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Feet of Clay

Feet of Clay

Discworld: Book 19

Terry Pratchett

Royalty is like dandelions. No matter how many heads you chop off, the roots are still there underground, waiting to spring up again.

A murderer is stalking Discworld: A prowling perp who leaves behind jaunty corpses and strange-smelling tracks of curious white clay -- a grim reaper who belongs to neither the Assassins' Guild nor the Thieves' Guild.

Commander Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Guard is determined to stop this unauthorized assassin -- and to prove it, he has hired a Dwarf to help him. With the assistance of, Corporal Cheery Littlebottom, Vimes and his men (and trolls, and such) can get to the, well, bottom of anything. Even when one of the victims is murdered with a loaf of her own Battle Bread (available in convenient throwing slices, guerrilla crumpets, and defensive bagels). And even when the investigation leads to an out-of-work golem, a vampire dragon, and a vegetarian werewolf.

Such strangeness is perfectly normal in normally perfect Ankh-Morpork, the greatest of Discworld's cities, where anything can happen and therefore, naturally, always does. But when Vimes unravels a living (and, in fact, complaining) Coat-of-Arms and finds an unexpected royal clue, he is faced with a new dilemma.

Fighting crime is one thing. But what if winning means inflicting a new King on a city that does very well, thank you, with no King at all?

Whoever created humanity left in a major design flaw. The tendency to bend at the knee...