'You, Mr Bent? That's no way to talk! You, who've never made a mistake?'
'But I have sinned. Oh, indeed I have! I have worshipped false idols!'
'Well, sometimes you can't get real ones,' said Miss Drapes, patting his hand and wondering if she should call someone. 'Look, if you want absolution, I understand the Ionians are doing two sins for one this week - '
'It's caught me,' he whispered. 'Oh dear, Miss Drapes. There is something rising inside that wants to get out!'
'Don't you worry, we've got a bucket,' said Miss Drapes.
'No! You should go, now! This will be horrible!'
'I'm not going anywhere, Mr Bent,' said Miss Drapes, a study in determination. 'You're just having a funny turn, that's all.'
'Ha!' said Mr Bent. 'Ha... ha... haha...' The laugh climbed up his throat like something from the crypt.
His skinny body went rigid and arched as if it was rising from the mattress. Miss Drapes flung herself across the bed, but she was too late. The man's hand rose, trembling, and extended a finger towards the wardrobe.
'Here we are again!' Bent screamed.
The lock clicked. The doors swung open.
In the cupboard was a pile of ledgers, and something... shrouded. Mr Bent opened his eyes and looked up into those of Miss Drapes.
'I brought it with me,' he said, as if talking to himself. 'I hated it so much but I brought it with me. Why? Who runs the circus?'
Miss Drapes was silent. All she knew was that she was going to follow this to the end. After all, she'd spent the night in a man's bedroom, and Lady Deirdre Waggon had a lot to say about that. She was technically a Ruined Woman, which seemed unfair given that, even more technically, she wasn't.
She watched as Mr Bent... changed. He had the decency to do so with his back turned, but she closed her eyes anyway. Then she remembered that she was Ruined, and so there wasn't much point, was there?
She opened them again.
'Miss Drapes?' said Mr Bent dreamily.
'Yes, Mr Bent?' she said, through chattering teeth.
'We need to find... a bakery.'
Cranberry and his associate stepped into the room, and stopped dead. This was not according to the plan.
'And possibly a ladder,' said Mr Bent. He pulled a strip of pink rubber from his pocket, and bowed. olems go - True worth - At work: servants of a higher truth - Back in trouble again - The beautiful butterfly - The insanity of Vetinari - Mr Bent wakes up - Mysterious requirements
THINGS WERE GETTING HEATED in the conference room. This, to Lord Vetinari, was not a problem. He was a great believer in letting a thousand voices be heard, because this meant that all he actually needed to do was listen only to the ones that had anything useful to say, 'useful' in this case being defined in the classic civil service way as 'inclining to my point of view'. In his experience, it was a number generally smaller than ten. The people who wanted a thousand, etc., really meant that they wanted their own voice to be heard while the other 999 were ignored, and for this purpose the gods had invented the committee. Vetinari was very good at committees, especially when Drumknott took the minutes. What the Iron Maiden was to stupid tyrants, the committee was to Lord Vetinari; it was only slightly more expensive,[11] far less messy, considerably more efficient and, best of all, you had to force people to climb inside the Iron Maiden.
He was just about to appoint the ten noisiest people on to a Golem Committee that could be locked in a distant office when a Dark Clerk appeared, apparently out of a shadow, and whispered something in Drumknott's ear. The secretary leaned down towards his master.
'Ah, it would appear that the golems have gone,' said Vetinari cheerfully, as the dutiful Drumknott stepped back.
'Gone?' said Adora Belle, trying to see across to the window. 'What do you mean, gone?'
'Not here any more,' said Vetinari. 'Mr Lipwig, it seems, has taken them away. They are leaving the vicinity of the city in an orderly fashion.'
'But he can't do that!' Lord Downey was enraged. 'We haven't decided what to do with them yet!'
'He, however, has,' said Vetinari, beaming.
'He shouldn't be allowed to leave the city! He is a bank robber! Commander Vimes, do your duty and arrest him!' This was from Cosmo.
Vimes's look would have frozen a saner man. 'I doubt if he's going far, sir', he said. 'What do you wish me to do, your lordship?'