As they stumbled along the riverside they passed a can from hand to hand, drinking appreciatively and occasionally belching.
The dog stopped. The beggars shunted to a halt behind it.
A figure came towards them along the riverside.
'Ye gods!'
'Ptui!'
'Whoops!'
'Buggrit?'
The beggars flung themselves against the wall as the pale figure lurched past. It was clutching at its head as if trying to lift itself off the ground by its ears, and then occasionally banging its head against nearby buildings.
While they watched, it pulled a metal mooring post out of the cobbles and started to hit itself over the head. Eventually the cast iron shattered.
The figure dropped the stub, flung back its head, opened a mouth from which red light spilled, and roared like a bull in distress. Then it staggered on into the darkness.
'There's that golem again,' said the Duck Man. 'The white one.'
'Heheh, I gets heads like that myself, some mornings,' said Arnold Sideways.
'I knows about golems,' said Coffin Henry, spitting expertly and hitting a beetle climbing the wall twenty feet away. 'They ain't s'posed to have a voice.'
'Buggrit/ said Foul Ole Ron. 'Dang the twigger f r'a bang at the fusel, and shrimp, 'cos the worm's on the other boot! See if he don't.'
'He meant it's the same one we saw the other day,' said the dog. 'After that ole priest got topped.'
'Do you think we should tell someone?' said the Duck Man.
The dog shook its head. 'Nah,' it said. 'We got a cushy number down here, no sense in spoiling it.'
The five of them staggered on into the damp shadows.
'I hate bloody golems, takin' our jobs...'
'We ain't got jobs.'
'See what I mean?'
'What's for supper?'
'Mud and ole boots. HRRaawrk ptui!'
'Millennium hand and shrimp, I sez.'
''m glad I've got a voice. I can speak up for meself.'
'It's time you fed your duck.'
'What duck?'
The fog glowed and sizzled around Five and Seven Yard. Flames roared up and all but set the thick clouds alight. Spitting liquid iron cooled in its moulds. Hammers rang out around the workshops. The ironmasters didn't work by the clock, but by the more demanding physics of molten metal. Even though it was nearly midnight, Stronginthearm's Iron Founders, Beaters and General Forging was still bustling.
There were many Stronginthearms in Ankh-Morpork. It was a very common dwarf name. That had been a major consideration for Thomas Smith when he'd adopted it by official deed poll. The scowling dwarf holding a hammer which adorned his sign was a mere figment of the signpainter's imagination. People thought 'dwarfmade' was better, and Thomas Smith had decided not to argue.
The Committee for Equal Heights had objected but things had mired somewhat because, firstly, most of the actual Committee was human, since dwarfs were generally too busy to worry about that sort of thing,[13] and in any case their position hinged on pointing out that Mr Stronginthearm n¨¦ Smith was too tall, which was clearly a sizeist discrimination and technically illegal under the Committee's own rules.