'I hope so, sir.'

The box came back up again, with a tray in it. Vimes took it out.

'What's this?'

'A Klatchian Hots without anchovies,' said Vimes, lifting the cover. 'We got it from Ron's Pizza Hovel round the corner. The way I see it, no one can poison all the food in the city. And the cutlery's from my place.'

'You have the mind of a true policeman, Vimes.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'Really? Was it a compliment?' The Patrician prodded at the plate with the air of an explorer in a strange country.

'Has someone already eaten this, Vimes?'

'No, sir. That's just how they chop up the food.'

'Oh, I see. I thought perhaps the food-tasters were getting over-enthusiastic,' said the Patrician. 'My word. What a treat I have to look forward to.'

'I can see you're feeling better, sir,' said Vimes stiffly.

'Thank you, Vimes.'

When Vimes had gone Lord Vetinari ate the pizza, or at least those parts of it he thought he could recognize. Then he put the tray aside and blew out the candle by his bed. He sat in the dark for a while, then felt under his pillow until his finger located a small sharp knife and a box of matches.

Thank goodness for Vimes. There was something endearing about his desperate, burning and above all misplaced competence. If the poor man took any longer he'd have to start giving him hints.

In the main office Carrot sat alone, watching Dorfl.

The golem stood where it had been left. Someone had hung a dishcloth on one arm. The top of its head was still open.

Carrot spent a while with his chin on one hand, just staring. Then he opened a desk drawer and took out Dorfl's chem. He examined it. He got up. He walked over to the golem. He placed the words in the head.

An orange glow rose in Dorfl's eyes. What was baked pottery took on that faintest of auras that marked the change between the living and the dead.

Carrot found the golem's slate and pencil and pushed them into Dorfl's hand, then stood back.

The burning gaze followed him as he removed his sword belt, undid his breastplate, took off his jerkin and pulled his woollen vest over his head.

The glow was reflected from his muscles. They glistened in the candlelight.

'No weapons,' said Carrot. 'No armour. You see? Now listen to me . .

Dorfl lurched forward and swung a fist. Carrot did not move.

The fist stopped a hair's-breadth from Carrot's unblinking eyes.

'I didn't think you could,' he said, as the golem swung again and the fist jerked to a stop a fraction of an inch from Carrot's stomach. 'But sooner or later you'll have to talk to me. Write, anyway. '

Dorfl paused. Then it picked up the slate pencil.

TAKE MY WORDS!

'Tell me about the golem who killed people. '

The pencil did not move.

'The others have killed themselves,' said Carrot.

Tags: Terry Pratchett Discworld Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net