Making Money d-36

by Terry Pratchett

  'Are you sure? That's wonderful!' said Ponder, making a note on his clipboard. 'That's certainly worth knowing. Let's get the Foot, then, shall we?'

  The broomstick-riding wizards had touched down now. Ponder cleared his throat and picked up the megaphone. 'ALL DOWN? WONDERFUL. HEX — BE SO GOOD AS TO FOLD, PLEASE!'

  There was silence for a while, and then a distant clattering noise began to grow, up near the ceiling. It sounded like gods shuffling wooden playing cards that happened to be a mile high.

  'Hex is our thinking engine,' said Ponder. 'We'd hardly be able to explore the box at all without him.'

  The clattering was becoming louder and faster.

  'You might find your ears aching,' said Ponder, raising his voice. 'Hex tries to control the speed, but it takes finite time for the ventilators to get air back into the room. THE VOLUME OF THE CABINET CHANGES VERY FAST, YOU SEE!'

  This was shouted against the thunder of collapsing drawers. They slammed in on themselves far too fast for the human eye to follow as the edifice shrank and folded and slid and rattled down into house size, shed size and, finally, in the middle of the huge space — unless it was some kind of time — became a small polished cabinet, about a foot and a half on a side, standing on four beautifully carved legs.

  The Cabinet's doors clicked shut.

  'Slowly unfold to specimen 1,109,' said Ponder, in the ringing silence.

  The doors opened. A deep drawer slid out.

  It went on sliding.

  'Just follow me,' said Ponder, strolling towards the Cabinet. 'It's fairly safe.'

  'Er, a drawer about a hundred yards long has just slid out of a box about fourteen inches square,' said Moist, in case he was the only one to notice.

  'Yes. That's what happens,' said Ponder, as the drawer slid back about halfway. Its side, Moist saw, was a line of drawers. So drawers opened… out of drawers. Of course, Moist thought, in eleven-dimensional space that was the wrong thing to think.

  'It's a sliding puzzle,' said Adora Belle, 'but with lots more directions to slide.'

  'That is a very graphic analogy which aids understanding wonderfully while being, strictly speaking, wrong in every possible way,' said Ponder.

  Adora Belle's eyes narrowed. She had not had a cigarette for ten minutes.

  The long drawer extruded another drawer at right angles. All along the sides of it were, yes, yet more drawers. One of these extended slowly.

  Moist took a risk, and tapped on what appeared to be perfectly ordinary wood. It made a perfectly ordinary noise. 'Should I worry that I just saw a drawer slide through another drawer?' he said.

  'No,' said Ponder. 'The Cabinet is trying to make four-dimensional sense of something that is happening in eleven or, possibly, ten dimensions.'

  'Trying? Do you mean it's alive?'

  'Aha! The right type of question!'

  'I bet you don't know the answer, though.'

  'You are correct. But you must admit it's an interesting question not to know the answer to. And, yes, here we have the Foot. Hold and collapse, please, Hex.'

  The drawers collapsed back into themselves in a series of crashes, much shorter and less dramatic than before, leaving the Cabinet looking demure and antique and slightly bow-legged. It had little claws as feet, a cabinet-makers' affectation that always annoyed Moist in a low-grade way. Did they think the things moved around in the night? Or maybe the Cabinet really did.

  And the Cabinet's doors were open. Nestling inside, and only just fitting, was a golem's foot, or at least most of one.

  Once, golems were beautiful. Once, the very best sculptors probably made them to rival the most beautiful of statues, but long since then the fumble-fingered many who could barely make a snake out of clay found that bashing the stuff into the shape of a big hulking gingerbread man worked just as well.

  This foot was one of the early kind. It was made of a clay-like white china, with patterns of tiny raised markings in yellow, black and red. A little brass plate in front of it was engraved in Uberwaldian: 'Foot of Umnian Golem, Middle Period.'

  'Well, whoever made the Cabinet comes from—'

  'Anyone looking at the label sees it in their native tongue,' said Ponder wearily. 'The markings apparently indicate that it did indeed come from the city of Um, according to the late Professor Head.'

  'Um?' said Moist. 'Um what? They weren't sure what to call the place?'

  'Just Um,' said Ponder. 'Very ancient. About sixty thousand years, I believe. Back in the Clay Age.'

  'The first golem-makers,' said Adora Belle. She unslung the bag and started to rummage in the straw.

  Moist tapped the foot. It seemed eggshell thin.

  'It's some sort of ceramic,' said Ponder. 'No one knows how they made it. The Umnians even baked boats out of the stuff.'

  'Did they work?'

  'Up to a point,' said Ponder. 'Anyway, the city was totally destroyed in the first war with the ice giants. There's nothing there now. We think that the foot was put in the Cabinet a long time ago.'

  'Or will be dug up some time in the future, perhaps?' said Moist.

  'That could very well be the case,' said Ponder gravely.

  'In which case, won't that be a bit of a problem? I mean, can it be in the ground and in the Cabinet at the same time?'

  'That, Mr Lipwig, is—'

  'The wrong type of question?'

  'Yes. The box exists in ten or possibly eleven dimensions. Practically anything may be possible.'

  'Why only eleven dimensions?'

  'We don't know,' said Ponder. 'It might be simply that more would be silly.'

  'Can you take the foot out, please?' said Adora Belle, who was now brushing wisps of straw off a long package.

  Ponder nodded, lifted out the relic with great care, and placed it gently on the bench behind them.

  'What would have happened if you had drop—' Moist began.

  'Wrong type of question, Mr Lipwig!'

  Adora Belle put the bundle down beside the foot and unwrapped it with care. It contained a part of a golem's arm, two feet long.

  'I knew it! The markings are the same!' she said. 'And there's a lot more on my piece. Can you translate it?'

  'Me? No,' said Ponder. 'The Arts are not my field,' he added, in a way that suggested his was a pretty superior field with much better flowers in it. 'You need Professor Flead.'

  'You mean the one who's dead?' said Moist.

  'He's dead at the moment, but I'm sure that in the interests of discretion my colleague Dr Hicks can arrange for the professor to talk to you after lunch.'

  'When he'll be less dead?' said Moist.

  'When Dr Hicks has had lunch,' said Ponder patiently. 'The Professor will be pleased to receive visitors, er, especially Miss Dearheart. He is the world expert on Umnian. Every word has hundreds of meanings, I understand.'

  'Can I take the Foot?' said Adora Belle.

  'No,' said Ponder. 'It's ours.'

  'That was the wrong type of answer,' said Adora Belle, picking up the Foot. 'On behalf of the Golem Trust, I am acquiring this golem. If you can prove ownership, we will pay you a fair price for it.'

  'Would that it were that simple,' said Ponder, politely taking it from her, 'but, you see, if a Curiosity is taken away from the Cabinet Room for more than fourteen hours and fourteen seconds, the Cabinet stops working. Last time it took us three months to restart it. But you can drop in at any time to, er, check that we're not mistreating it.'

  Moist laid a hand on Adora Belle's arm to forestall an Incident.

  'She's very passionate about golems,' he said. 'The Trust digs them up all the time.'

  'That's very commendable,' said Ponder. 'I'll talk to Dr Hicks. He's the head of the Department of Post-Mortem Communications.'

  'Post-Mortem Com—' Moist began. 'Isn't that the same as necroman—'

  'I said the Department of Post-Mortem Communications! said Ponder very firmly. 'I suggest you come back at three o'clock.'

  'Did any
thing about that conversation strike you as normal?' said Moist, as they stepped out into the sunlight.

  'Actually, I thought it went very well,' said Adora Belle.

  'This wasn't how I imagined your homecoming,' said Moist. 'Why the rush? Is there some problem?'

  'Look, we found four golems at the dig,' said Adora Belle.

  'That's… good, yes?' said Moist.

  'Yes! And you know how deep they were?'

  'I couldn't guess.'

  'Guess!'

  'I don't know!' said Moist, bewildered at suddenly having to play 'What's My Depth?'. 'Two hundred feet down? That's more tha—'

  'Half a mile underground.'

  'Impossible! That's deeper than coal!'

  'Keep it down, will you? Look, is there somewhere we can go and talk?'

  'How about — the Royal Bank of Ankh-Morpork? There's a private dining room.'

  And they'll let us eat there, will they?'

  'Oh yes. The chairman is a great friend of mine,' said Moist.

  'He is, is he?'

  'He certainly is,' said Moist. 'Why, only this morning he licked my face!'

  Adora Belle stopped and turned to stare at him. 'Really?' she said. 'Then it's just as well I got back when I did.'

  Chapter 7

  The Joy of Collops — Mr Bent goes out to lunch — The Dark Fine Arts — Amateur thespians, avoidance of embarrassment by — The Pen of Doom! — Professor Plead gets cosy — 'Lust comes in many varieties' — A Hero of Banking! — Cribbins's cup runneth over

  THE SUN SHONE THROUGH the window of the bank's dining room on to a scene of perfect pleasure.

  'You should sell tickets,' said Adora Belle dreamily, with her chin in her hands. 'People who are depressed would come here and go away cured.'

  'It's certainly hard to watch it happening and be sad,' said Moist.

  'It's the enthusiastic way he tries to turn his mouth inside out,' said Adora Belle.

  There was a gulp from Mr Fusspot as the last of the sticky toffee pudding went down. He then turned the bowl over hopefully, in case there was any more. There never had been, but Mr Fusspot was not a dog to bow down to the laws of causality.

  'So…' said Adora Belle, 'a mad old lady — all right, a very astute mad old lady — died and gave you her dog, which sort of wears this bank on its collar, and you've told everyone that gold is worth less than potatoes, and you broke a dastardly criminal out of your actual Death Row, he's in the cellar designing "banknotes" for you, you've upset the nastiest family in the city, people are queueing to join the bank because you make them laugh… what have I missed?'

  'I think my secretary is, uh, getting sweet on me. Well, I say secretary, she's sort of assumed that she is.'

  Some fiancees would have burst into tears or shouted. Adora Belle burst out laughing.

  And she's a golem,' said Moist.

  The laughter stopped. 'That's not possible. They don't work that way. Anyway, why should a golem think he's female? It's never happened before.'

  'I bet there haven't been many emancipated golems before. Besides, why should he think he's male? And she bats her eyelashes at me… well, that's what she thinks she's doing, I think. The counter girls are behind this. Look, I'm serious. Trouble is, so is she.'

  'I'll have a word with him… or, as you say, her.'

  'Good. The other thing is, there's this man—'

  Aimsbury poked his head around the door. He was in love.

  'Would you like some more minced collops, miss?' he said, waggling his eyebrows as if to indicate that the joys of minced collops were a secret known only to a few.[6]

  'You've still got more?' said Adora Belle, looking down at her plate. Not even Mr Fusspot could have cleaned it better, and she'd already cleaned it twice.

  'Do you know what they are?' said Moist, who'd settled again for an omelette, made by Peggy.

  'Do you?'

  'No!'

  'Nor do I. But my granny used to do them and they are one of my happiest childhood memories, thank you very much. Don't spoil it.' Adora Belle beamed at the delighted chef. 'Yes please, Aimsbury, just a little more, then. And could I just say that the flavour could really be brought out by just a touch of gar—'

  'You are not eating, Mr Bent,' said Cosmo. 'Perhaps a little of this pheasant?'

  The chief cashier looked around nervously, uneasy in this grand house full of art and servants. 'I… I want to make it clear that my loyalty to the bank is—'

  '—beyond question, Mr Bent. Of course.' Cosmo pushed a silver tray towards him. 'Do eat something, now you have come all this way.'

  'But you are hardly eating at all, Mr Cosmo. Just bread and water!'

  'I find it helps me think. Now, what was it you wanted to—'

  'They all like him, Mr Cosmo! He just talks to people and they like him! And he is really set on dismissing gold. Think of it, sir! Where would we find true worth? He says it's all about the city but that puts us at the mercy of politicians! It's trickery again!'

  'A little brandy would do you good, I think,' said Cosmo. 'And what you say is solid gold truth, but where is our way forward?'

  Bent hesitated. He did not like the Lavish family. They crawled over the bank like ivy, but at least they didn't try to change things and at least they believed in the gold. And they weren't silly.

  Mavolio Bent had a definition of 'silly' that most people would have considered a touch on the broad side. Laughter was silly. Theatricals, poetry and music were silly. Clothes that weren't grey, black or at least of undyed cloth were silly. Pictures of things that weren't real were silly (pictures of things that were real were unnecessary). The ground state of being was silliness, which had to be overcome with every mortal fibre.

  Missionaries from the stricter religions would have found in Mavolio Bent an ideal convert, except that religion was extremely silly.

  Numbers were not silly. Numbers held everything together. And gold was not silly. The Lavishes believed in counting and in gold. Mr Lipwig treated numbers as if they were something to play with and he said gold was just lead on holiday! That was more than silly, it was inappropriate behaviour, a scourge that he had torn from his breast after years of struggle.

  A man had to go. Bent had worked his way up the echelons of the. bank over many years, fighting every natural disadvantage, and it hadn't been to see this… person make a mockery of it all! No!

  'That man came to the bank again today,' he said. 'He was very odd. And he seemed to know Mr Lipwig, but he called him Albert Spangler. Talked as if he knew him from long ago and I think Mr Lipwig was upset at that. Name of Cribbins, or so Mr Lipwig called him. Very old clothes, very dusty. He made out he was a holy man, but I don't think so.'

  'And that was what was odd, was it?'

  'No, Mr Cosmo—'

  'Just call me Cosmo, Malcolm. We surely needn't stand on ceremony.'

  'Er… yes,' said Mavolio Bent. 'Well, no, it wasn't that. It was his teeth. They were those dine-chewers, and they moved and rattled when he spoke, causing him to slurp.'

  'Ah, the old type with the springs,' said Cosmo. 'Very good. And Lipwig was annoyed?'

  'Oh, yes. And the strange thing was, he said he didn't know the man but he called him by name.'

  Cosmo smiled. 'Yes, that is strange. And the man left?'

  'Well, yes, si— Mr— Cosmo,' said Bent. 'And then I came here.'

  'You have done very well, Matthew! Should the man come in again, could you please follow him and try to find out where he is staying?'

  'If I can, si— Mr— Cosmo.'

  'Good man!' Cosmo helped Bent out of his chair, shook his hand, waltzed him to the door, opened it and ushered him out all in one smooth, balletic movement.

  'Hurry back, Mr Bent, the bank needs you!' he said, closing the door. 'He's a strange creature, don't you think, Drumknott?'

  I wish he'd stop doing that, Heretofore thought. Does he think he's Vetinari? What do they call those fishes that swim alongside sharks, making t
hemselves useful so they don't get eaten? That's me, that's what I'm doing, just hanging on, because it's much safer than letting go.

  'How would Vetinari find a badly dressed man, new to the city, with ill-fitting teeth, Drumknott?' said Cosmo.

  Fifty dollars a month and all found, thought Heretofore, snapping out of a brief marine nightmare. Never forget it. And in another few clays you're free.

  'He makes much use of the Beggars' Guild, sir,' he said.

  'Ah, of course. See to it.'

  'There will be expenses, sir.'

  'Yes, Drumknott, I'm conscious of the fact. There are always expenses. And the other matter?'

  'Soon, sir, soon. This is not a job for Cranberry, sir. I'm having to bribe at the highest level.' Heretofore coughed. 'Silence is expensive, sir…'

  Moist escorted Adora Belle back to the university in silence. But the important thing was that nothing had been broken and no one had been killed.

  Then as if reaching a conclusion after much careful thought, Adora Belle said: 'I worked in a bank for a while, you know, and hardly anyone got stabbed.'

  'I'm sorry, I forgot to warn you. And I did push you out of the way in time.'

  'I must admit that the way you threw me to the floor quite turned my head.'

  'Look, I'm sorry, okay? And so is Aimsbury! And now will you tell me what all this is about? You found four golems, right? Have you brought them back?'

  'No, the tunnel collapsed before we got down that far. I told you, they were half a mile down under millions of tons of sand and mud. For what it's worth, we think there was a natural ice dam up in the mountains, which burst and flooded half the continent. The stories about Um say it was destroyed in a flood, so that fits. The golems were washed away with the rubble, which ended up against some chalk cliffs by the sea.'

  'How did you find out they were down there? It's… well, it's nowhere!'

  'The usual way. One of our golems heard one singing. Imagine that. It's been underground for sixty thousand years…'

  In the night under the world, in the pressure of the depth, in the crushing of the dark… a golem sang. There were no words. The song was older than words; it was older than tongues. It was the call of the common clay, and it carried for miles. It travelled along fault lines, made crystals sing in harmony in dark unmeasured caverns, followed rivers that never saw the sun…