Feet of Clay

said Nobby. “How can they move around when they’re like a pot, eh? They ought to keep cracking all the time.”
    “They’re daft, too,” said Colon. “I heard there was one over in Quirm who was made to dig a trench and they forgot about it and they only remembered it when there was all this water ’cos it had dug all the way to the river…”
    Carrot unrolled the chem on the table, and laid beside it the paper that had been put in Father Tubelcek’s mouth.
    “It’s dead, is it?” said Sergeant Colon.
    “It’s harmless,” said Carrot, looking from one piece of paper to the other.
    “Right. I’ve got a sledgehammer round the back somewhere, I’ll just…”
    “No,” said Carrot.
    “You saw the way it was acting!”
    “I don’t think it could actually have hit me. I think it just wanted to scare us.”
    “It worked!”
    “Look at these, Fred.”
    Sergeant Colon glanced at the desk. “Foreign writing,” he said, in a voice which suggested that it was nothing like as good as decent home writing, and probably smelled of garlic.
    “Anything strike you about them?”
    “Well…they looks the same,” Sergeant Colon conceded.
    “This yellowing one is Dorfl’s chem. The other one is from Father Tubelcek,” said Carrot. “Letter for letter the same.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “I think Dorfl wrote these words and put them in old Tubelcek’s mouth after the poor man died,” said Carrot slowly, still looking from one piece of paper to the other.
    “Urgh, yuk,” said Nobby. “That’s mucky , that is…”
    “No, you don’t understand,” said Carrot. “I mean he wrote them because they were the only ones he knew that worked…”
    “Worked how?”
    “Well…you know the kiss of life?” said Carrot. “I mean first aid? I know you know, Nobby. You came with me when they had that course at the YMPA.”
    “I only went ’cos you said you got a free cup of tea and a biscuit,” said Nobby sulkily. “Anyway, the dummy ran away when it was my turn.”
    “It’s the same with life-saving, too,” said Carrot. “We want people to breathe, so we try to make sure they’ve got some air in them…”
    They all turned back to look at the words.
    “But golems don’t breathe,” said Colon.
    “No, a golem knows only one thing that keeps you alive,” said Carrot. “It’s the words in your head.”
    They all turned to look at the statue that was Dorfl.
    “It’s gone all cold in here,” Nobby quavered. “I def’nitly felt a aura flick’rin’ in the air just then! It was like someone…”
    “What’s going on?” said Vimes, shaking the damp off his cloak.
    “…openin’ the door,” said Nobby.

    It was ten minutes later.
    Sergeant Colon and Nobby had gone off-duty, to everyone’s relief. Colon in particular had great difficulty with the idea that you went on investigating after someone had confessed. It outraged his training and experience. You got a confession and there it ended. You didn’t go around disbelieving people. You disbelieved people only when they said they were innocent. Only guilty people were trustworthy. Anything else struck at the whole basis of policing.
    “White clay,” said Carrot. “It was white clay we found. And practically unbaked. Dorfl’s made of dark terracotta, and rock-hard.”
    “The last thing the old priest saw was a golem,” said Vimes.
    “Dorfl, I’m sure,” said Carrot. “But that’s not the same as saying Dorfl was the murderer. I think it turned up as the man was dying, that’s all.”
    “Oh? Why?”
    “I’m…not sure yet. But I’ve seen Dorfl around. It’s always seemed a very gentle person.”
    “It works in a slaughterhouse!”
    “Maybe that’s not a bad place for a gentle person to work, sir,” said Carrot. “Anyway, I’ve checked up all the records I can find and I don’t think a golem has ever attacked anyone. Or committed any kind of crime.”
    “Oh, come on ,” said Vimes. “Everyone knows…” He stopped as his cynical ears heard his incredulous voice. “What, never? ”
    “Oh, people are always saying that they know someone who had a friend whose grandfather heard of one killing someone, and that’s about as real as it gets, sir. Golems aren’t allowed to hurt people. It’s in their words.”
    “They give me the willies, I know that,” said Vimes.
    “They give everyone the willies, sir.”
    “You hear lots of stories about them doing stupid things like making a thousand teapots or digging a