrong with your head,’ said Angua.
‘What?’
‘I think you may have got it stuck up your bum. I mean, good grief. A bit of make-up and a dress and you’re acting as though she’d become Miss Va Va Voom and started dancing on tables down at the Skunk Club!’
There were a few seconds of shocked silence while they both considered the image of a dwarfish strip-tease dancer. Both minds rebelled.
‘Anyway,’ said Angua, ‘if people can’t be themselves in Ankh-Morpork, where can they?’
‘There’ll be trouble when the other dwarfs notice,’ said Carrot. ‘I could almost see his knees. Her knees.’
‘Everyone’s got knees.’
‘Perhaps, but it’s asking for trouble to flaunt them. I mean, I’m used to knees. I can look at knees and think, “Oh, yes, knees, they’re just hinges in your legs”, but some of the lads’
Angua sniffed. ‘He turned left here. Some of the lads what”?’
‘Well … I don’t know how they’ll react, that’s all. You shouldn’t have encouraged her. I mean, of course there’s female dwarfs but … I mean, they have the decency not to show it.’
He heard Angua gasp. Her voice sounded rather far away when she said, ‘Carrot, you know I’ve always respected your attitude to the citizens of Ankh-Morpork.’
‘Yes?’
‘Ive been impressed by the way you really seem to be blind to things like shape and colour.’
‘Yes?’
‘And you always seem to care for people.’
‘Yes?’
‘And you know that I feel considerable affection for you.’ ‘Yes?’
‘It’s just that, sometimes ‘Yes?’ ‘I really, really, really wonder why.’
Carriages were thickly parked outside Lady Selachii’s mansion when Corporal Nobbs strolled up the drive. He knocked on the door.
A footman opened it. ‘Servants’ entrance,’ said the footman, and made to shut the door again.
But Nobby’s outstretched foot had been ready for this. ‘Read these,’ he said, thrusting two bits of paper at him.
The first one read:
I, after hearing evidence from a number of experts, including Mrs Slipdry the midwife, certify that the balance of probability is that the bearer of this document, C. W. St John Nobbs, is a human being.
Signed, Lord Vetinari.
The other was the letter from Dragon King of Arms.
The footman’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, I am terribly sorry, your lordship,’ he said. He stared again at Corporal Nobbs. Nobby was clean-shaven – at least, the last time he’d shaved he’d been cleanshaven – but his face had so many minor topological features it looked like a very bad example of slash-and-burn agriculture.
‘Oh, dear,’ added the footman. He pulled himself together. ‘The other visitors normally just have cards.’
Nobby produced a battered deck. ‘I’m probably busy hobnobbing right now,’ he said. ‘But I’m game for a few rounds of Cripple Mr Onion afterwards, if you like.’