‘I don’t worship him. I’m just employing him,’ said Vimes, beginning to enjoy himself. ‘And he’s far from idle.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And if it’s gross profanity you’re looking for’
‘Excuse Me,’ said Dorfl.
‘We’re not listening to you! You’re not even really alive!’ said a priest.
Dorfl nodded. ‘This Is Fundamentally True,’ he said.
‘See? He admits it!’
‘I Suggest You Take Me And Smash Me And Grind The Bits Into Fragments And Pound The Fragments Into Powder And Mill Them Again To The Finest Dust There Can Be, And I Believe You Will Not Find A Single Atom of Life’
‘True! Let’s do it!’
‘However, In Order To Test This Fully, One Of You Must Volunteer To Undergo The Same Process.’
There was silence.
‘That’s not fair,’ said a priest, after a while. ‘All anyone has to do is bake up your dust again and you’ll be alive . . .’
There was more silence.
Ridcully said, ‘Is it only me, or are we on tricky theological ground here?’
There was more silence.
Another priest said, ‘Is it true you’ve said you’ll believe in any god whose existence can be proved by logical debate?’
‘Yes.’
Vimes had a feeling about the immediate future and took a few steps away from Dorfl.
‘But the gods plainly do exist,’ said a priest.
‘It Is Not Evident.’
A bolt of lightning lanced through the clouds and hit Dorfl’s helmet. There was a sheet of flame and then a trickling noise. Dorfl’s molten armour formed puddles around his white-hot feet.
‘I Don’t Call That Much Of An Argument,’ said Dorfl calmly, from somewhere in the clouds of smoke.
‘It’s tended to carry the audience,’ said Vimes. ‘Up until now.’
The Chief Priest of Blind lo turned to the other priests. ‘All right, you fellows, there’s no need for any of that’
‘But Offler is a vengeful god,’ said a priest at the back of the crowd.
‘Trigger-happy is what he is,’ said Ridcully. Another lightning bolt zigzagged down but bent at right-angles a few feet above the Chief Priest’s hat and earthed itself on a wooden hippo, which split. The Chief Priest smiled smugly and turned back to Dorfl, who was making little clinking noises as he cooled.
‘What you’re saying is, you’ll accept the existence of any god only if it can be proved by discussion?’
‘Yes,’said Dorfl.
Ridcully rubbed his hands together. ‘Not a problem, me old china,’ he said. ‘Firstly, let us take the’
‘Excuse Me,’ said Dorfl. He bent down and picked up his badge. The lightning had given it an interesting melted shape.
‘What are you doing?’ said Ridcully.
‘Somewhere, A Crime Is Happening,’ said Dorfl. ‘But When I Am Off Duty I Will Gladly Dispute With The Priest of The Most Worthy God.’
He turned and strode on across the bridge. Vimes nodded hurriedly at the shocked priests and ran after him. We took him and baked him in the fire and he’s turned out to be free, he thought. No words in the head except the ones he’s chosen to put there himself. And he’s not just an atheist, he’s a ceramic atheist. Fireproof!
It looked like being a good day.
Behind them, on the bridge, a fight was breaking out.
Angua was packing. Or, rather, she was failing to pack. The bundle couldn’t be too heavy to carry by mouth. But a little money (she wouldn’t have to buy much food) and a change of clothes (for those occasions when she might have to wear clothes) didn’t have to take up much room.
‘The boots are a problem,’ she said aloud.
‘Maybe if you knot the laces together you could carry them round your neck?’ said Cheri, who was sitting on the narrow bed.
‘Good idea. Do you want these dresses? I’ve never got round to wearing them. I expect you could cut them down.’
Cheri took them in both arms. ‘This one’s silkV
‘There’s probably enough material for you to make two for one.’
‘D’you mind if I share them out? Only some of the lads – the ladies at the Watch House’ – Cheri savoured the word ‘ladies’ – ‘are beginning to get a bit thoughtful
‘Going to melt down their helmets, are they?’ said Angua.
‘Oh, no. But perhaps they could be made into a more attractive design. Er . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘Urn . . .’
Cheri shifted uneasily.
‘You’ve never actually eaten anyone, have you? You know . . . crunching bones and so on?’
‘No.’
‘I mean, I only heard my second cousin was eaten by werewolves. He was called Sfen.’
‘Can’t say I recall the name,’ said Angua.
Cheri tried to grin. That’s all right, then,’ she said.
‘So you won’t need that silver spoon in your pocket,’ said Angua.
Cheri’s mouth dropped open, and then the words tumbled over themselves. ‘Er … I don’t know how it got there it must have dropped in when I was washing up oh I didn’t mean’
‘It doesn’t worry me, honestly. I’m used to it.’
‘But I didn’t think you’d’
‘Look, don’t get the wrong idea. It’s not a case of not wanting to,’ said Angua. ‘It’s a case of wanting to and not doing it.’
‘You don’t really have to go, do you?’
‘Oh, I don’t know if I can take the Watch seriously and . . . and sometimes I think Carrot’s working up to ask me … and, well, it’d never work out. It’s the way he just assumes everything, you know? So best to go now,’ Angua lied.
‘Won’t Carrot try to stop you?’
‘Yes, but there’s nothing he can say.’
‘He’ll be upset.’
‘Yes,’ said Angua briskly, throwing another dress on the bed. ‘And then he’ll get over it.’
‘Hrolf Thighbiter’s asked me out,’ said Cheri shyly, looking at the floor. ‘And I’m almost certain he’s male!’
‘Glad to hear it.’
Cheri stood up. Ill walk with you as far as the Watch House. I’ve got to go on duty.’
They were half-way along Elm Street before they saw Carrot, head and shoulders above the crowd.
Looks like he was coming to see you,’ said Cheri. ‘Er, shall I go away?’
Too late…’
‘Ah, good morning, Corporal Miss Little-bottom!’ said Carrot cheerfully. ‘Hello, Angua. I was just coming to see you but I had to write my letter home first, of course.’
He took off his helmet, and smoothed back his hair. ‘Er . . .’ he began.
‘I know what you’re going to ask,’ said Angua.
‘You do?’
‘I know you’ve been thinking about it. You knew I was wondering about going.’
‘It was obvious, was it?’
‘And the answer’s no. I wish it could be yes.’
Carrot looked astonished. ‘It never occurred to me that you’d say no,’ he said. ‘I mean, why should you?’
‘Good grief, you amaze me,’ she said. ‘You really do.’
‘I thought it’d be something you’d want to do,’ said Carrot. He sighed. ‘Oh, well … it doesn’t matter, really.’
Angua felt that a leg had been kicked away. ‘It doesn’t matter? she said.
‘I mean, yes, it’d have been nice, but I won’t lose any sleep over it.’
‘You won’t?’
‘Well, no. Obviously not. You’ve got other things you want to do. That’s fine. I just thought you might enjoy it. I’ll do it by myself.’
‘What? How can … ?’ Angua stopped. ‘What are you talking about, Carrot?’
The Dwarf Bread Museum. I promised Mr Hopkinson’s sister that I’d tidy it up. You know, get it sorted out. She’s not very well off and I thought it could raise some money. Just between you and me, there’s several exhibits in there that could be better-presented, but I’m afraid Mr Hopkinson was rather set in his ways. I’m sure there’s a lot of dwarfs in the city that’d flock there if they knew about it, and of course there’s a lot of youngsters that ought to learn more about their proud heritage. A good dusting and a lick of paint would make all the difference, I’m sure, especially on the older loaves. I don’t mind giving up a few days off. I just thought it might cheer you up, but I appreciate that bread isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.’
Angua stared at him. It was the stare that Carrot so often attracted. It roamed every feature of his face, looking for the tiniest clue that he was making some kind of joke. Some long, deep joke at the expense of everyone else. Every sinew in her body knew that he must be, but there was not a clue, not a twitch to prove it.
‘Yes,’ she said weakly, still searching his face, ‘I expect it could be a little goldmine.’
‘Museums have got to be a whole lot more interesting these days. And, you know, there’s a whole guerrilla crumpet assortment he hasn’t even catalogued,’ said Carrot. ‘And some early examples of defensive bagels.’
‘Gosh,’ said Angua. ‘Hey, why don’t we paint a big sign saying something like “The Dwarf Bread Experience”?’