Making Money (46 page)

It wasn’t a shot in the dark. It was a shot in the light—clear, blazing light. Miss Drapes was definitely a woman with a plan, and it had to be a better one than the rest of a life spent in a narrow room in Elm Street.

“It’s your choice, of course,” he said, standing up. “Are they treating him all right, Miss Drapes?”

“Only because I’m here,” she said smartly. “This morning three clowns came in with a big rope and a small elephant and wanted to pull one of his poor teeth! And then I’d hardly got them out when two more came in and started to whitewash the room, very inefficiently, in my opinion! I got them out of here in very short order, I can tell you!”

“Well done, Miss Drapes!”

Vetinari was waiting outside the Guild with the coach door open and, Moist noted with relief, Mr. Fusspot asleep on the cushions.

“You will get in,” Vetinari said. “You too, Miss Dearheart.”

“Actually it’s a very short walk to—”

“Get in, Mr. Lipwig. We will go the pretty way.

“I believe you think our relationship is a game,” said Vetinari, as the coach pulled away. “You believe that all sins will be forgiven. So let me give you this.”

He took up a black walking stick with a silver skull on the handle, and tugged at the handle.

“This curious thing was in the possession of Cosmo Lavish,” he said, as the blade slid out.

“I know. Isn’t it a replica of yours?” said Moist.

“Oh really,” said Vetinari. “Am I a sword-made-of-the-blood-of-a-thousand-men kind of ruler? It’ll be a crown of skulls next, I suppose. I believe Cosmo had it made.”

“So it’s a replica of a rumor?” said Adora Belle. Outside the coach, some gates were swung open.

“Indeed,” said Vetinari. “A copy of something that does not exist. One can only assume that it is authentic in every respect.”

The coach door was opened, and Moist and Adora Belle stepped down into the palace gardens.

They had the usual look of such places—neat, tidy, lots of gravel and pointy trees and no vegetables.

“Why are we here?” said Adora Belle. “It’s about the golems, isn’t it?”

“Miss Dearheart, what do our local golems think about this new army?”

“They don’t like them. They think they will cause trouble. They have no chem that can be changed. They’re worse than zombies.”

“Thank you. A further question: Will they kill?”

“Historically, golem-makers have learned not to make golems that kill—”

“Is that a no?”

“I don’t know!”

“We make progress. Is it possible to give them an order which cannot be countermanded by another person?”

“Well, er…Yes. If they don’t know the wretched secret.”

“Which is?” Vetinari turned back to Moist and drew the sword.

“It must be the way I give the orders, sir,” said Moist, squinting downward at the blade for the second time. It really did glint.

He was braced for what happened, except that it happened in entirely the wrong way.

Vetinari handed him the sword and said, “Miss Dearheart, I really wish you would not leave the city for long periods. It makes this man seek danger. Tell us the secret, Mr. Lipwig.”

“I think it could be too dangerous, sir.”

“Mr. Lipwig, do I need a button that says
TYRANT
?”

“Can I make a bargain?”

“Of course. I am a reasonable man.”

“Will you keep to it?”

“No. But I will make a different bargain,” said Vetinari. “The Post Office can have six golem horses. The other golem warriors will be considered wards of the Golem Trust, but the use of four hundred of them to improve the operation of the clacks system will, I am sure, meet with international approval. We will replace gold with golems as a basis for our currency, as you have so eloquently pleaded. The two of you have made the international situation very…interesting—”

“Sorry, why is it me that’s holding this sword?” said Moist.

“—and you tell us the secret and, best of all, you live,” Vetinari finished, “and who is going to give you a better offer?”

“Oh, all right,” said Moist. “I knew this would have to happen. The golems obey me be—”

“—because you wear a golden suit and therefore, in their eyes, must be an Umnian priest,” said Vetinari, “because for an order to be fully realized the right person must say the right words to the right recipient. I used to be quite a scholar. It’s a matter of reasoning. Do not continue to stand there with your mouth open.”

“You already knew?”

“It wasn’t exactly dragon magic.”

“So why did you give me this horrible sword?”

“It is tasteless, isn’t it,” said Vetinari, taking it from him. “One might imagine it belonging to someone with a name like Krax the Mighty. I was just interested to see that you were more fearful when you were holding it. You really are not a violent man, are you…”

“That wasn’t necessary!” said Moist. Adora Belle was grinning.

“Mr. Lipwig, Mr. Lipwig, Mr. Lipwig, will you never learn?” said Vetinari, sheathing the sword. “One of my predecessors used to have people torn apart by wild tortoises. It was not a quick death. He thought it was a hoot. Forgive me if my pleasures are a little more cerebral, will you? Let me see now, what was the other thing. Oh yes, I regret to tell you that a man called Owlswick Clamp has died.”

There was something about the way he said it…

“Did an angel call him?” said Moist.

“Very likely, Mr. Lipwig. But should you find yourself in need of more designs, I’m sure I can find someone in the palace to assist.”

“It was meant to be, I’m sure,” said Moist. “I’m glad he’s gone to a better place.”

“Less damp, certainly. Go now. My coach is at your disposal. You have a bank to open! The world spins on, and this morning it is spinning on my desk. Follow me, Mr. Fusspot.”

“Can I make a suggestion that might help?” said Moist, as Vetinari turned away.

“What is it?”

“Well, why don’t you tell all the other Plains governments about the golden secret? That would mean no one could use them as soldiers. That would take the pressure off.”

“Hmm, interesting. And would you agree with that, Miss Dearheart?”

“Yes! We don’t want golem armies! It’s a very good idea!”

Vetinari reached down and gave Mr. Fusspot a dog biscuit. When he straightened up, there was an almost imperceptible change in his expression.

“Last night,” he said, “some traitor sent the golden secret to the rulers of every major city in the plains, via a clacks message the origin of which appears to be untraceable. It wasn’t you, was it, Mr. Lipwig?”

“Me? No!”

“But you just suggested it, did you not? Some would call it treason, incidentally.”

“I only just mentioned it,” said Moist. “You can’t pin it on me! Anyway, it was a good idea,” he added, trying not to catch Adora Belle’s eye. If you don’t think of not using fifty-foot-high killer golems first, someone else will.”

He heard her giggle, for the first time ever.

“You have found fifty-foot-high killer golems now, Miss Dearheart?” said Vetinari, looking stern, as though he might add, “Well, I hope you brought enough for everybody!”

“No, sir. There aren’t any,” said Adora Belle, trying to look serious and not succeeding.

“Well, never mind, I’m sure some ingenious person will devise one for you eventually. When they do, don’t hesitate to refrain from bringing it home. In the meantime, we have this wretched fait accompli.” Vetinari shook his head in what Moist was sure was genuinely contrived annoyance and went on: “An army that will obey anyone with a shiny jacket, a megaphone, and the Umnian words for ‘Dig a hole and bury yourselves’ would turn war into nothing but a rather entertaining farce. Rest assured, I’m putting together a committee of inquiry. It will not rest, apart from statutory tea and biscuit breaks, until it has found the culprit. I shall take a personal interest, of course.”

Of course you will, Moist thought. And I know that lots of people heard me shout Umnian commands, but I’m betting on a man who thinks war is a wicked waste of customers. A man who’s a better con artist than I’ll ever be, who thinks committees are a kind of wastepaper basket, who can turn sizzle into sausage, every day…

Moist and Adora Belle looked at one another. Their glances agreed: It’s him. Of course it’s him. Downey and all the rest of them will know it’s him. Things that live on damp walls will know it’s him. And no one will ever prove it.

Moist’s thoughts added: He’s probably got our signed confessions in his pocket right now, just in case. Owlswick’s probably as busy as a bee and as happy as a pig in muck. Still, it could be worse. Better the devil who knows you…

“You can trust us,” he said.

“Yes. I know,” said Vetinari. “Come, Mr. Fusspot. There may be cake.”

M
OIST DIDN’T FANCY
another ride in the coach. Coaches carried some unpleasant associations right now.

“He’s won, hasn’t he,” said Adora Belle, as the fog billowed around them.

“Well, he’s got the chairman eating out of his hand.”

“Is he allowed to do that?”

“I think that comes under the quia ego sic dico rule.”

“Yes, what did that mean?”

“‘Because I say so,’ I think.”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a rule.”

“Actually, it’s the only one he needs. All in all he could be—”

“You owe me five grand, Mishter Shpangler!”

The figure was out of the gloom and behind Adora Belle in one movement.

“No tricks, miss, on account o’ this knife,” said Cribbins, and Moist heard Adora Belle’s sharp intake of breath. “Your chum promised it to me for peaching you, and since you peached yourself and sent him to the loony house I reckon you owe me, right?”

Moist’s slowly moving hand found his pocket, but it was bereft of aid; the Tanty didn’t like you to bring blackjacks and lock picks in with you and expected you to buy such things from the wardens, like everyone else.

“Put the knife away and we can talk,” he said.

“Oh yeah, talk! You like talkin’, you do! You got a magic tongue, you have! I sheen you! You flap it about and you’re the golden boy! You tell ’em you’re goin’ to rob them and they laugh! How d’you get away with that, eh?”

Cribbins was champing and spitting with rage. Angry people make mistakes, but that’s no comfort when they’re holding a knife a few inches from your girlfriend’s kidneys. She’d gone pale, and Moist had to hope that she’d worked out that this was no time to stamp her foot. Above all, he had to stop himself from looking over Cribbins’s shoulder, because in the edge of his vision he was sure someone was creeping up.

“This is no time for rash moves,” he said loudly. The shadow in the fog appeared to halt.

“Cribbins, this is why you never made it,” Moist went on. “I mean, do you expect me to have that much money on me?”

“Plenty of places round here for ush to be coshy while we wait, eh?”

Dumb, thought Moist. Dumb but dangerous. And a thought said: It’s brain against brain. And a weapon he doesn’t know how to use belongs to you. Push him.

“Just back away and we’ll forget we saw you,” he said. “That’s the best offer you’re going to get.”

“You’re going to try to talk your way out of thish, you shmarmy bashtard? I’m goin’ to—”

There was a muffled twang, and Cribbins made a noise. It was the sound of someone trying to scream, except that even screaming was too painful. Moist grabbed Adora Belle as the man bent double, clutching at his mouth. There was another twang, and blood appeared on Cribbins’s cheek, causing him to whimper and roll up into a ball.

Even then, there were more twangs as a dead man’s dentures, mistreated and ill-used over the years, finally gave up the ghost, who made a determined effort to take the hated Cribbins with him. Later on, the doctor said one spring almost made it into a sinus.

Captain Carrot and Nobby Nobbs ran out of the fog, and stared down at the man who twitched now and again with a ping.

“Sorry, sir, we lost you in the muck,” said Carrot. “What happened to him?”

Moist held Adora Belle tightly. “His dentures exploded,” he said.

“How could that happen, sir?”

“I have no idea, Captain. Why not do a good deed and get him to the hospital?”

“Will you want to press charges, Mr. Lipwig?” Carrot said, lifting the whimpering Cribbins with some care.

“I’d prefer a brandy,” said Moist. He thought: Perhaps Anoia was just awaiting her moment. I’d better go to her temple and hang up a big, big ladle. It may not be a good idea to be ungrateful…

S
ECRETARY
D
RUMKNOTT TIPTOED
into Lord Vetinari’s office on velvet-shod feet.

“Good morning,” said his lordship, turning away from the window. “The fog has a very pleasing tint of yellow this morning. Any news about Heretofore?”

“The watch in Quirm are searching for him, sir,” said Drumknott, putting the city edition of the Times in front of him.

“Why?”

“He bought a ticket for Quirm.”

“But he will have bought another one from the coachman for Genua. He will run as far as he can. Send a short clacks to our man there, will you?”

“I hope you are right, sir.”

“Do you? I hope I am wrong. It will be good for me. Ah. Ahaha.”

“Sir?”

“I see the Times has put color on the front page again. The front and back of the one-dollar note.”

“Yes, sir. Very nice.”

“Actual size, too,” said Vetinari, still smiling. “I see here that this is to familiarize people with the look of the things. Even now, Drumknott, even now, honest citizens are carefully cutting out both sides of this note and gluing them together.”

“Shall I have a word with the editor, sir?”

“Don’t. It will be more entertaining to let things take their course.”

Vetinari leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes with a sigh. “Very well, Drumknott, I feel strong enough now to hear what the political cartoon looks like.”