Making Money

‘I’ve been to the Department of Post-Mortem Communications, you know!’

‘And what did they say?’

‘I don’t know! There was a squid blocking the door! But you’ve done something, I know it! He told you the secret of getting through to the golems, didn’t he?’

‘No.’ Absolutely true. Adora Belle hesitated.

‘He didn’t?’

‘No. I got some extra vocabulary, but that’s no secret.’

‘Will it work for me?’

‘No.’ Currently true.

‘They’d only take orders from a man? I bet that’s it!’

‘I don’t think so.’ True enough.

‘So there is a secret?’

‘It’s not really a secret. Flead told us. He just didn’t know it was a secret.’ True.

‘It’s a word?’

‘No.’ True.

‘Look, why won’t you tell me? You know you can trust me!’

‘Well, yes. Of course. But can I trust you if someone holds a knife to your throat?’

‘Why should they do that?’

Moist sighed. ‘Because you’ll know how to command the biggest army there has ever been! Did you look around outside? Didn’t you see all the coppers? They turned up right after the hearing!’

‘What coppers?’

‘Those trolls re-laying the cobbles? How often do you see that happening? The line of cabs that aren’t interested in passengers? The battalion of beggars? And the coach yard around the back is full of hangers-on, lounging about and watching the windows. Those coppers. It’s called a stake-out, and I’m the meat—’

There was a knock at the door. Moist recognized it; it sought to alert without disturbing.

‘Come in, Stanley,’ he said. The door opened.

‘It’s me, sir,’ said Stanley, who went through life with the care of a man reading a manual translated from a foreign language.

‘Yes, Stanley.’

‘Head of Stamps, sir,’ said Stanley.

‘Yes, Stanley?’

‘Lord Vetinari is in the coach yard, sir, inspecting the new automatic pick-up mechanism. He says there is no rush, sir.’

‘He says there is no rush,’ said Moist to Adora Belle.

‘We’d better hurry, then?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Remarkably like a gibbet,’ said Lord Vetinari, while behind him coaches rumbled in and out.

‘It will allow a fast coach to pick up mailbags without slowing,’ said Moist. ‘That means letters going from small country offices can travel express without slowing the coach. It could save a few minutes on a long run.’

‘And of course if I let you have some of the golem horses the coaches might travel at a hundred miles an hour, I’m told, and I wonder if those glowing eyes could see even through this murk.’

‘Possibly, sir. But in fact I already have all the golem horses,’ said Moist.

Vetinari gave him a cool look, and then said: ‘Hah! And you also have all your ears. What exchange rate are we discussing?’

‘Look, it’s not that I want to be Lord of the Golems—’ Moist began.

‘On the way, please. Do join me in my coach,’ said Vetinari.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Hardly any distance. We’re going to see Mr Bent.’

The clown who opened the little sliding door in the Fools’ Guild’s forbidding gates looked from Vetinari to Moist to Adora Belle, and wasn’t very happy about any of them.

‘We are here to see Dr Whiteface,’ said Vetinari. ‘I require you to let us in with the minimum of mirth.’

The door snapped back. There was some hurried whispering and a clanking noise, and one half of the double doors opened a little way, just enough for people to walk through in single file. Moist stepped forward, but Vetinari put a restraining hand on his shoulder and pointed up with his stick.

‘This is the Fools’ Guild,’ he said. ‘Expect … fun.’

There was a bucket balanced on the door. He sighed and gave it a push with his stick. There was a thud and a splash from the other side.

‘I don’t know why they persist in this, I really don’t,’ he said, sweeping through. ‘It’s not funny and it could hurt someone. Mind the custard.’ There was a groan from the dark behind the door.

‘Mr Bent was born Charlie Benito, according to Dr Whiteface,’ said Vetinari, pushing his way through the tent that occupied the guild’s quadrangle. ‘And he was born a clown.’

Dozens of clowns paused in their daily training to watch them pass. Pies remained unflung, trousers did not fill with whitewash, invisible dogs paused in mid-widdle.

‘Born a clown?’ said Moist.

‘Indeed, Mr Lipwig. A great clown, from a family of clowns. You saw him yesterday. The Charlie Benito make-up has been passed down for centuries.’

‘I thought he’d gone mad!’

‘Dr Whiteface, on the other hand, thinks he has come to his senses. Young Bent had a terrible childhood, I gather. No one told him he was a clown until he was thirteen. And his mother, for reasons of her own, discouraged all clownishness in him.’

‘She must have liked clowns once,’ said Adora Belle. She looked around her. All the clowns hurriedly looked away.

‘She loved clowns,’ said Vetinari. ‘Or should I say, one clown. And for one night.’

‘Oh. I see,’ said Moist. ‘And then the circus moved on?’

‘As circuses do, alas. After which I suspect she rather went off men with red noses.’

‘How do you know all this?’ said Moist.