'Before you do, professor, I must speak to the golem,' said Moist. 'Can you translate for me?'

'Can but won't,' snapped Flead.

'You tried to help Miss Dearheart earlier on.'

'She is attractive. Why should I bequeath to you knowledge it took me a century to acquire?'

'Because there're fools back there who want to use these golems to start a war?'

'Then that will reduce the number of fools.'

In front of them now was the lone golem. Even kneeling, this one's face was level with Moist's eyes. The head turned to look blankly at him. The guards around the golem, on the other hand, looked at Moist with deep suspicion.

'We are going to perform a little magic, officers,' Moist told them.

The corporal in charge looked as if this did not meet with his approval. 'We've got to guard it,' he pointed out, eyeing the black robes and the shimmering Professor Flead.

'That's fine, we can work around you,' said Moist. 'Do please stay. I'm sure there's not much risk.'

'Risk?' said the corporal.

'Although perhaps it might be better if you fanned out to keep the public away,' Moist went on. 'We would not want anything to happen to members of the public. If, perhaps, you could push them back a hundred yards or so?'

'Told to stay here,' said the corporal, looking Moist up and down. He lowered his voice. 'Er, aren't you the Postmaster General?'

Moist recognized the look and the tone. Here we go… 'Yes, indeed,' he said.

The watchman lowered his voice still further. 'So, er, do you by any chance have any of the Blue—'

'Can't help you there,' said Moist quickly, reaching into his pocket, 'but I do just happen to have here a very rare 20p Cabbage Green stamp with the highly amusing "misprint" that caused a bit of a stir last year, you may remember. This is the only one left. Very collectable.'

A small envelope appeared in his hand. Just as quickly, it vanished into the corporal's pocket.

'We can't let anything happen to members of the public,' he said, 'so I suggest we'd better keep them back a hundred yards or so.'

'Good thinking,' said Moist.

A few minutes later Moist had the square to himself, the watchmen having worked out quite quickly that the further back from danger they pushed the public the further from said danger they too would be.

And now, Moist thought, for the Moment of Truth. If possible, though, it would become the Moment of Plausible Lies, since most people were happier with them.

The Umnian golems were bigger and heavier than the ones commonly seen around the city, but they were beautiful. Of course they were — they had probably been made by golems. And their builders had given them what looked like muscles, and calm, sad faces. In the last hour or so, in defiance of the watchmen, the lovable kids of the city had managed to scrawl a black moustache on this one.

O-kay. Now for the professor…

'Tell me, professor, do you enjoy being dead?' he said.

'Enjoy? How can anyone enjoy it, you fool?' said Flead.

'Not much fun?'

'Young man, the word "fun" is not applicable to existence beyond the grave,' said Flead.

'And is that why you hang around the department?'

'Yes! It maybe run by amateurs these days, but there's always something going on.'

'Certainly,' said Moist. 'However, I'm wondering if someone of your… interests would not find them better served somewhere where there is always something coming off.'

'I do not understand your meaning.'

'Tell me, professor, have you heard of the Pink PussyCat Club?'

'No, I have not. Cats are not normally pink in these times, are they?'

'Really? Well, let me tell you about the Pink PussyCat Club,' said Moist. 'Excuse us, Dr Hicks.' He waved away Hicks, who winked and led his students back to the crowd. Moist put his arm around the ghostly shoulders. It was uncomfortable to hold it there with no actual shoulder to take the weight, but style was everything in these matters.

Some urgent whispering passed to and fro, and then Flead said: 'You mean it's… smutty?'

Smut, thought Moist. He really is old.

'Oh, yes. Even, I might go so far as to say, suggestive.'

'Do they show their… ankles?' said Flead, his eyes gleaming.

'Ankles,' said Moist. 'Yes, yes, I rather think they do.' Ye gods, he wondered, is he that old?

'All the time?'

'Twenty-four hours a day. They never clothe,' said Moist. 'And sometimes they spin around a pole upside down. Take it from me, professor, for you, eternity might not be long enough.'

'And you just want a few words translated?'

'A small glossary of instructions.'

'And then I can go?'

'Yes!'

'I have your word?'

'Trust me. I'll just explain this to Dr Hicks. He may take some persuading.'

Moist strolled over to the huddle of people who weren't necromancers at all. The post-mortem communicator's response was other than he expected. Second thoughts were arising.

'I wonder if we'd be doing the right thing, setting him loose in a pole-dancing establishment?' said Hicks doubtfully.

'No one will see him. And he can't touch. They're very big on not touching in that place, I'm told.'

'Yes, I suppose all he can do is ogle the young ladies.' There was some sniggering from the students.

'So? They're paid to be ogled at,' said Moist. 'They are professional oglees. It's an ogling establishment. For oglers. And you heard what's going on in the palace. We could be at war in a day. Do you trust them? Trust me.'

'You use that phrase an awful lot, Mr Lipwig,' said Hicks. 'Well, I'm very trustworthy. Ready, then? Hold back until I summon you, and then you can take him to his last resting place.'

There were people in the crowd with sledgehammers. You'd have a job to crack a golem if it didn't want you to, but he ought to get them out of here as soon as possible.

This probably wouldn't work. It was too simple. But Adora Belle had missed it, and so had Flead. The corporal now so bravely holding back the crowds wouldn't have, because it was all about orders, but nobody had asked him. You just had to think a little.

'Come on, young man,' said Flead, still where his bearers had left him. 'Let's get on with it, shall we?'

Moist took a deep breath. 'Tell me how to say: "Trust me, and only me. Form ranks of four and march ten miles hubwards of the city. Walk slowly,"' he said.

'Hee, hee. You are a sharp one, Mr Lipstick!' said Flead, his mind full of ankles. 'But it won't work, you know. We tried things like that.'

'I can be very persuasive.'

'It won't work, I tell you. I have found not one single word that they will react to.'

'Well, professor, it's not what you say, it's the way that you say it, isn't it? Sooner or later it's all about style.'

'Ha! You are a fool, man.'

'I thought we had a deal, professor? And I shall want a number of other phrases.' He looked around at the golem horses, as still as statues. 'And one phrase I shall need is the equivalent of "Giddyup", and while I think of it I shall need "Whoa", too. Or do you want to go back to the place where they've never heard of pole-dancing?'