'Ankles,' said Moist. 'Yes, yes, I rather think they do.' Ye gods, he wondered, is he that old?
'All the time?'
'Twenty-four hours a day. They never clothe,' said Moist. 'And sometimes they spin around a pole upside down. Take it from me, professor, for you, eternity might not be long enough.'
'And you just want a few words translated?'
'A small glossary of instructions.'
'And then I can go?'
'Yes!'
'I have your word?'
'Trust me. I'll just explain this to Dr Hicks. He may take some persuading.'
Moist strolled over to the huddle of people who weren't necromancers at all. The post-mortem communicator's response was other than he expected. Second thoughts were arising.
'I wonder if we'd be doing the right thing, setting him loose in a pole-dancing establishment?' said Hicks doubtfully.
'No one will see him. And he can't touch. They're very big on not touching in that place, I'm told.'
'Yes, I suppose all he can do is ogle the young ladies.' There was some sniggering from the students.
'So? They're paid to be ogled at,' said Moist. 'They are professional oglees. It's an ogling establishment. For oglers. And you heard what's going on in the palace. We could be at war in a day. Do you trust them? Trust me.'
'You use that phrase an awful lot, Mr Lipwig,' said Hicks. 'Well, I'm very trustworthy. Ready, then? Hold back until I summon you, and then you can take him to his last resting place.'
There were people in the crowd with sledgehammers. You'd have a job to crack a golem if it didn't want you to, but he ought to get them out of here as soon as possible.
This probably wouldn't work. It was too simple. But Adora Belle had missed it, and so had Flead. The corporal now so bravely holding back the crowds wouldn't have, because it was all about orders, but nobody had asked him. You just had to think a little.
'Come on, young man,' said Flead, still where his bearers had left him. 'Let's get on with it, shall we?'
Moist took a deep breath. 'Tell me how to say: "Trust me, and only me. Form ranks of four and march ten miles hubwards of the city. Walk slowly,"' he said.
'Hee, hee. You are a sharp one, Mr Lipstick!' said Flead, his mind full of ankles. 'But it won't work, you know. We tried things like that.'
'I can be very persuasive.'
'It won't work, I tell you. I have found not one single word that they will react to.'
'Well, professor, it's not what you say, it's the way that you say it, isn't it? Sooner or later it's all about style.'
'Ha! You are a fool, man.'
'I thought we had a deal, professor? And I shall want a number of other phrases.' He looked around at the golem horses, as still as statues. 'And one phrase I shall need is the equivalent of "Giddyup", and while I think of it I shall need "Whoa", too. Or do you want to go back to the place where they've never heard of pole-dancing?' The golems go - True worth - At work: servants of a higher truth - Back in trouble again - The beautiful butterfly - The insanity of Vetinari - Mr Bent wakes up - Mysterious requirements
THINGS WERE GETTING HEATED in the conference room. This, to Lord Vetinari, was not a problem. He was a great believer in letting a thousand voices be heard, because this meant that all he actually needed to do was listen only to the ones that had anything useful to say, 'useful' in this case being defined in the classic civil service way as 'inclining to my point of view'. In his experience, it was a number generally smaller than ten. The people who wanted a thousand, etc., really meant that they wanted their own voice to be heard while the other 999 were ignored, and for this purpose the gods had invented the committee. Vetinari was very good at committees, especially when Drumknott took the minutes. What the Iron Maiden was to stupid tyrants, the committee was to Lord Vetinari; it was only slightly more expensive,[11] far less messy, considerably more efficient and, best of all, you had to force people to climb inside the Iron Maiden.
He was just about to appoint the ten noisiest people on to a Golem Committee that could be locked in a distant office when a Dark Clerk appeared, apparently out of a shadow, and whispered something in Drumknott's ear. The secretary leaned down towards his master.
'Ah, it would appear that the golems have gone,' said Vetinari cheerfully, as the dutiful Drumknott stepped back.
'Gone?' said Adora Belle, trying to see across to the window. 'What do you mean, gone?'
'Not here any more,' said Vetinari. 'Mr Lipwig, it seems, has taken them away. They are leaving the vicinity of the city in an orderly fashion.'