Raising Steam

by Terry Pratchett

  Looking back as the horse galloped away down Lower Broadway, to his glee he saw the watchman picking up the pieces of the yellow clamp and he shouted, ‘No one interferes with the progress of the Hygienic Railway!’

  Moist always preferred to move fast – after all, in his previous businesses a turn of speed was essential – and he arrived at Harry’s compound with the horse panting like a celestial runner.fn62 Stepping down and, for nothing more than effect, tying up the horse, he said, ‘Why were you panting? Golems don’t pant. You don’t breathe!’

  ‘Sorry, sir. You wanted me to be a more horse-like horse, so I am doing my best, sir … neigh, whinny, whinny.’

  Moist burst out laughing and said, ‘That’ll do, Dobbin … No, not Dobbin! How do you fancy Flash?’

  Reflectively the horse said, ‘I’ve never had a name before. I’ve always been “horse”. But it’s a very nice feeling to know who you are. I wonder how I did without it for these past nine hundred and three years. Thank you, Mister Lipwig.’

  Moist made his way to Harry’s office and made certain that he spoke directly and in private to Harry, who stared at Moist for an eternity before saying, ‘Surely you know that they’ve hardly started reinforcing the first of the bridges on the Uberwald line? No train can run on thin air!’

  ‘Yes, Harry, I know. Gods bless me, I speak to the surveyors and inspectors all the time. But it’s only the beds of the bridges that need lots of work. The uprights have stood the test of time.’

  And while Sir Harry was drawing breath to protest, Moist told him what he had in mind if Simnel’s engineers weren’t ready in time for whatever Vetinari was cooking up.

  It took some time for Harry to get to grips with Moist’s plan, but finally when he’d heard it all he said, ‘You’re breaking all the rules, my lad, and you can only do that once to Vetinari. I’m pretty sure about that.’

  It took all of Moist’s guile and self-control in the face of an angry Harry King, but he held his ground and said, ‘Harry, in all my time working for Lord Vetinari I’ve learned to understand the words “plausible deniability”.’

  ‘Eh? What does that mean, smart boy?’ said Harry.

  ‘It means his lordship chooses to have little idea of what I do and certainly doesn’t give me clear instructions, and it also means I have to guess a lot, but I’ve always been very good at that. Got a lot to do, Sir Harry, or shall I say my lord Harry or should I even dare to say Baron King of Ankh-Morpork … you can fill in that bit for yourself … and, if I remember correctly, when Vetinari makes you the first railway baron you’ll be entitled to six silver balls on your coronet. A knighthood? Pah! You could be a Baron overnight. I imagine Lady King would be most impressed by a man with six balls.’

  Harry snorted. ‘That’d give the missus a surprise!’ He considered the picture Moist had painted of the future and said, ‘Actually, I reckon she’d be swanking like a … Duchess!’ He sobered up a little and continued, ‘Believe me, I thought I was the King of the Shit, but you are full of the stuff! Would you damn well tell me how much trouble it’s going to get us both into? Baron, my arse. All right, mister, how do we get this thing done, scoundrels that we are?’

  Even with the added pressure from the Patrician and with every lad, troll and goblin that Harry could provide, it still took time to build a railway. ‘Tsort was not built in a day,’ was the mantra when anyone got impatient. Still, day by day the great new railway line to Uberwald got closer to its destination.

  If building the railway was one thing, maintaining it was quite another. The railway was out there in the wind and the weather, and, in many cases, far from civilization. Moist looked every week at the complaints, breakdowns and miscellaneous problems book, his instinct always being to start with the miscellaneous and sometimes humorous: intoxicated troll on line, harpies nesting in coal bunker, woman in labour.fn63 And then, of course, there were also the landslides, which played havoc with the schedules. People also didn’t appreciate that to leave a huge truck full of pigs on a level crossing was actively to prevent any movement on the railway, and as for the people who believed that if they held out their palm to the oncoming locomotive it would stop for them immediately! As, in fact, it might, but a skidding locomotive was a matter of filling up a large number of forms afterwards.

  As Moist was all too aware, ever since the maiden voyage the newspaper editors of the Sto Plains had been waiting for the first true railway disaster, which, for preference, would include at least one horrible death.

  And they got one, although not on the Hygienic Railway Company’s line. Instead, the first casualty happened in the back country of Quirm, where three entrepreneurs, Monsieur Lavasse the winemaker, Monsieur Croque the cheesemonger and Monsieur Lestripe, a purveyor of decorative onion-wreaths, had invested in their own small single-track line between their vineyards and farms.

  They had called on Simnel for expert advice, in particular how to avoid a head-on crash between their two locomotives on the single track, a conundrum that Dick had solved with classic Simnel simplicity by providing them with signals that could not be changed without a special brass token, carried by whichever driver had right of way on the line.

  Amid press headlines claiming SIMNEL SYSTEM FAILS and ARE PASSENGER LIVES AT RISK? Simnel and Moist were summoned to Quirm to investigate, where they discovered the terrible truth. A middle manager at Chateau Lavasse had looked to speed things up and had duplicated the safety token and explained to the drivers and the signalmen that they just needed to be sensible. Trusting them to get it right had worked well for a while and so everyone relaxed, and then one day Signalman Hugo was pre occupied and forgot a vital safety step, and there were two trains heading for each other at some speed along the single track, with each driver thinking he had the right of way. And they did indeed meet halfway. One driver died, the other was seriously scalded by runaway cheeses which flowed like lava when they reached the heat of the footplate, and there was a great disturbance of foie gras.

  And the clerk who had seen fit to order a second token said, ‘Well, I thought I would be saving time so I only—’

  According to Raymond Shuttle’s report in the next day’s Times: ‘“I am very sorry about the gentleman who was killed, and the man who was injured,” Mr Lipwig told me. “I’m sure none of us will ever look at fondue the same way again. However, Mister Simnel has made it clear that while it’s easy to deal with stupid, bloody stupid is horribly difficult to erase. I wonder how many dreadful crimes have been perpetrated following a well-meaning person saying ‘I only …’?”’

  Damage limitation achieved, Simnel and Moist headed back to Ankh-Morpork. As the slow train on the coastal branch line left the rocky ground which was so good for the famous Quirmian vines and started to skirt the steamy world of the Netherglades,fn64 Simnel slept and Moist pondered the many challenges ahead while staring out of the window at the passing landscape. Watching the swamps roll by, Moist felt faintly relieved that the train didn’t stop until back in drier terrain at the small town of Shankydoodle, a great exporter of champion racehorses. That was fine, he thought: there was a long winding footpath from there to the Netherglades and if you couldn’t find it you had no business being there.

  The rain poured down on the Sto Lat terminus, water gushing off the roof as people scurried to get out of the downpour, seeking a respite from the deluge. The little coffee shop of Marjorie Painsworth was dry and as an extra attraction on this dreadful night she had warm buns on sale. It was a beacon of solace for the young troll lady, who stirred her cup of molten sulphur uncertainly while waiting. She watched people coming in and out, and was surprised when a dwarf gentleman indicated the chair next to her and said, ‘Excuse me, is this place taken?’

  Crackle had never had much to do with dwarfs, of course, but since the whole Koom Valley business had been sorted out, it was surely in order for her to talk to a dwarf, especially since this one was very well dressed and, well, looked human; an Ankh-Morpork dwarf
as they called them. So she smiled and said, ‘By all means do take a seat, sir. Isn’t the weather inclement for this time of year?’

  The dwarf bowed, sat down and said, ‘Forgive my intrusion, but I am so happy to hear you use a word like “inclement”. The very word itself paints a picture, don’t you think? A grey one, but nevertheless … Oh, where are my manners? Please let me introduce myself: Dopey Docson at your service, madam, and may I say you speak extremely good dwarfish?’

  Crackle looked around. People were still coming in out of the rain and leaving as the trains came and went. Sto Lat was, after all, a hub of the railway and almost all traffic passed through there. She had one ear cocked for the porter announcing her own train, but she managed to say, ‘Your grasp of troll is likewise also remarkable, if I may say so. May I ask where your travels have taken you?’

  The dwarf smiled again and said, ‘I’m a librarian in Klatch, but I’ve recently buried my father in Copperhead.’

  And Crackle stifled a laugh and said, ‘Do excuse me, I’m very sorry to hear about your father, but that’s amazing! I’m also a librarian, in the service of Diamond King of Trolls!’

  ‘Ah, the Diamond Library! Alas not available to us at the moment, even under the famous Accord. I’d give anything just to see it.’

  And the two librarians ordered more drinks and talked about books while whistles blew and train after train left the station. Crackle told Dopey that her husband didn’t like books and considered that mumbling should be good enough for trolls like it was in the old days, and the dwarf told her about his wife who even after the Koom Valley Accord still thought of trolls as a kind of animal, and they talked and talked and talked about the meaning of words and, indeed, the love of words. And Marjorie recognized the syndrome and kept the hot coffee and sulphur flowing, with the occasional warm rock cake.

  Of course, it wasn’t her business, she thought, it wasn’t up to her how other people led their lives, and she definitely didn’t eavesdrop, well, not much, but she couldn’t help hearing the dwarf say, ‘I’ve been offered a post as librarian at Brazeneck University and they’ve already told me I can bring my own assistant.’

  And Marjorie was not surprised to find two empty cups and an empty table when she next looked: this sort of thing was bound to happen with the railway. It expanded horizons, inside and out, people went looking to find themselves and what they found was somebody else.

  As coups went, the Schmaltzberg coup went slowly, dripping through the tunnels and mines like treacle, and just as sticky. A connoisseur of coups would recognize the form. Two would get up to impress on a third that this was what should be done because this was what everyone else was going to do, and there was no point in being on the losing side, was there? There were always the ones who had misgivings, but the pressure of the tide was strengthening. Underground Schmaltzberg was in many respects a beehive and the swarm was deciding that they needed a new Queen.

  Ardent and the banished grags were, of course, at the centre of all this, and now having triumphantlyfn65 returned were settling down as if the place was theirs by right …

  ‘Nobody has to be hurt,’ they said, and it may have been too that people would murmur, ‘After all, it’s in his own interests,’ and there were other little giveaways such as ‘It’s time for fresh blood,’ and such things as ‘We must preserve our most hallowed ordinances,’ and if you were susceptible to atmospheres, you could see that dwarfs, perfectly sensible dwarfs, dwarfs who would consider themselves dwarfs of repute and fair dealing, were nevertheless slowly betraying allegiances they had formerly undertaken with great solemnity, because the hive was buzzing and they didn’t want to be the ones that got stung.

  The watchwords were ‘restoring order’ and ‘going back to the basics of true dwarfishness’.

  Nevertheless, there is always somebody who will not buzz with the swarm and in this case it was Albrecht Albrechtson, around whom there coalesced the dwarfs who were totally against the takeover and who remained loyal to Rhys Rhysson come what may. The air in the corridors thickened, and the unspoken question was who would be the first to sting?

  Albrecht Albrechtson placed his hand on the Scone of Stone.

  ‘My fellow dwarfs, I made an oath, and so did you. And as we all learned on our mother’s knees, the Ginnungagap awaits all murderers and oath-breakers.’ His smile was a grimace. He went on. ‘Perhaps I misheard.’

  ‘Circumstances have changed,’ said Ardent. ‘The King is far too friendly with the trolls and the damn humans and, for goodness’ sake, he also signed the declaration that the goblins – goblins, I ask you – should be treated as well as dwarfs! I don’t know about you, but I don’t see a goblin as being my equal.’

  In the ringing silence, Albrechtson almost whispered, ‘And the Koom Valley Accord? The understanding that would maintain peace in our time? We were all party to it. How easily do we break our oaths these days?’

  ‘I never signed,’ said Ardent.

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ said Albrechtson. ‘It was signed by Rhys Rhysson on behalf of all dwarfs.’

  ‘Not on my behalf,’ Ardent countered. ‘And I didn’t believe that little tableau of the two kings in the cavern. You know how humans are? I wouldn’t put it past someone like Vetinari to have had it placed there.’

  This time the silence banged. They had all walked past that strange shining tableau in Koom Valley where the air was so chilly in the cavern and the two dead kings rode into history in a state of intentional stalemate. And perhaps some of them might have wondered what the dead kings would do if their peace were disturbed. The moment was broken by Ardent.

  ‘What we need is stability,’ he said. ‘No one need come to blows, nobody will be hurt. I give you my oath on that.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Albrecht. ‘Would that go the way of the oath you gave your King, you traitor?’

  The clang of weaponry being deployed at speed echoed around the halls, to be followed by the resounding silence of not wanting to be the one to take the first slash. It was a stalemate, so stale as to be stinking.

  ‘I will not rise to idiotic taunts,’ said Ardent. ‘We must deal with the world as it is. We have to make certain that it becomes the world that we want, where the dwarfs take their rightful place at the table. Times have changed. We need someone ready to defend our interests. Everyone keeps talking about the world changing. I intend to see that it changes to the betterment of dwarfkind.’

  He walked over to Albrecht and held out a hand. ‘You used to think like this, my friend. Won’t you join me?’

  The multiple intake of breaths went around the cavern.

  Albrecht hesitated for a moment. ‘You can stick that right up your jumper.’

  There was silence. Apart from some dwarfs saying to each other, ‘What does that mean?’ and other more travelled dwarfs, who had dealt with humans, coming to the rescue with, ‘It’s rather like saying “Put it where the sun does not shine”,’ causing those dwarfs who did not know the ways of humanity to say, ‘Isn’t that the little valley over near Slice, rather nice?’ until one of them said, ‘As I understand it, it means shove it up your arse.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘May I suggest a show of hands?’ said Ardent. ‘All those not for me and a proper resolution to dwarf affairs as they have been since time immemorial should raise their hand and make themselves known.’

  Albrechtson promptly sat on the Scone of Stone.

  ‘Well,’ said Ardent. ‘Stay there long enough, my friend, and you will have piles.’

  And there was laughter, but worried laughter. And unusually, for dwarfs, people were thinking first. Yes, the goblins were rising and so were the humans and the trolls, and on the playing board of the world the dwarfs surely had to keep some allegiances. So what if a king changes? When the King came back he would find a fait accompli and the world would be busy with its own occupations. Politics notoriously change all the time … The unseen, unheard point was that everybody knew
that if a dwarf-against-dwarf fight happened now it would go the distance, and where would they all be then?

  In the highest room in her castle over the deepest canyon in Uberwald Lady Margolotta was awakened by the duty Igor and was not happy about it.

  She opened the lid of her casket and said, ‘Vhat’s this all about? It’s not even dusk yet.’

  ‘Theriouth thingth happening, my lady. I heard there’th a coup in Schmaltzberg and Ardent ith in the athendant.’

  Igor looked carefully at his mistress, who appeared to be suddenly lost in thought. He stepped back a little in case of an explosion. To his surprise, Lady Margolotta merely said, ‘That little veasel? Sometimes the black ribbon is sorely tested. How far has the news got around?’

  ‘Hardly at all, my lady. The clackth ith down, on the orderth of Ardent.’

  A sudden syrup in his mistress’s tone worried Igor. If silk could speak it would sound like that.

  ‘On his orders? Really? Ve’ll see about that. Oh, yes, ve vill.’

  Lady Margolotta walked over to the balcony and dropped into the canyon, gathering speed until she glided towards the first clacks tower outside Uberwald and landed softly on the little deck, so close to the superintendent that he nearly lost a year’s growth. But he knew the ropes. Lady Margolotta was a black ribboner and generally quite a useful neighbour.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Arthur,’ she said. ‘How’s your vife? Sorry to upset you.’

  Rather nervously, the superintendent said, ‘Dolores is fine, m’lady, thank you for asking.’

  ‘And the children?’

  ‘Doing very well, thank you, m’lady, and thank you so much for helping with the tuition fees.’

  ‘Not at all. Is your clacks still vorking?’

  ‘Oh yes, m’lady, but something seems to have happened up the line. We’ve got one hell of a backlog and we don’t know what’s going on. Looks like the grag militants have been up to their old tricks again.’