Making Money (Discworld 36)

'They're coming?' said Moist.

'Yes, I think they are.'

'Who are?' said Vimes suspiciously.

'Er, them?' said Moist, pointing.

A few people came running around the corner from the Maul and sprinted, grey-faced, past the crowd outside the bank. But they were only the flecks of foam driven before the tidal wave of people fleeing from the river area, and the wave of people broke on the bank as if it was a rock in the way of the flood.

But floating on the sea of heads, as it were, was a circular canvas about ten feet across of the sort that gets used to catch people who who very wisely jump from burning buildings. The five people carrying it 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, belabouring the wizards unsuccessfully with his ethereal staff. They fetched up alongside the steps as the crowd ran onwards.

'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 any more; 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 underfoot.

'What? Oh that,' said Flead. 'It was those golden 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 golden 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 cascaded off 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 which in Ankh-Morpork 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?

One man-shaped golem alone stopped in the middle of Sator Square, raised a fist as if in salute, dropped on one knee, and went still. The horses halted beside it, as if awaiting riders.

The rest of the golems marched on with the sound of thunder, heading out of the city. 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.'