Making Money

were Dr. Hicks and four other wizards, and it was at this point you would notice the chalked circle and the magic symbols. In the middle of the portable magic circle sat Professor Flead, belaboring the wizards unsuccessfully with his ethereal staff. They fetched up alongside the steps as the crowd ran onward.
    “I am sorry about this,” panted Hicks, “it’s the only way we could get him here and he insisted, oh how he insisted…”
    “Where’s the young lady?” Flead shouted. His voice was barely audible in the living daylight. Adora Belle pushed her way through the policemen.
    “Yes, Professor Flead?” she said.
    “I have found your answer! I have spoken with several Umnians!”
    “I thought they all died thousands of years ago!”
    “Well, it is a department of necromancy,” Flead said. “But I must admit they were a wee bit indistinct, even for me. Can I have a kiss? One kiss, one answer?”
    Adora Belle looked at Moist. He shrugged. The day was totally beyond him. He wasn’t flying anymore; he was simply being blown along by the gale.
    “All right,” she said. “But no tongues.”
    “Tongues?” said Flead sadly. “I wish.”
    There was the briefest of pecks, but the ghostly necromancer beamed. “Wonderful,” he said. “I feel at least a hundred years younger.”
    “You have done the translations?” said Adora Belle. And at that moment Moist felt a vibration under foot.
    “What? Oh that,” said Flead. “It was those gold golems you were talking about—”
    —and another vibration, enough to cause a sense of unease in the bowels—
    “—although it turns out that the word in context doesn’t mean ‘gold’ at all. There are more than one hundred and twenty things it can mean, but in this case, taken in conjunction with the rest of the paragraph, it means ‘a thousand.’”
    The street shook again.
    “Four thousand golems, I think you’ll find,” said Flead cheerfully. “Oh, and here they are now!”

    THEY CAME ALONG the streets six abreast, wall to wall and ten feet high, water and mud cascading off of them. The city echoed to their tread.
    They did not trample people, but mere market stalls and coaches splintered under their massive feet. They spread out as they moved, fanning out across the city, thundering down side streets, heading for the gates of Ankh-Morpork, which were always open, because there was no point in discouraging customers.
    And there were the horses, perhaps no more than a score in all the hurrying throng, saddles built into the clay of their backs, overtaking the two-legged golems, and not a man watched but thought: Where can I get one of those? The rest of the golems marched on with the sound of thunder, heading out of the city.
    One man-shaped golem stopped in the middle of Sator Square, dropped on one knee, raised a fist as if in salute, and went still. The horses halted beside it, as if awaiting riders.
    And when the many-walled city of Ankh-Morpork had one more wall, out beyond the gates, they stopped. As one, they raised their right hands in a fist. Shoulder to shoulder, ringing the city, the golems…guarded. Silence fell.
    In Sator Square, Commander Vimes looked up at the poised fist and then at Moist.
    “Am I under arrest?” said Moist meekly.
    Vimes sighed. “Mr. Lipwig,” he said, “there’s no word for what you are.”

    THE PALACE’S BIG ground-floor council room was packed. Most people had to stand. Every guild, every interest group, and everyone who just wanted to say they had been there…was there. The crowd overflowed into the palace grounds and out onto the streets. Children were climbing on the golem in the square, despite the efforts of the watchmen who were guarding it.
    There was a large ax buried in the big table, Moist noticed; the force of it had split the wood. It had clearly been there for some time. Perhaps it was some kind of warning, or some kind of symbol. This was a council of war, after all, but without the war.
    “—However, we are already getting some very threatening notes from the other cities,” said Lord Vetinari, “so it is only a matter of time.”
    “Why?” said Archchancellor Ridcully of Unseen University, who had managed to get a seat by dint of elevating its protesting occupant out of it. “All the things are doin’ is standin’ around outside the walls, yes?”
    “Quite so,” said Vetinari, “and it’s called aggressive defense. That is practically a declaration of war.” He gave a