Terry Pratchett - Feet of Clay

'But no vampires. Never any vampires. Now let's get a move on, Fred.'

Nobby Nobbs ought to have known. That's what he told himself as he scuttled through the streets. All that stuff about kings and stuff- they'd wanted him to ...

It was a terrible thought...

Volunteer.

Nobby had spent a lifetime in one uniform or another. And one of the most basic lessons he'd learned was that men with red faces and plummy voices never ever gave cushy numbers to the likes of Nobby. They'd ask for volunteers to do something 'big and clean' and you'd end up scrubbing some damn great drawbridge; they'd say, 'Anyone here like good food?' and you'd be peeling potatoes for a week. You never ever volunteered. Not even if a sergeant stood there and said, 'We need someone to drink alcohol, bottles of, and make love, passionate, to women, for the use of.' There was always a snag. If a choir of angels asked for volunteers for Paradise to step forward, Nobby knew enough to take one smart pace to the rear.

When the call came for Corporal Nobbs, it would not find him wanting. It would not find him at all.

Nobby avoided a herd of pigs in the middle of the street.

Even Mr Vimes never expected him to volunteer. He respected Nobby's pride.

Nobby's head ached. It must've been the quail's eggs, he was sure. They couldn't be healthy birds to lay titchy eggs like that.

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...'

They'd stepped out into the factory.

Candles whirled overhead - hundreds of them, thousands of them - dangling by their wicks from an endless belt of complex wooden links that switch-backed its way up and down the long hall.

'I heard about this,' said Carrot. 'It's called a producing line. It's a way of making thousands of things that are all the same. But look at the speed! I'm amazed the treadmill can—'

Angua pointed. There was a treadmill creaking around beside her, but there was nothing inside it.

'Something's got to be powering all this,' said Angua.

Carrot pointed. Further up the hall the switchbacks of the line converged in a complicated knot. There was a figure somewhere in the middle, arms moving in a blur.

Just beside Carrot the line ended at a big wooden hopper. Candles cascaded into it. No one had been emptying it, and they were tumbling over the pile and rolling on to the floor.

'Cheri,' said Carrot. 'Do you know how to use any kind of weapon?'

'Er... no, Captain Carrot.' 'Right. You just wait in the alley, then. I don't want any harm coming to you.' She scuttled off, looking relieved. Angua sniffed the air. 'There's been a vampire here,' she said.

'I think we'd—' Carrot began. 'I knew you'd find out! I wish I'd never bought the damned thing! I've got a bow! I warn you, I've got a crossbow!'