Feet of Clay

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 Labor. 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 gray, 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 Io 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 it? ” he said.
    “If you mean the golem, this is him ,” 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 armor 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 Io 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