Many people, when they're precipitated into water, struggle to breathe. Sergeant Colon struggled not to. The alternative was too horrible to think about.

He rose again, buoyed up in part by various gases released from the ooze. A few feet away, the candle on Wee Mad Arthur's rocking raft started to burn with a blue flame.

Someone landed on his helmet and kicked it like a man spurs on a horse.

'Right turnl Forward!'

Half-walking, half-swimming, Colon struggled down the fetid drain. Terror lent him strength. It would demand repayment with interest later but, for now, he left a wake. Which took several seconds to close up after him.

He didn't stop until a sudden lack of pressure overhead told him that he was in the open air. He grabbed in the darkness, found the greasy pilings of a jetty, and clung to them, wheezing.

'What was that thing?' said Wee Mad Arthur.

'Golem,' Colon panted.

He managed to get a hand on to the planks of the jetty, tried to pull himself up, and sagged back into the water.

'Hey, did I just hear something?' said Wee Mad Arthur.

Sergeant Colon rose like an undersea-launched missile and landed on the jetty, where he folded up.

'Nah, just a bird or something,' said Wee Mad Arthur.

'What do your friends call you, Wee Mad Arthur?' muttered Colon.

'Dunno. Ain't got none.'

'Gosh, that's surprising.'

Lord de Nobbes had a lot of friends now. 'Up the hatch! Here's looking at your bottom!' he said.

There were shrieks of laughter.

Nobby grinned happily in the middle of the crowd. He couldn't remember when he had enjoyed himself so much with all his clothes on.

In the far corner of Lady Selachii's drawing-room a door closed discreetly and, in the comfortable smoking-room beyond, anonymous people sat down in leather armchairs and looked at one another expectantly.

Finally one said, 'It's astonishing. Frankly astonishing. The man has actually got charisn'tma.'

'Your meaning?'

'I mean he's so dreadful he fascinates people. Like those stories he was telling... Did you notice how people kept encouraging him because they couldn't actually believe anyone would tell jokes like that in mixed company?'

'Actually, I rather liked the one about the very small man playing the piano—'

'And his table manners! Did you notice them?'

'No.'

'Ex-actly!'

'And the smell, don't forget the smell.'

'Not so much bad as ... odd.'

'Actually, I found that after a few minutes the nose shuts down and then it's—'

'My point is that, in some strange way, he attracts people.'

'Like a public hanging.'

There was a period of reflective silence.

'Good humoured little tit, though, in his way.'

'Not too bright, though.'

'Give him his pint of beer and a plate of whatever those things with toenails were and he seems as happy as a pig in muck.'

'I think that's somewhat insulting.'

Tm sorry.'

'I've known some splendid pigs.'

'Indeed.'

'But I can certainly see him drinking his beer and eating feet while he signs the royal proclamations.'

'Yes, indeed. Er. Do you think he can read?'

'Does it matter?'

There was some more silence, filled with the busy racing of minds.

Then someone said, 'Another thing... we won't have to worry about establishing a royal succession that might be inconvenient.'

'Why do you think that?'

'Can you see any princess marrying him?'

'We-ell... they have been known to kiss frogs...'

'Frogs, I grant you.'

'... And, of course, power and royalty are powerful aphrodisiacs...'

'How powerful, would you say?'

More silence. Then: 'Probably not that powerful.'

'He should do nicely.'

'Splendid.'

'Dragon did well. I suppose the little tit isn't really an earl, by any chance?'

'Don't be silly.'

Cheri Littlebottom sat awkwardly on the high stool behind the desk. All she had to do, she'd been told, was check the patrols off and on-duty when the shift changed.

A few of the men gave her an odd look but they said nothing, and she was beginning to relax when the four dwarfs on the King's Way beat came in.

They stared at her. And her ears.

Their eyes travelled downwards. There was no such concept as a modesty panel in Ankh-Morpork. All that was usually visible under the desk was the bottom half of Sergeant Colon. Of the large number of good reasons for shielding the bottom half of Sergeant Colon from view, its potential for engendering lust was not among the top ten.

'That's...female clothes, isn't it?' said one of the dwarfs.

Cheri swallowed. Why now? She'd sort of assumed Angua would be around. People always calmed down when she smiled at them, it was really amazing.

'Well?' she quavered. 'So what? I can if I want to.'

'And ... on your ear . , .'

'Well?'

'That's... my mother never even... urgh... that's disgusting! In public, too! What happens if kids come in?'

'I can see your ankles!' said another dwarf.

'I'm going to speak to Captain Carrot about this!' said the third. 'I never thought I'd live to see the day!'

Two of the dwarfs stormed off towards the locker-room. Another one hurried after them, but hesitated as he drew level with the desk. He gave Cheri a frantic look.

'Er ... er ... nice ankles, though,' he said, and then ran.

The fourth dwarf waited until the others had gone and then sidled up.

Cheri was shaking with nervousness. 'Don't you say a thing about my legs!' she said, waving a finger.

'Er...' The dwarf looked around hurriedly, and leaned forward. 'Er ... is that... lipstick?'

'Yes! What about it?'

'Er...' The dwarf leaned forward even more, looked around again, this time conspiratorially, and lowered her voice. 'Er ... could I try it?'

Angua and Carrot walked silently through the fog, except for Angua's occasional crisp and brief directions.

Then she stopped. Up until then Dorfl's scent, or at least the fresh scent of old meat and cow dung, had headed quite directly back to the slaughterhouse district.

'It's gone up this alley,' she said. 'That's nearly doubling back. And ... it was moving faster... and... there's a lot of humans and... sausages'?'

Carrot started to run. A lot of people and the smell of sausages meant a performance of the street theatre that was life in Ankh-Morpork.

There was a crowd further up the alley. It had obviously been there for some time, because at the rear was a familiar figure with a tray, craning to see over the tops of the heads.

'What's going on, Mr Dibbler?' said Carrot.

'Oh, hello, cap'n. They've got a golem.'

'Who have?'

'Oh, some blokes. They've just fetched the hammers.'

There was a press of bodies in front of Carrot. He put both hands together and rammed them between a couple of people, and then moved them apart. Grunting and struggling, the crowd opened up like a watercourse in front of the better class of prophet.

Dorfl was standing at bay at the end of the alley. Three men with hammers were approaching the golem cautiously, in the way of mobs, each unwilling to strike the first blow in case the second blow came right back at him.

The golem was crouching back, shielding itself with its slate on which was written:

I AM WORTH 530 DOLLARS.

'Money?' said one of the men. That's all you things think about!'

The slate shattered under a blow.

Then he tried to raise his hammer again. When it didn't budge he very nearly somersaulted backwards.

'Money is all you can think about when all you have is a price,' said Carrot calmly, twisting the hammer out of his grip. 'What do you think you're doing, my friend?'