Chapter 11

The golems go — True worth — At work: servants of a higher truth — Back in trouble again — The beautiful butterfly — The insanity of Vetinari — Mr Bent wakes up — Mysterious requirements

THINGS WERE GETTING HEATED in the conference room. This, to Lord Vetinari, was not a problem. He was a great believer in letting a thousand voices be heard, because this meant that all he actually needed to do was listen only to the ones that had anything useful to say, 'useful' in this case being defined in the classic civil service way as 'inclining to my point of view'. In his experience, it was a number generally smaller than ten. The people who wanted a thousand, etc., really meant that they wanted their own voice to be heard while the other 999 were ignored, and for this purpose the gods had invented the committee. Vetinari was very good at committees, especially when Drumknott took the minutes. What the Iron Maiden was to stupid tyrants, the committee was to Lord Vetinari; it was only slightly more expensive,[11] far less messy, considerably more efficient and, best of all, you had to force people to climb inside the Iron Maiden.

He was just about to appoint the ten noisiest people on to a Golem Committee that could be locked in a distant office when a Dark Clerk appeared, apparently out of a shadow, and whispered something in Drumknott's ear. The secretary leaned down towards his master.

'Ah, it would appear that the golems have gone,' said Vetinari cheerfully, as the dutiful Drumknott stepped back.

'Gone?' said Adora Belle, trying to see across to the window. 'What do you mean, gone?'

'Not here any more,' said Vetinari. 'Mr Lipwig, it seems, has taken them away. They are leaving the vicinity of the city in an orderly fashion.'

'But he can't do that!' Lord Downey was enraged. 'We haven't decided what to do with them yet!'

'He, however, has,' said Vetinari, beaming.

'He shouldn't be allowed to leave the city! He is a bank robber! Commander Vimes, do your duty and arrest him!' This was from Cosmo.

Vimes's look would have frozen a saner man. 'I doubt if he's going far, sir', he said. 'What do you wish me to do, your lordship?'

'Well, the ingenious Mr Lipwig appears to have a purpose,' said Vetinari, 'so perhaps we should go and find out what it is?'

The crowd made for the door, where it got stuck and fought itself.

As it piled out into the street, Vetinari put his hands behind his head and leaned back with his eyes shut. 'I love democracy. I could listen to it all day. Get the coach out, will you, Drumknott?'

'That is being done at this moment, sir.'

'Did you put him up to this?'

Vetinari opened his eyes. 'Miss Dearheart, always a pleasure,' he murmured, waving away the smoke. 'I thought you had gone. Imagine my delight at finding you have not.'

'Well, did you?' said Adora Belle, her cigarette noticeably shortening as she took another drag. She smoked as if it was a kind of warfare.

'Miss Dearheart, I believe it would be impossible for me to put Moist von Lipwig up to anything that could be more dangerous than the things he finds to do of his own free will. While you were away he took to climbing high buildings for fun, picked every lock in the Post Office and took up with the Extreme Sneezing fraternity, who are frankly insane. He needs the heady whiff of danger to make his life worth living.'

'He never does that sort of thing when I'm here!'

'Indeed. Can I invite you to ride with me?'

'What did you mean by saying "indeed" like that?' said Adora Belle suspiciously.

Vetinari raised an eyebrow. 'By now, if I have been adept at judging the way your fiance thinks, we should be going to see an enormous hole…'

We're going to need stone, thought Moist as the golems dug. Lots of stone. Can they make mortar? Of course they can. They're the Lancre army knife of tools.

It was fearful, the way they could dig, even in this worn-out, hopeless soil. Dirt was fountaining into the air. Half a mile away, the Old Wizarding Tower, a landmark on the road to Sto Lat, brooded over an area of scrub and desolation that was unusual on the heavily farmed plains. A lot of magic had been used here once. Plants grew twisty or not at all. The owls that haunted the ruins made sure their meals came from some distance away. It was the perfect site. No one wanted it. It was a wasteland, and a wasteland shouldn't be allowed to go to waste.

What a weapon, he thought, as his golem horse circled the diggers. They could collapse a city in a day. What a terrible force they would be in the wrong hands.

Thank goodness they are in mine…

The crowd was keeping its distance, but was also getting bigger and bigger. The city had turned out to watch. To be a true citizen of Ankh-Morpork was to never miss a show. As for Mr Fusspot, he was apparently having the time of his life standing on the horse's head. There's nothing a small dog likes more than a high place from which to yap madly at people… No, actually, there was, and the chairman had managed to wedge his toy between a clay ear and a paw, and stopped barking to growl every time Moist made a tentative grab at it.

'Mr Lipwig!'

He looked round to see Sacharissa hurrying towards him, waving her notebook. How does she do it? he wondered, watching her as, dirt raining around her, she scurried past lines of digging golems. She's even here before the Watch.

'You have a golem horse, I see,' she shouted as she reached him. 'It looks beautiful.'

'It's rather like riding a flowerpot that you can't steer,' said Moist, having to yell to make himself heard over the noise. 'The saddle could use some padding, too. Good, though, aren't they? Notice how they keep jinking all the time, just like the real thing?'

'And why are the golems burying themselves?'

'I ordered them to!'

'But they are immensely valuable!'

'Yes. So we should keep them safe, right?'

'But they belong to the city!'

'They were taking up a lot of room, don't you think? I'm not claiming them, in any case!'

'They could do wonderful things for the city, couldn't they?' More people were arriving now, and gravitating towards the man in the golden suit because he was always good value for money.

'Like embroil it in a war or create an army of beggars? My way's better!'

'I'm sure you are going to tell us what it is!' shouted Sacharissa.

'I want to base the currency on them! I want to make them into money! Gold that guards itself! You can't fake it!'

'You want to put us on the golem standard?'

'Certainly! Look at them! How much are they worth?' shouted Moist, as his horse reared very convincingly. 'They could build canals and dam floods, level mountains and make roads! If we need them to, they will! And if we don't, then they'll help to make us rich by doing nothing! The dollar will be so sound you could bounce trolls off it!'

The horse, with an astonishing grasp of public relations, reared again as Moist pointed at the labouring masses.

'That is value! That is worth! What is the worth of a gold coin compared to the dexterity of the hand that holds it?' He replayed that line in his head and added: 'That would make a good strapline on page one, don't you think? And it's Lipwig with a G!'

Sacharissa laughed. 'Page one is already crowded! What's going to happen to these things?'

'They stay here until cool heads decide what to do next!'

'And what are they guarding the city from right now, exactly?'

'Stupidity!'

'One last thing, Moist. You are the only one who knows the secret of the golems, yes?'