Feet of Clay

left the yard.
    “It was lying,” said Cheery.
    “Why do you say that?”
    “It looked as if it was lying.”
    “You’re probably right,” said Angua. “But you can see the size of the place. I bet we wouldn’t be able to prove it’d stepped out for half an hour. I think I’ll suggest that we put it under what Commander Vimes calls special surveillance.”
    “What, like…plain clothes?”
    “Something like that,” said Angua carefully.
    “Funny to see a pet goat in a slaughterhouse, I thought,” said Cheery, as they walked on through the fog.
    “What? Oh, you mean the yudasgoat,” said Angua. “Most slaughterhouses have one. It’s not a pet. I suppose you could call it an employee.”
    “Employee? What kind of job could it possibly do?”
    “Hah. Walk into the slaughterhouse every day. That’s its job. Look, you’ve got a pen full of frightened animals, right? And they’re milling around and leaderless…and there’s this ramp into this building, looks very scary…and, hey, there’s this goat, it’s not scared, and so the flock follows it and—” Angua made a throat-slitting noise—“only the goat walks out.”
    “That’s horrible!”
    “I suppose it makes sense from the goat’s point of view. At least it does walk out,” said Angua.
    “How did you know about this?”
    “Oh, you pick up all sorts of odds and ends of stuff in the Watch.”
    “I’ve got a lot to learn, I can see,” said Cheery. “I never thought you had to carry bits of blanket, for a start!”
    “It’s special equipment if you’re dealing with the undead.”
    “Well, I knew about garlic and vampires. Anything holy works on vampires. What else works on werewolves?”
    “Sorry?” said Angua, who was still thinking about the golem.
    “I’ve got a silver mail vest which I promised my family I’d wear, but is anything else good for werewolves?”
    “A gin and tonic’s always welcome,” said Angua distantly.
    “Angua?”
    “Hmm? Yes? What?”
    “Someone told me there was a werewolf in the Watch! I can’t believe that!”
    Angua stopped and stared down at her.
    “I mean, sooner or later the wolf comes through,” said Cheery. “I’m surprised Commander Vimes allows it.”
    “There is a werewolf in the Watch, yes,” said Angua.
    “I knew there was something odd about Constable Visit.”
    Angua’s jaw dropped.
    “He always looks hungry,” said Cheery. “And he’s got that odd smile all the time. I know a werewolf when I see one.”
    “He does look a bit hungry, that’s true,” said Angua. She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
    “Well, I’m going to be keeping my distance.”
    “Fine,” said Angua.
    “Angua…”
    “Yes?”
    “Why do you wear your badge on a collar round your neck?”
    “What? Oh. Well…so it’s always handy. You know. In any circumstances.”
    “Do I need to do that?”
    “I shouldn’t think so.”

    Mr. Sock jumped. “Dorfl, you damn stupid lump! Never sneak up behind a man on the bacon slicer! I’ve told you that before! Try to make some noise when you move, damn you!”
    The golem held up its slate, which said:
    TONIGHT I CANNOT WORK.
    “What’s this? The bacon slicer never asks for time off!”
    IT IS A HOLY DAY.
    Sock looked at the red eyes. Old Fishbine had said something about this, hadn’t he, when he’d sold Dorfl? Something like: “Sometimes it’ll go off for a few hours because it’s a holy day. It’s the words in its head. If it doesn’t go and trot off to its temple or whatever it is, the words’ll stop working, don’t ask me why. There’s no point in stopping it.”
    Five hundred and thirty dollars the thing had cost. He’d thought it was a bargain—and it was a bargain, no doubt about that. The damned thing only ever stopped working when it had run out of things to do. Sometimes not even then, according to the stories. You heard about golems flooding out houses because no one told them to stop carrying water from the well, or washing the dishes until the plates were thin as paper. Stupid things. But useful if you kept your eye on them.
    And yet…and yet…he could see why no one seemed to keep them for long. It was the way the damned two-handed engine just stood there, taking it all in and putting it…where? And never complained. Or groused.
    A man could get worried about a bargain like that, and feel mightily relieved when he was writing out a receipt for the new owner.
    “Seems to me there’s been a lot of holy