Terry Pratchett: Feet of Clay

How soon they learn, thought Vimes. He said: 'But you have holy days off, don't you?'

'Either All Days Are Holy Or None Are. I Have Not Decided Yet.'

'Er... what do you need money for, Dorfl?'

'I Shall Save Up And Purchase The Golem Klutz Who Labours In The Pickle Factory, And Give Him To Himself; Then Together We Will Earn And Save For The Golem Bobkes Of The Coal Merchant; The Three Of Us Will Labour And Buy The Golem Shmata Who Toils At The Seven-Dollar Tailor's In Peach Pie Street; Then The Four of Us Will—'

'Some people might decide to free their comrades by force and bloody revolution,' said Vimes. 'Not that I'm suggesting that in any way, of course.'

'No. That Would Be Theft. We Are Bought And Sold, So We Will Buy Ourselves Free. By Our Labour. No One Else To Do It For Us. We Will Do It By Ourselves.'

Vimes smiled to himself. Probably no other species in the world would demand a receipt with their freedom. Some things you just couldn't change.

'Ah,' he said. 'It seems some people want to talk to us...'

A crowd was approaching over the bridge, in a mass of grey, black and saffron robes. It was made up of priests. They looked angry. As they pushed and shoved their way through the other citizens, several haloes became interlocked.

At their head was Hughnon Ridcully, Chief Priest of Blind lo and the closest thing Ankh-Morpork had to a spokesman on religious issues. He spotted Vimes and hurried towards him, admonitory finger upraised.

'Now, see here, Vimes...' he began, and stopped. He glared at Dorfl.

'Is this if?' he said.

'If you mean the golem, this is /ii'm,' said Vimes. 'Constable Dorfl, your reverence.'

Dorfl touched his helmet respectfully. 'How May We Be Of Service?' he said.

'You've done it this time, Vimes!' said Ridcully, ignoring him. 'You've gone altogether too far by . half. You made this thing speak and it isn't even alive!' '

'We want it smashed!'

'Blasphemy!'

'People won't stand for it!'

Ridcully looked around at the other priests. 'I'm talking,' he said. He turned back to Vimes. 'This comes under the heading of gross profanity and the worship of idols—'

'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. ‘I'll walk with you as far as the Watch House. I've got to go on duty.'