Making Money

‘Sergeant Detritus thinks you are too smart, Mr Lipwig,’ said Captain Carrot, opening his notebook.

‘Well, yes, I expect he thinks that about most people, doesn’t he?’

Carrot’s expression changed not one iota. ‘Can you tell me why there is a golem downstairs who is wearing a dress and keeps ordering my men to wipe their dirty boots?’ he said.

‘Not without sounding mad, no. What has this got to do with anything?’

‘I don’t know, sir. I hope to find out. Who is Lady Deirdre Waggon?’

‘She writes rather out-of-date books on etiquette and household management for young ladies who would like to be the type of women who have time to arrange flowers. Look, is this relevant?’

‘I don’t know, sir. I am endeavouring to assess the situation. Can you tell me why a small dog is running around the building in possession of what I shall call a wind-up clockwork item of an intimate nature?’

‘I think it is because my sanity is slipping away,’ said Moist. ‘Look, the only thing that is important here is that Mr Bent had … a nasty turn and locked himself in the gold vault. I had to get him out quickly.’

‘Ah, yes, the gold vault,’ said the captain. ‘Can we talk about the gold for a moment?’

‘What’s wrong with the gold?’

‘I was hoping you could tell us, sir. I believe you wanted to sell it to the dwarfs?’

‘What? Well, yes, I said that, but it was only to make a point—’

‘A point,’ said Captain Carrot solemnly, writing this down.

‘Look, I know how this sort of thing goes,’ said Moist. ‘You just keep me talking in the hope that I’ll suddenly forget where I am and say something stupid and incriminating, right?’

‘Thank you for that, sir,’ said Captain Carrot, turning over another page in his notebook.

‘Thank me for what?’

‘For telling me you know how this sort of thing goes, sir.’

See? Moist told himself. This is what happens when you get too comfortable. You lose the edge. Even a copper can outsmart you.

The captain looked up. ‘I will tell you, Mr Lipwig, that some of what you say has been corroborated by an unbiased witness who could not possibly be an accomplice.’

‘You talked to Gladys?’ said Moist.

‘Gladys being?’

‘She’s the one going on about dirty boots.’

‘How can a golem be a “she”, sir?’

‘Ah, I know this one. The correct answer is: how can a golem be a “he”?’

‘An interesting point, sir. That explains the dress, then. Out of interest, how much weight would you say a golem can carry?’

‘I don’t know. A couple of tons, maybe. What are you getting at?’

‘I don’t know, sir,’ said Carrot cheerfully. ‘Commander Vimes says, when life hands you a mess of spaghetti, just keep pulling until you find the meatball. In fact your version of events agrees, insofar as he understood things at the time, with that given to us by a Mr Fusspot.’

‘You talked to the dog?’

‘Well, he is the chairman of the bank, sir,’ said the captain.

‘How did you understand what— Ah, you have a werewolf, right?’ said Moist, grinning.

‘We don’t confirm that, sir.’

‘Everyone knows it’s Nobby Nobbs, you know.’

‘Do they, sir? Gosh. Anyway, your movements this evening are accounted for.’

‘Good. Thank you.’ Moist started to rise.

‘However, your movements earlier this week, sir, are not.’ Moist sat down again.

‘Well? I don’t have to account for them, do I?’

‘It might help us, sir.’

‘How would it help you?’

‘It might help us understand why there is no gold in the vault, sir. It’s a small detail in the great scheme of things, but it is something of a puzzler.’

At which point, somewhere close at hand, Mr Fusspot began to bark …

Cosmo Lavish sat at his desk with his fingers steepled in front of his mouth, watching Cribbins eat. Not many people in a state to make a choice had ever done this for more than thirty seconds.

‘The soup is good?’ he said.

Cribbins lowered the bowl after one lengthy final gurgle. ‘Champion, your lordship.’ He removed a grey rag from his pocket and—

He’s going to take his teeth out, right now, here at the table, thought Cosmo. Amazing. Ah, yes, and there’s still bits of carrot in them …

‘Don’t hesitate to repair your teeth,’ he said, as Cribbins removed a bent fork from a pocket.

‘I’m a martyr to them, shir,’ said Cribbins. ‘I’ll shwear they’re out to get me.’ Springs twanged as he fought them with the fork and then, apparently satisfied, he wrestled them back on to his grey gums and champed them into place.

‘That’s better,’ he announced.

‘Good,’ said Cosmo. ‘And now, in view of the nature of your allegations, which Drumknott here has carefully transcribed and you have signed, let me ask you: why have you not gone to Lord Vetinari?’

‘I’ve knowed men escape the nooshe, sir,’ said Cribbins. ‘It ain’t too hard if you’ve got the readies. But I never heard of one get a big plum job the very next day. Gov’ment job, too. Then suddenly he’s a banker, no lesh. Shomeone’s watching over him, and I don’t think it’sh a bleeding fairy. If I was to go to Vetinari, then, I’d be a bit shilly, right? But he’s got your bank, and you ain’t, which is a shame. Sho I’m your man, shir.’

‘At a price, I have no doubt.’