Feet of Clay

punctuated a litany of complaints from somewhere between the animal’s eyes.
    “Take that, yer big lump that yez are…”
    The bull stopped. He tried to turn his head so that one or other of the Rogerses could see what the hell it was that was hammering at its forehead, and might as well have tried looking down its own ears.
    It staggered backwards.
    “Fred,” Vimes whispered, “You slip off its back while it’s busy.”
    With a panicky look, Sergeant Colon swung a leg over the bull’s huge back and slid down to the ground. Vimes grabbed him and hustled him into a doorway. Then he hustled him out again. A doorway was far too confined a space in which to be anywhere near Fred Colon.
    “Why are you all covered in crap, Fred?”
    “Well, sir, you know that creek that you’re up without a paddle? It started there and it’s got worse, sir.”
    “Good grief. Worse than that?”
    “Permission to go and have a bath, sir?”
    “No, but you could stand back a few more feet. What happened to your helmet?”
    “Last time I saw it, it was on a sheep, sir. Sir, I was tied up and shoved in a cellar and heroically broke free, sir! And I was chased by one of them golems, sir!”
    “Where was this?”
    Colon had hoped he wouldn’t be asked that. “It was a place in the Shambles,” he said. “It was foggy, so I—”
    Vimes grabbed Colon’s wrists. “What’s this?”
    “They tied me up with string, sir! But at great pers’nal risk of life and limb I—”
    “This doesn’t look like string to me ,” said Vimes.
    “No, sir?”
    “No, this looks like…candlewick.”
    Colon looked blank.
    “That a Clue, sir?” he said, hopefully.
    There was a splatting noise as Vimes slapped him on the back. “Well done, Fred,” he said, wiping his hand on his trousers. “It’s certainly a corroboration.”
    “That’s what I thought!” said Colon quickly. “This is a corrobolaration and I’ve got to get it to Commander Vimes as soon as possible regardless of—”
    “Why’s that gnome nutting that bull, Fred?”
    “That’s Wee Mad Arthur, sir. We owe him a dollar. He was…of some help, sir.”
    Rogers the bull was on his knees, dazed and bewildered. It wasn’t that Wee Mad Arthur was capable of delivering a killing blow, but he just didn’t stop. After a while the noise and the thumping got on people’s nerves.
    “Should we help him?” said Vimes.
    “Looks like he’s doing all right by himself, sir,” said Colon.
    Wee Mad Arthur looked up and grinned. “One dollar, right?” he shouted. “No welching or I’ll come after yez! One of these buggers trod on me grandpa once!”
    “Was he hurt?”
    “He got one of his horns twisted right orf!”
    Vimes took Sergeant Colon firmly by the arm. “Come on, Fred, it’s all hitting the street now!”
    “Right, sir! And most of it’s splashing!”
    “I say! You there! You’re a Watchman, aren’t you? Come over here!”
    Vimes turned. A man had pushed his way through the crowds.
    On the whole, Colon reflected, it was just possible that the worst moment of his life hadn’t happened yet. Vimes tended to react in a ballistic way to words like “I say! You there!” when uttered in a certain kind of neighing voice.
    The speaker had an aristocratic look about him, and the angry air of a man not accustomed to the rigors of life who has just found one happening to him.
    Vimes saluted smartly. “Yessir! I’m a Watchman, sir! ”
    “Well, just you come along with me and arrest this thing. It’s disturbing the workers.”
    “What thing, sir?”
    “A golem, man! Walked into the factory as bold as you like and started painting on the damn’ walls!”
    “What factory, sir?”
    “You come with me, my man. I happen to be a very good friend of your commander and I can’t say I like your attitude.”
    “Sorry about that, sir,” said Vimes, with a cheerfulness that Sergeant Colon had come to dread.
    There was a nondescript factory on the other side of the street. The man strode in.
    “Er…he said ‘golem’, sir,” murmured Colon.
    Vimes had known Fred Colon a long time. “Yes, Fred, so it’s vitally important for you to stay on guard out here,” he said.
    The relief rose off Colon like steam. “That’s right, sir!” he said.
    The factory was full of sewing-machines. People were sitting meekly in front of them. It was the sort of thing the guilds hated, but since the Guild of Seamstresses didn’t take all that much interest in sewing there was no