The golem froze. The eyes faded.
Angua unrolled the paper. 'Some kind of holy writing,' she said. 'It always is. Some old dead religion.'
'You've killed it?'
'No. You can't take away what isn't there.' She put the scroll back and closed the head with a click.
The golem came alive again, the glow returning to its eyes.
Cheery had been holding her breath. It came out in a rush. 'What did you do?' she managed.
'Tell her, Dorfl,' said Angua.
The golem's thick fingers were a blur as the pencil scratched across the slate.
I AM A GOLEM. I WAS MADEW OF CLAY. MY LIFE IS IN THE WORDS. BY MEANS OF WORDS OF PURPOSE IN MY HEAD I ACQUIRE LIFE. MY LIFE IS TO WORK. I OBEY ALL COMMANDS. I TAKE NO REST.
'What words of purpose?'
RELEVANT TEXTS THAT ME THE FOCUS OF BELIEF. GOLEM MUST WORK. GOLEM MUST HAVE A MASTER.
The goat lay down beside the golem and started to chew cud.
'There have been two murders, ' said Angua. 'I'm pretty certain a golem did one and probably both. Can you tell us anything, Dorfl?'
'Sorry, look,' said Cheery. 'Are you telling me this... thing is powered by words? I mean ... is it telling me it's powered by words?'
'Why not? Words do have power. Everyone knows that,' said Angua. There are more golems around than you might think. They're out of fashion now, but they last. They can work underwater, or in total darkness, or knee-deep in poison. For years. They don't need rest or feeding. They...'
'But that's slavery!' said Cheery.
'Of course it isn't. You might as well enslave a doorknob. Have you got anything to tell me, Dorfl?'
Cheery kept looking at the cleaver in the block. Words like length and heavy and sharp were filling her head more snugly than any words could have filled the clay skull of the golem.
Dorfl said nothing.
'How long have you been working here, Dorfl?'
NOW THREE HUNDRED DAYS ALREADY.
'And you have time off?'
TO MAKE A HOLLOW LAUGHING. WHAT WOULD I DO WITH TIME OFF?
'I mean, you're not always in the slaughterhouse?'
SOMETIMES I MAKE DELIVERIES.
'And meet other golems? Now listen, Dorfl, I know you things keep in touch somehow. And, if a golem is killing real people, I wouldn't give a busted teacup for your chances. Folk will be along here straight away with flaming torches. And sledgehammers. You get my drift?'
The golem shrugged. THEY CANNOT TAKE AWAY DOES NOT EXIST, it wrote.
Angua threw up her hands. 'I'm trying to be civilized,' she said. 'I could confiscate you right now. The charge would be Being Obstructive When It's Been a Long Day and I've Had Enough. Do you know Father Tubelcek?'
THE OLD PRIEST WHO LIVES ON THE BRIDGE.
'How come you know him?'