It's murder in Discworld! -- which ordinarily is no big deal. But what bothers Watch Commander Sir Sam Vimes is that the unusual deaths of three elderly Ankh-Morporkians do not bear the clean, efficient marks of the Assassins' Guild. An apparent lack of any motive is also quitetroubling. All Vimes has are some tracks of white clay and more of those bothersome "clue" things that only serve to muck up an investigation. The anger of a fearful populace is already being dangerously channeled toward the city's small community of golems -- the mindless, absurdlyindustrious creatures of baked clay who can occasionally be found toiling in the city's factories. And certain highly placed personages are using the unrest as an excuse to resurrect a monarchy -- which would be bad enough even if the "king" they were grooming wasn't as empty-headed as your typical animated pottery.
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In Feet of Clay, Terry Pratchett continues the fantasy adventures on Discworld--where anything goes. Anything but murder, that is. Commander Vimes of the Watch must investigate a puzzling series of deaths, with help from various trolls and dwarfs. Pratchett's humor and excellent writing skills draw the reader effortlessly into his zany world. Feet of Clay is 19th in the series. --Blaise SelbyFrom the Publisher:
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...
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