Golems are clay automatons, who never need food, water or sleep. They just keep working - and working, and working. You don't need to pay them and you certainly don't have to give them time off. You barely notice they're around, really. Unless you told them to dig a trench last Thursday and now it's 200 kilometres long...

  They all turned to look at the statue that was Dorfl.
  'It's gone all cold in here,' Nobby quavered. 'I def'nitly felt a aura flick'rin' in the air just then! It was like someone...'
  'What's going on?' said Vimes, shaking the damp off his cloak.
  '...openin' the door,' said Nobby.

Something funny is happening to Ankh-Morpork's golems; they're all committing suicide. Well, they're not technically alive, so they're really committing destruction of property, but the principle's the same. Sir Samuel Vimes has problems of his own - harmless old people are being murdered in bizarre ways. And Sybil has sent him to the Heralds and Pursuivants, to get a coat of arms. Something with hippos and owls, probably.

The Watch is practically unrecogniseable; there are trolls and dwarfs, and a werewolf (Corporal Angua), just to complicate matters. They're opening up a new Watch house in Chitterling Street, and Sir Samuel has started up a plain-clothes branch, the Cable Street Particulars (because criminals don't wear uniforms, and secret crimes sometimes need secret police). Carrot thinks disguises are somehow underhanded. He sneaks in a conspicuous way. And a vampire with a subconscious death-wish has been giving the desk troll no end of complaints....

  'I want to complain most emphatically,' said the dust in a shrill little voice. 'I was working there only five minutes and then splash. It's going to take days to get back into shape!'
  'Working where?' said the troll.
  'Nonesuch Ecclesiastical Supplies,' said the worried monk, helpfully.
  'Holy water section,' said the vampire.

And now someone is trying to poison the Patrician. He may be rather nasty and not the kind of guy who does children's birthday parties, but he's the best the city's ever had. And there isn't really anyone to replace him, seeing as he's so good at balancing the city's factions against each other. It practically runs itself, now. But another conspiracy has arisen to bring back a king (mankind's major problem being a tendency to bend at the knees), and - well, it would seem the most favoured prospect is Nobby Nobbs. Common as muck and as hard to get rid of, Nobby isn't at all prepared for the oddity that life's about to throw at him.