Making Money

‘Yes, I know,’ said Adora Belle. ‘What’s happening? The cabby told me all the staff had walked out of your bank.’

Later Moist thought: that was when it all went wrong. You have to leap on the stallion of Rumour before he’s out of the yard, so that you might be able to pull on the reins. You should have thought: what did it look like with staff running out of the bank? You should have run to the Times office. You should have got in the saddle and turned it right around, there and then.

But Adora Belle did look stunning. Besides, all that had happened was that a member of staff had had a funny turn and had left the building. What could anyone make of that?

And the answer, of course, was: anything they wanted to.

He was aware of someone else behind him.

‘Mr Lipwig, thur?’

Moist turned. It was even less fun looking at Igor when you’d just been looking at Adora Belle.

‘Igor, this is really not the time—’ Moist began.

‘I know I’m not thuppothed to come upthtairth, thur, but Mr Clamp thayth he hath finithed hith drawing. It ith very good.’

‘What was all that about?’ said Adora Belle. ‘I think I nearly got two of the words.’

‘Oh, there’s a man down in the forni— the cellar who is designing a dollar note for me. Paper money, in fact.’

‘Really? I’d love to see that.’

‘You would?’

It was truly wonderful. Moist looked at the designs for the back and the front of the dollar note. Under Igor’s brilliant white lights they looked rich as plum pudding and more complicated than a dwarf contract.

‘We’re going to make so much money,’ he said aloud. ‘Wonderful job, Owls— Mr Clamp!’

‘I’m going to hold on to the Owlswick,’ said the artist nervously. ‘It’s the Jenkins that matters, after all.’

‘Well, yes,’ said Moist, ‘there must be dozens of Owlswicks around.’ He looked over at Hubert, who was on a stepladder and peering hopelessly at the tubing.

‘How’s it going, Hubert?’ he said. ‘The money still rushing around okay, is it?’

‘What? Oh, fine. Fine. Fine,’ said Hubert, almost knocking over the ladder in his haste to get down. He looked at Adora Belle with an expression of uncertain dread.

‘This is Adora Belle Dearheart, Hubert,’ said Moist, in case the man was about to flee. ‘She is my fiancée. She’s a woman,’ he added, in view of the worried look.

Adora Belle held out her hand and said, ‘Hello, Hubert.’

Hubert stared.

‘It’s okay to shake hands, Hubert,’ said Moist carefully. ‘Hubert’s an economist. That’s like an alchemist, but less messy.’

‘So you know how the money moves around, do you, Hubert?’ said Adora Belle, shaking an unresisting hand.

At last the notion of speech dawned on Hubert. ‘I welded one thousand and ninety-seven joints,’ he said, ‘and blew the Law of Diminishing Returns.’

‘I shouldn’t think anyone’s ever done that before,’ said Adora Belle.

Hubert brightened up. This was easy! ‘We are not doing anything wrong, you know!’ he said.

‘I’m sure you aren’t,’ said Adora Belle, trying to pull her hand away.

‘It can keep track of every dollar in the city, you know. The possibilities are endless! But, but, but, um, of course we’re not upsetting things in any way!’

‘I’m very glad to hear it, Hubert,’ said Adora Belle, tugging harder.

‘Of course we are having teething troubles! But everything is being done with immense care! Nothing has been lost because we’ve left a valve open or anything like that!’

‘How intriguing!’ said Adora Belle, bracing her free hand on Hubert’s shoulder and wrenching the other one from his grasp.

‘We have to go, Hubert,’ said Moist. ‘Keep up the good work, though. I’m very proud of you.’

‘You are?’ said Hubert. ‘Mr Cosmo said I was insane, and wanted Auntie to sell the Glooper for scrap!’

‘Typical hidebound, old-fashioned thinking,’ said Moist. ‘This is the Century of the Anchovy. The future belongs to men like you, who can tell us how everything works.’

‘It does?’ said Hubert.

‘You mark my words,’ said Moist, ushering Adora Belle firmly towards the distant exit.

When they had gone, Hubert sniffed the palm of his hand and shivered. ‘They were nice people, weren’t they?’ he said.

‘Yeth, marthter.’

Hubert looked up at the glittering, trickling pipes of the Glooper, faithfully mirroring in its ebbing and flowing the tides of money around the city. Just one blow could rattle the world. It was a terrible responsibility.

Igor joined him. They stood in a silence broken only by the sloshing of commerce.

‘What shall I do, Igor?’ said Hubert.

‘In the Old Country we have a thaying,’ Igor volunteered.

‘A what?’

‘A thaying. We thay: “If you don’t want the monthter you don’t pull the lever”.’

‘You don’t think I’ve gone mad, do you, Igor?’

‘Many great men have been conthidered mad, Mr Hubert. Even Dr Hanth Forvord wath called mad. But I put it to you: could a madman have created a revoluthionary living-brain ecthtractor?’

‘Is Hubert quite … normal?’ said Adora Belle, as they climbed the marble staircases towards dinner.

‘By the standards of obsessive men who don’t get out into the sunlight?’ said Moist. ‘Pretty normal, I’d say.’