“Usssss,” hissed Dorfl, so faintly that Vimes wasn’t sure he’d heard it. A finger scratched on the floor.
“Is it trying to write something?” said Angua.
Vimes pulled out his notebook, eased it under Dorfl’s hand, and gently pushed a pencil into the golem’s fingers. They watched the hand as it wrote— a little jerkily but still with the mechanical precision of a golem— eight words. Then it stopped. The pencil rolled away. The lights in Dorfl’s eyes dwindled and went out.
“Good grief,” breathed Angua. “They don’t need words in their heads…”
“We can rebuild him,” said Carrot hoarsely. “We have the pottery.”
Vimes stared at the words, and then at what remained of Dorfl.
“Mister Vimes?” said Carrot.
“Do it,” said Vimes.
“Right now,” Vimes said. He looked back at the scrawl in his book.
WORDS IN THE HEART CAN NOT BE TAKEN.
“And when you rebuild him,” he said, “when you rebuild him… give him a voice. Understand?
Angua: Well, that was the most surreal five minutes so far, today. Cheery: *jingling cheerfully as she walks* Angua: Sooo… Now that your pockets are full of gold… I wonder if- Cheery: You want to borrow this tunic? Angua: Oh, yes please! Cheery: *pulls off tunic* Angua: Hang on, I didn’t mean that you should take it off right no- …Oh, you’re wearing a third tunic underneath. Cheery: (｡◕‿◕｡) Angua: “I Wonne The Lipwyg Lotterie, And Alle I Gut Was AM$100,0Ø0 & Thys Crummie Tuneycke”? Cheery: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Angua: Let me guess: it’s never actually happened to you- Cheery: And I only wear it gold-ically! Angua: You mean, ironically. Cheery: That, too.