Making Money

'Mostly I took advantage of other people's greed, Mr Slant. I think there was an element of education, too.'

Mr Slant shook his head in amazement, causing an earwig to fall, with a keen sense of the appropriate, out of his ear.

'Education?' he said.

'Yes. A lot of people learned that no one sells a real diamond ring for one tenth of its value.'

'And then you stepped into one of the highest public offices in the city?' said Mr Slant, above the laughter. It was a release. People had been holding their breath for too long.

'I had to. It was that or be hanged,' said Moist, and added: 'again.'

Mr Slant looked flustered, and turned his eyes to Vetinari.

'Are you sure you wish me to continue, my lord?'

'Oh yes,' said Vetinari. 'To the death, Mr Slant.'

'Er… you have been hanged before?' Slant said to Moist.

'Oh, yes. I did not wish it to become a habit.'

That got another laugh.

Mr Slant turned again to Vetinari, who was smiling faintly. 'Is this true, my lord?'

'Indeed,' said Vetinari calmly. 'Mr Lipwig was hanged last year under the name of Albert Spangler, but it turned out that he had a very tough neck, as was found when he was being placed in his coffin. You may be aware, Mr Slant, of the ancient principle Quia Ego Sic Dico? A man who survives being hanged may have been selected by the gods for a different destiny, as yet unfulfilled? And since fortune had favoured him, I resolved, therefore, to put him on parole and charge him with resurrecting the Post Office, a task which had already taken the lives of four of my clerks. If he succeeded, well and good. If he failed, the city would have been spared the cost of another hanging. It was a cruel joke which, I am happy to say, rebounded to the general good. I don't think that anyone here would argue that the Post Office is now a veritable jewel of the city? Indeed, the leopard can change his shorts!'

Mr Slant nodded automatically, remembered himself, sat down and fumbled with his notes. He had lost his place. 'And now we come to, er, the matter of the bank—'

'Mrs Lavish, a lady many of us were privileged to know, recently confided in me that she was dying,' said Lord Vetinari briskly. 'She asked me for advice on the future of the bank, given that her obvious heirs were, in her words, "as nasty a bunch of weasels as you could hope not to meet"—'

All thirty-one of the Lavish lawyers stood up and spoke at once, incurring a total cost to their clients of AM$119.28.

Mr Slant glared up at them.

Mr Slant did not, despite what had been said, have the respect of Ankh-Morpork's legal profession. He commanded its fear. Death had not diminished his encyclopedic memory, his guile, his talent for corkscrew reasoning and the vitriol of his stare. Do not cross me this day, it advised the lawyers. Do not cross me, lor if you do I will have the flesh from your very bones and the marrow therein. You know those leather-bound tomes you have on the wall behind your desk to impress your clients? I have read them all, and I wrote half of them. Do not try me. I am not in a good mood.

One by one, they sat down.[13]

'If I may continue?' said Vetinari. 'I understand that Mrs Lavish subsequently interviewed Mr Lipwig and considered that he would be a superb manager in the very best traditions of the Lavish family and the ideal guardian for the dog Mr Fusspot, who is, by the custom of the bank, its chairman.'

Cosmo rose slowly to his feet and stepped out into the centre of the floor. 'I object most strongly to the suggestion that this scoundrel is in the best tradition of my—' he began.

Mr Slant was on his feet as though propelled by a spring. Quick as he was, Moist was faster.

'I object!' he said.

'How do you dare object,' Cosmo spat, 'when you have admitted to being an arrogant scofflaw?'

'I object to Lord Vetinari's allegation that I have anything to do with the fine traditions of the Lavish family,' said Moist, staring into eyes that now seemed to be weeping green tears. 'For example, I have never been a pirate or traded in slaves—'

There was a great rising of lawyers.

Mr Slant glared. There was a great seating.

'They admit it,' said Moist. 'It's in the bank's own official history!'

'That is correct, Mr Slant,' said Vetinari. 'I have read it. Volenti non fit injuria clearly applies.'

The whirring started again. Mr Fusspot was coming back the other way. Moist forced himself not to look.

'Oh, this is low indeed!' snarled Cosmo. 'Whose history could withstand this type of malice?'

Moist raised a hand. 'Ooo, ooo, I know this one!' he said. 'Mine can. The worst I ever did was rob people who thought they were robbing me, but I never used violence and I gave it all back. Okay, I robbed a couple of banks, well, defrauded, really, but only because they made it so easy—'