‘Why do you think that?’
‘Can you see any princess marrying him?’
‘We-ell . . . they have been known to kiss frogs . . .’
‘Frogs, I grant you.’
‘. . . And, of course, power and royalty are powerful aphrodisiacs . . .’
‘How powerful, would you say?’
More silence. Then: ‘Probably not that powerful.’
‘He should do nicely.’
‘Splendid.’
‘Dragon did well. I suppose the little tit isn’t really an earl, by any chance?’
‘Don’t be silly.’
Cheri Littlebottom sat awkwardly on the high stool behind the desk. All she had to do, she’d been told, was check the patrols off and on-duty when the shift changed.
A few of the men gave her an odd look but they said nothing, and she was beginning to relax when the four dwarfs on the King’s Way beat came in.
They stared at her. And her ears.
Their eyes travelled downwards. There was no such concept as a modesty panel in Ankh-Morpork. All that was usually visible under the desk was the bottom half of Sergeant Colon. Of the large number of good reasons for shielding the bottom half of Sergeant Colon from view, its potential for engendering lust was not among the top ten.
‘That’s . . .female clothes, isn’t it?’ said one of the dwarfs.
Cheri swallowed. Why now? She’d sort of assumed Angua would be around. People always calmed down when she smiled at them, it was really amazing.
‘Well?’ she quavered. ‘So what? I can if I want to.’
‘And … on your ear . , .’
‘Well?’
‘That’s . . . my mother never even . . . urgh . . . that’s disgusting! In public, too! What happens if kids come in?’
‘I can see your ankles!’ said another dwarf.
‘I’m going to speak to Captain Carrot about this!’ said the third. ‘I never thought I’d live to see the day!’
Two of the dwarfs stormed off towards the locker-room. Another one hurried after them, but hesitated as he drew level with the desk. He gave Cheri a frantic look.
‘Er … er … nice ankles, though,’ he said, and then ran.
The fourth dwarf waited until the others had gone and then sidled up.
Cheri was shaking with nervousness. ‘Don’t you say a thing about my legs!’ she said, waving a finger.
‘Er . . .’ The dwarf looked around hurriedly, and leaned forward. ‘Er … is that. . . lipstick?’
‘Yes! What about it?’
‘Er . . .’ The dwarf leaned forward even more, looked around again, this time conspiratorially, and lowered her voice. ‘Er … could I try it?’
Angua and Carrot walked silently through the fog, except for Angua’s occasional crisp and brief directions.
Then she stopped. Up until then Dorfl’s scent, or at least the fresh scent of old meat and cow dung, had headed quite directly back to the slaughterhouse district.
‘It’s gone up this alley,’ she said. ‘That’s nearly doubling back. And … it was moving faster . . . and . . . there’s a lot of humans and . . . sausages’?’
Carrot started to run. A lot of people and the smell of sausages meant a performance of the street theatre that was life in Ankh-Morpork.
There was a crowd further up the alley. It had obviously been there for some time, because at the rear was a familiar figure with a tray, craning to see over the tops of the heads.
‘What’s going on, Mr Dibbler?’ said Carrot.
‘Oh, hello, cap’n. They’ve got a golem.’
‘Who have?’
‘Oh, some blokes. They’ve just fetched the hammers.’
There was a press of bodies in front of Carrot. He put both hands together and rammed them between a couple of people, and then moved them apart. Grunting and struggling, the crowd opened up like a watercourse in front of the better class of prophet.
Dorfl was standing at bay at the end of the alley. Three men with hammers were approaching the golem cautiously, in the way of mobs, each unwilling to strike the first blow in case the second blow came right back at him.
The golem was crouching back, shielding itself with its slate on which was written:
I AM WORTH 530 DOLLARS.
‘Money?’ said one of the men. That’s all you things think about!’
The slate shattered under a blow.
Then he tried to raise his hammer again. When it didn’t budge he very nearly somersaulted backwards.
‘Money is all you can think about when all you have is a price,’ said Carrot calmly, twisting the hammer out of his grip. ‘What do you think you’re doing, my friend?’
‘You can’t stop us!’ mumbled the man. ‘Everyone knows they’re not alive!’
‘But I can arrest you for wilful damage to property,’ said Carrot.
‘One of these killed that old priest!’
‘Sorry?’ said Carrot. ‘If it’s just a thing, how can it commit murder? A sword is a thing’ – he drew his own sword; it made an almost silken sound- ‘and of course you couldn’t possibly blame a sword if someone thrust it at you, sir.’
The man went cross-eyed as he tried to focus on the sword.
And, again, Angua felt that touch of bewilderment. Carrot wasn’t threatening the man. He wasn’t threatening the man. He was merely using the sword to demonstrate a … well, a point. And that was all. He’d be quite amazed to hear that not everyone would think of it like that.
Part of her said: Someone has to be very complex indeed to be as simple as Carrot.
The man swallowed.
‘Good point,’ he said.
‘Yeah, but . . . you can’t trust ’em,’ said one of the other hammer-bearers. They sneak around and they never say anything. What are they up to, eh?’
He gave Dorfl a kick. The golem rocked slightly.
‘Well, now,’ said Carrot. ‘That is what I am finding out. In the meantime, I must ask you to go about your business . . .’
The third demolition man had only recently arrived in the city and had gone along with the idea because there are some people who do.
He raised his hammer defiantly and opened his mouth to say, ‘Oh, yeah?’ but stopped, becausejust by his ear he heard a growl. It was quite low and soft, but it had a complex little waveform which went straight down into a little knobbly bit in his spinal column where it pressed an ancient button marked Primal Terror.
He turned. An attractive watchwoman behind him gave him a friendly smile. That was to say, her mouth turned up at the corners and all her teeth were visible.
He dropped the hammer on his foot.
‘Well done,’ said Carrot. Ive always said you can do more with a kind word and a smile.’
The crowd looked at him with the kind of expression people always wore when they looked at Carrot. It was the face-cracking realization that he really did believe what he was saying. The sheer enormity tended to leave people breathless.
They backed away and scurried out of the alley.
Carrot turned back to the golem, which had dropped to its knees and was trying to piece its slate together.
‘Come on, Mr Dorfl,’ he said. ‘We’ll walk with you the rest of the way.’
‘Are you mad?’ said Sock, trying to shut the door. ‘You think I want that back?’
‘He’s your property,’ said Carrot. ‘People were trying to smash him.’
‘You should’ve let them,’ said the butcher. ‘Haven’t you heard the stories? I’m not having one of those under my roof!’
He tried to slam the door again, but Carrot’s foot was in it.
‘Then I’m afraid you’re committing an offence,’ said Carrot. To wit, littering.’
‘Oh, be serious!’
‘I always am,’ said Carrot.
‘He always is,’ said Angua.
Sock waved his hands frantically. ‘It can just go away. Shoo! I don’t want a killer working in my slaughterhouse! You have it, if you’re so keen!’
Carrot grabbed the door and forced it wide open. Sock took a step backwards.
‘Are you trying to bribe an officer of the law, Mr Sock?’
‘Are you insane?’
‘I am always sane,’ said Carrot.
‘He always is,’ sighed Angua.
‘Watchmen are not allowed to accept gifts,’ said Carrot. He looked around at Dorfl, who was standing forlornly in the street. ‘But I will buy him from you. For a fair price.’
Sock looked from Carrot to the golem and then back again. ‘Buy? For money?’
‘Yes.’
The butcher shrugged. When people were offering you money it was no time to debate their sanity. ‘Well, that’s different,’ he conceded. ‘It was worth $530 when I bought it, but of course it’s got additional skills now’
Angua growled. It had been a trying evening and the smell of fresh meat was making her senses twang. ‘You were prepared to give it away a moment ago!’
‘Well, give, yes, but business is busi’
Ill pay you a dollar,’ said Carrot.