Vimes didn't even see Dorfl's arm move but there it was there, suddenly gripping the king's wrist.
Tiny stars of light went nova in Dorfl's eyes.
'Tssssss!'
As the king jerked back in surprise, Dorfl held on and levered himself up on what remained of his legs. As he came up so did his fist.
Time slowed. Nothing moved in the whole universe but Dorfl's fist.
It swung like a planet, without any apparent speed but with a drifting unstoppability.
And then the king's expression changed. Just before the fist landed, it smiled.
The golem's head exploded, Vimes recalled it in slow motion, one long second of floating pottery. And words. Scraps of paper flew out, dozens, scores of them, tumbling gently to the floor.
Slowly, peacefully, the king hit the floor. The red light died, the cracks opened, and then there were just... pieces. Dorfl collapsed on top of them.
Angua and Vimes reached Carrot together.
'He came alive!' said Carrot, struggling up. That thing was going to kill me and Dorfl came alive! But that thing had smashed the words out of his head! A golem has to have the words!'
'They gave their own golem too many, I can see that,' said Vimes.
He picked up some of the coils of paper.
...CREATE PEACE AND JUSTICE FOR ALL...
...RULE USE WISELY...
...TEACH US FREEDOM...
...LEAD US TO...
Poor devil, he thought.
'Let's get you home. That hand needs treating - ' said Angua.
'Listen, will you?' said Carrot. 'He's alive!'
Vimes knelt down by Dorfl. The broken clay skull looked as empty as yesterday's breakfast egg. But there was still a pinpoint of light in each eye socket.
'Usssss,' hissed Dorfl, so faintly that Vimes wasn't sure he'd heard it.
A finger scratched on the floor.
'Is it trying to write something?' said Angua.
Vimes pulled out his notebook, eased it under Dorfl's hand, and gently pushed a pencil into the golem's fingers. They watched the hand as it wrote - a little jerkily but still with the mechanical precision of a golem - eight words.
Then it stopped. The pencil rolled away. The lights in Dorfl's eyes dwindled and went out,
'Good grief,' breathed Angua. 'They don't need words in their heads...'
'We can rebuild him,' said Carrot hoarsely. 'We have the pottery.'
Vimes stared at the words, and then at what remained of Dorfl.
'Mr Vimes?' said Carrot.