Making Money (39 page)

“Then why don’t we?” said Lord Downey, head of the Assassins’ Guild.

“Ah, Lord Downey. Yes, I thought someone would say that,” said Vetinari. “Miss Dearheart? You have studied these golems.”

“I’ve had half an hour!” Adora Belle protested. “Hopping on one foot, I might add!”

“Nevertheless, you are our expert. And you have had the assistance of the famously deceased Professor Flead.”

“He kept trying to see up my dress!”

“Please, madam?”

“They have no chem that I can get at,” said Adora Belle. “There’s no way of opening their heads! As far as we can tell they have one overriding imperative, which is to defend the city. And that’s all. It’s actually carved into their clay.”

“Nevertheless, there is such a thing as preemptive defense. That might be construed as ‘guarding.’ In your opinion, would they attack another city?”

“I don’t think so. Which city would you like me to test them on, my lord?” Moist shuddered. Sometimes Adora Belle just didn’t care.

“None,” said Vetinari. “We are not going to have another wretched empire while I am Patrician. We’ve only just got over the last one. Professor Flead, have you been able to give them any instructions at all?”

All heads turned to Flead and his portable circle, which had remained near the door out of the sheer impossibility of struggling further into the room.

“What? No! I am certain I have the gist of Umnian, but I cannot make it move a step! I have tried every likely command, to no avail. It is most vexing!” He waved his staff at Dr. Hicks. “Come on, make yourself useful, you fellows. One more try!”

“I think I might be able to communicate with them,” said Moist, staring at the ax, but his voice was lost in the disturbance as the grumbling students tried to manhandle the portable magic circle back through the crowded doorway.

Let me just work out why, he thought. Yep…yep. It’s actually…simple. Far too simple for a committee.

“As’ chairman of the, Merchant’s’ Guild gentlemen may, I point out that these thing’s represent a valuable labor force in this’ city—” said Mr. Robert Parker.
*

“No slaves in Ankh-Morpork!” said Adora Belle, pointing a finger at Vetinari. “You’ve always said that!”

Vetinari lifted an eyebrow at her. Then he held the eyebrow and raised her a further eyebrow. But Adora Belle was unabashable.

“Miss Dearheart, you have yourself explained that they have no chem. You cannot free them. I am ruling that they are tools, and since they regard themselves as servants of the city, I will treat them as such.” He raised both hands at the general uproar, and went on: “They will not be sold and will be treated with care, as tools should be. They will work for the good of the city and—”

“No, that would be a terribly bad idea!” A white coat was struggling to get to the front of the crowd. It was topped by a yellow rain hat.

“And you are…?” said Vetinari.

The figure removed its yellow hat, looked around, and went rigid. A groan managed to escape from its mouth.

“Aren’t you Hubert Turvy?” said Vetinari. Hubert’s face remained locked in a mask of terror, so Vetinari, in a kinder tone, added, “Do you want some time to think about that last question?”

“I…only…just heard…about…” Hubert began.

Hubert looked around at the hundreds of faces, and blinked.

“Mr. Turvy, the alchemist of money?” Vetinari prompted. “It may be written down on your clothes somewhere?”

“I think I can assist here,” said Moist, and elbowed his way to the tongue-tied economist.

“Hubert,” he said, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder, “all the people are here because they want to hear your amazing theory that demonstrates the inadvisability of putting these new golems to work. You don’t want to disappoint them, do you? I know you don’t meet many people, but everyone’s heard of your wonderful work. Can you help them understand what you just shouted?”

“We are agog,” said Lord Vetinari.

In Hubert’s head, the rising terror of crowds was overturned by the urge to impart knowledge to the ignorant, which meant everyone except him. His hands grasped the lapels of his jacket. He cleared his throat.

“Well, the problem is that, considered as a labor force, the golems are capable of doing the work per day of one hundred and twenty thousand men.”

“Think of what they could do for the city!” said Mr. Cowslick of the Artificers’ Guild.

“Well, yes. To begin with, they would put one hundred and twenty thousand men out of work,” said Hubert, “but that would only be the start. They do not require food, clothing or shelter. Most people spend their money on food, shelter, clothing, entertainment, and, not least, taxes. What would these golems spend it on? The demand for many things would drop and further unemployment would result. You see, circulation is everything. The money goes around, creating wealth as it goes.”

“You seem to be saying that these things could beggar us!” said Vetinari.

“There would be…difficult times,” said Hubert.

“Then what course of action do you propose, Mr. Turvy?”

Hubert looked puzzled. “I don’t know, sir. I didn’t know I had to find solutions as well.”

“Any of the other cities would attack us if they had these golems,” said Lord Downey, “and surely we don’t have to think of their jobs, do we? Surely a little bit of conquest would be in order?”

“An empirette, perhaps?” said Vetinari sourly. “We use our slaves to create more slaves? But do we want to face the whole world in arms? For that is what we would do, at the finish. The best that we could hope for is that some of us would survive. The worst is that we would triumph. Triumph and rot. That is the lesson of history, Lord Downey. Are we not rich enough?”

That started another clamor.

Moist, unnoticed, pushed his way through the heaving crowd until he reached Dr. Hicks and his crew, who were fighting their way back to the big golem.

“Can I come with you, please?” he said. “I want to try something.”

Hicks nodded, but while the portable circle was being dragged out in the street, he said, “I think Miss Dearheart tried everything. The professor was very impressed.”

“There’s something she didn’t try. Trust me. Talking of trust, who are these lads holding the blanket?”

“My students,” said Hicks, trying to keep the circle steady.

“They want to study necro—er, postmortem communications? Why?”

“Apparently it’s good for getting girls,” sighed Hicks. There were sniggers.

“In a necromancy department? What kind of girls do they get?”

“No, it’s because when they graduate they get to wear the hooded black robe and the skull ring. I think the term one of them used was ‘babe magnet.’”

“But I thought wizards aren’t allowed to marry?”

“Marriage?” said Hicks. “Oh, I don’t think they are concerned about that.”

“We never were in my day!” shouted Flead, who was being shaken back and forth as the circle was dragged through the crowds. “Can’t you blast some of these people with Black Fire, Hicks? You’re a necromancer, for the sake of the seven hells! You are not supposed to be nice! Now that I can see what’s going on I think I shall have to spend a lot more time in the department!”

“Could I have a quiet word?” whispered Moist to Hicks. “The lads can manage by themselves, can’t they? Tell them to catch up with us at the big golem.”

He hurried on, and was not at all surprised to find Hicks hurrying to catch up with him. He pulled the not-really-a-necromancer into the shelter of a doorway and said: “Do you trust your students?”

“Are you mad?”

“It’s just that I have a little plan to save the day, the downside of which is that Professor Flead will no longer, alas, be available to you in your department.”

“By ‘unavailable’ you mean…?”

“Alas, you would never see him again,” said Moist. “I can tell that would be a blow.”

Hicks coughed. “Oh dear. He wouldn’t be able to come back at all?”

“I think not.”

“Are you sure?” said Hicks carefully. “No possibility?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

“Hm. Well, of course, it would indeed be a blow.”

“A big blow. A big blow,” Moist agreed.

“I wouldn’t want him…hurt, of course.”

“Anything but. Anything but,” said Moist, trying not to laugh. We humans are good at this curly thinking, aren’t we, he thought.

“And he has had a good innings, when all’s said and done.”

“Two of them,” said Moist, “when you come to think about it.”

“What do you want us to do?” said Hicks, against the distant shouts of the ghostly professor berating the students.

“There’s such a thing, I believe, as…an insorcism?”

“Those? We’re not allowed to do those! They’re totally against university rules!”

“Well, wearing the black robe and the skull ring has got to count for something, hasn’t it? I mean, your predecessors would turn in their dark coffins if they thought you wouldn’t agree to the minor naughtiness I have in mind…” And Moist explained, in one simple sentence.

Louder shouts and curses indicated that the portable circle was almost upon them.

“Well, Doctor?” said Moist.

A complex spectra of expressions chased one another across Dr. Hicks’s face.

“Well, I suppose…”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“Well, it’d be like sending him to Heaven, right?”

“Exactly! I couldn’t have put it better myself!”

“Anyone could put it better than this bunch!” snapped Flead, right behind him. “The department has really been allowed to go uphill since my day! Well, we shall see what we can do about that!”

“Before you do, Professor, I must speak to the golem,” said Moist. “Can you translate for me?”

“Can but won’t,” snapped Flead.

“You tried to help Miss Dearheart just earlier on.”

“She is attractive. Why should I bequeath to you knowledge it took me a century to acquire?”

“Because there’s fools back there who want to use these golems to start a war?”

“Then that will reduce the number of fools.”

In front of them now was the lone golem. Even kneeling, this one’s face was level with Moist’s eyes. The head turned to look blankly at him. The guards around the golem, on the other hand, looked at Moist with deep suspicion.

“We are going to perform a little magic, officers,” Moist told them.

The corporal in charge looked as if this did not meet with his approval.

“We’ve got to guard it,” he pointed out, eyeing the black robes and the shimmering Professor Flead.

“That’s fine, we can work around you,” said Moist. “Do please stay. I’m sure there’s not much risk.”

“Risk?” said the corporal.

“Although perhaps it might be better it you fanned out to keep the public away,” Moist went on. “We would not want anything to happen to members of the public. If, perhaps, you could push them back a hundred yards or so?”

“Told to stay here,” said the corporal, looking Moist up and down. He lowered his voice. “Er, aren’t you the postmaster general?”

Moist recognized the look and the tone. Here we go…

“Yes, indeed,” he said.

The watchman lowered his voice still further. “So, er, do you by any chance have any of the blue—”

“Can’t help you there,” said Moist quickly, reaching into his pocket, “but I do just happen to have here a couple of very rare 50p green stamps with the highly amusing ‘misprint’ that caused a bit of a stir last year, you may remember. These are the only two left. Very collectible.”

A small envelope appeared in his hand. Just as quickly, it vanished into the corporal’s pocket.

“We can’t let anything happen to members of the public,” he said, “so I suggest we’d better keep them back a hundred yards or so.”

“Good thinking,” said Moist.

A few minutes later, Moist had the square to himself, the watchmen having worked out quite quickly that the further back from danger they pushed the public the further from said danger they, too, would be.

And now, Moist thought, for the Moment of Truth. If possible, though, it would become the Moment of Plausible Lies, since most people were happier with them.

The Umnian golems were bigger and heavier than the ones commonly seen around the town, but they were beautiful. Of course they were—they had probably been made by golems. And their builders had given them what looked like muscles, and calm, sad faces. In the last hour or so, in defiance of the watchmen, the lovable kids of the city had managed to scrawl a black mustache on this one.

O…kay. Now for the professor…

“Tell me, Professor, do you enjoy being dead?” he said.

“Enjoy? How can anyone enjoy it, you fool?” said Flead.

“Not much fun?”

“Young man, the word fun is not applicable to existence beyond the grave,” said Flead.

“And is that why you hang around the department?”

“Yes! It may be run by amateurs these days, but there’s always something going on.”

“Certainly,” said Moist. “However, I’m wondering if someone of your…interests would not find them better served somewhere where there is always something coming off.”

“I do not understand your meaning.”

“Tell me, Professor, have you heard of the Pink PussyCat Club?”

“No, I have not. Cats are not normally pink in these times, are they?”

“Really? Well, let me tell you about the Pink PussyCat Club,” said Moist. “Excuse us, Dr. Hicks.” He waved away Hicks, who winked and led his students back to the crowd. Moist put his arm around the ghostly shoulders. It was uncomfortable to hold it there with no actual shoulder to take the weight, but style was everything in these matters.

The watchers heard some urgent whispering pass to and fro, and then Flead said, “You mean it’s…smutty?”

Smut, thought Moist. He really is old.

“Oh, yes. Even, I might go so far as to say, suggestive.”

“Do they show their…ankles?” said Flead, his eyes gleaming.

“Ankles,” said Moist. “Ye—yes, I rather think they do.” Ye gods, he wondered, is he that old?

“All the time?”

“Twenty-four hours a day. They never clothe,” said Moist. “And sometimes they spin around a pole upside down. Take it from me, Professor, for you, eternity might not be long enough.”