Raising Steam

by Terry Pratchett

  ‘Yes, I know, Arthur. Could you please send a clacks to Lord Vetinari and a copy to Diamond King of Trolls? Also to the major clacks office in Quirm for delivery to Rhys Rhysson. My usual codes, of course, and priority vun.’

  She waited while the man set things in motion, tapping her foot on the floor, and was relieved when Arthur had finished.

  ‘Thank you, Arthur. Vould you be so good as to have any messages brought over to me as soon as possible by vun of your goblin couriers, please? And oh, it’s your son’s birthday, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, tomorrow!’

  A heavy gold coin dropped into the man’s hand.

  ‘Tell him not to spend it all at vonce,’ said a voice in the distance and suddenly Lady Margolotta was no longer there. The man looked nervously at the shiny coin in his hand. But there, that was the gentry for you. It paid to be in with the gentry. She had been so helpful when his daughter was taken bad, as well. Yes, of course, she was a vampire. But she wasn’t a bad person. And he was oh so very glad he could be of use to her.

  It had been a long wait to get home, but a wait worth waiting for, and after a pleasant evening with Adora Belle, what could be better than being woken up at 3 a.m. by members of the palace guard? And of course, the answer was absolutely everything, thought Moist.

  Crossly was so furious that they were backing away from him across the threshold and Moist heard him say, ‘This is insufferable! What about habeas corpus?’

  And the most senior of the guards said, ‘What about habeas corpus?’

  Moist sighed and pulled on his trousers. Nowadays he kept a pair at hand, ready for occasions such as this. He had had enough. And so, stepping into his shoes and buttoning his shirt, he more or less slid down the stairs to where the grinning guards were shouldering aside the still protesting Crossly.

  He was aware of Adora Belle, at her spikiest, looking over the banister and he had one of those to hell with it moments … As the guards strode into the hallway, he walked up to them and said, ‘Where’s your warrant?’

  ‘What? We don’t have to have a warrant.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Moist. ‘Then you should seriously consider, for your own sake, apologizing to my wife for disturbing us at this time of the morning. She gets very … unhappy if her sleep is interrupted.’

  At that instant Adora Belle leaned over the banister and said, ‘This is a most excellent crossbow, one of Burleigh and Stronginthearm’s finest, and I can only fire it once, gentlemen, so which intruder will I hit? Because right now intruders are what you appear to be, and rude intruders at that. After all, a simple “Do you mind coming with us, sir?” would have done the trick.

  ‘Moist?’ Raising the loaded crossbow, Adora Belle continued, ‘Is this the one with the dodgy hair trigger? I always get them confused.’

  Moist held out his hands and said, ‘This is how it’s going to go. You may think that Vetinari will be on your side, the majesty of the Patrician and what have you. On the other hand, my wife could shoot any one of you if she wanted to and quite possibly might hit me instead. And I suspect Moist von Lipwig is more important to the Patrician than you bunch of herberts.’

  ‘Off you go, gentlemen,’ Adora Belle chimed in from her vantage point. ‘I’m sure my husband will attend on his lordship around breakfast time. It’s always good to do business on a full stomach.’

  Moist looked at the guards and said, ‘Gentlemen, I have no intention of getting you into trouble, or indeed of allowing my wife to skewer any one or two of you. And so I think I’d like to have an early-morning stroll to the palace. If it so happens that you are walking that way at the same time, well, so be it. Although you might want to make that a brisk walk, because I fear my wife will be watching us go from the upstairs window and that is the dodgy crossbow she’s holding in her hands.’

  And as he sauntered after the suddenly very sprightly guards clanging against each other in their hurry to get away, Moist was surprised to see the impeccably ironed Crossly make a fist and whisper, ‘Well done, sir! They don’t even clean their boots when they step inside.’ And the sedate little man’s face was fierce and fiery.

  Within the palace, Moist found Lord Vetinari in conversation with a stone-faced Commander Vimes. The normal calm of the Oblong Office had been replaced by a low hum of determined-looking clerks arriving with messages to hand over to Drumknott.

  Vetinari looked up and said, ‘Ah, Mister Lipwig. I’m so glad you could spare us a little time from your early-morning exercise routine.’

  ‘Your guards can’t run for toffee. You ought to do something about it, sir, and while we’re on the subject, it would be a good idea to teach them some manners.’

  The Patrician lifted an eyebrow. ‘I understood it was the prodding you objected to, Mister Lipwig. Was there prodding?’

  ‘No, sir, but—’

  ‘I am glad to hear it,’ said his lordship. ‘So, if we may to business? As I suspected, the apologists for the grags and other dwarf malcontents have merely been lying low, and I believe that in the darkness scandalous undertakings are still sprouting like mushrooms. It appears that there has been a palace coup in Schmaltzberg, only the third one in the history of the dwarfs. Unfortunately, the Low King is, as they say, out of position in Quirm where he has been attending a summit with Diamond King of Trolls. Rhys Rhysson is a notable negotiator, as we all know well from the Koom Valley Accord, and he has held the fractious coalition of dwarf chief mining engineers together for many years. And he is no mean practitioner with the axe, I believe, but he needs to be back in Uberwald with his inner council if this … unfortunate turn of events is not to spread underground to other mines.

  ‘Having considered the options,’ continued the Patrician, ‘it would seem that the railway route to Uberwald, presently under construction, would provide the swiftest and safest and most comfortable method for transporting the Low King, his retinue and war councillors. Time is, as they say, of the essence. You, Mister Lipwig, will travel with all speed to Quirm and take charge of arrangements. Commander Vimes will provide watchmen as an escort and will join you himself as you pass back through Ankh-Morpork, with reinforcements as he sees fit. Be aware, Mister Lipwig, that this is your Koom Valley, on wheels.’

  ‘And when you get to Quirm,’ said Vimes, ‘be sure to look for a dwarf called Bashfull Bashfullsson. Very useful and most definitely on the Low King’s side.’

  ‘But the line is nowhere near finished, sir!’ Moist wailed.

  ‘Mister Lipwig, you know already that it is not your job to tell me what the problems are. It is your job to tell me about the solutions. Do we have an understanding? I am sure that Harry King will have a high-speed locomotive he can spare – one of his Flyers, perhaps?’

  ‘But, my lord, Harry might have a dozen or so locomotives to spare, but it’s the laying of the tracks, that’s the rub.’

  ‘Mister Lipwig, I want … No, I am ordering you to make miracles by all means necessary,’ said Vetinari. ‘Do I make my point? I am sure I could make it somewhat pointier.’

  Moist saluted and with no hint of sarcasm said, ‘Exactly, sir! Action this day! Miracles are us, sir!’

  And laconically Vetinari said, ‘Try to make it yesterday, Mister Lipwig.’

  And that, Moist knew, was that, as far as that conversation was concerned.

  Drumknott had been busy. Even as Moist was being roused from his bed by the palace guard, messengers had been sent to Harry King and to Simnel’s home. By the time Moist arrived at the compound, he found it even busier than it was in the middle of the day. There to greet him in the grey light of early dawn were Harry and Dick. They appeared to be having an argument and Simnel was looking rather unhappy.

  ‘But it’s the look of the thing, Dick,’ Harry was saying. ‘I mean, Iron Girder is wonderful, of course, but I’m sure the Flyers are classier and more suitable for royalty.’

  ‘Sorry, Harry,’ Simnel replied. ‘I think it might be risky if Iron Girder weren’t the engine.
Don’t ask me why, because I can’t explain why, even with my sliding rule, but she is what we need. And to tell thee t’truth, sir, I’ve shined her up so much, polished her, greased this, checked that, she’s fit for any king, or queen, come to that. Oh, the Flyers are good, and reet smart, too, but I’ll say it again: my Iron Girder is the best locomotive in an emergency.’

  The arguments chased each other through Moist’s brain. Vetinari says this has to be top secret, and it would be Iron Girder’s first trip beyond the compound in months. Everyone is bound to notice. But we’ll be running an unscheduled train, so they’re going to notice anyway. And if it’s one of the usual Flyers all the regular passengers will want to know why they can’t get on it. And there’ll be the armed escort from the Watch, that’ll really make us stick out a mile. And after all, if you’re going to run a special train the locomotive should be special …

  ‘You know what, Harry?’ said Moist. ‘I think Dick’s right about this. There’s something about that engine—’

  Just then, from Iron Girder, a little way away, there came a perceptible hiss of steam. Even Harry noticed it.

  And Simnel said, ‘Steam’s up, gentlemen. All aboard, those who’re going to Quirm. I’m sorry, Mister Lipwig, but his lordship’s orders are to send freight trucks only, to distract attention, like. And to tell t’truth it may be the only way we’ll get some Watch officers to fit on board. I’ve to work on that before you get back. Don’t worry,’ he added hastily, seeing the others’ horror, ‘it’ll be regular carriages hitched up for the return journey.’

  ‘I hope those trucks are full,’ said Harry. ‘Can’t afford to waste the journey when there’s goods waiting to go.’

  ‘Well, the front one is presently a bit full of Sergeant Detritus,’ said Simnel, and indeed through its open hatch Moist could now make out the form of the troll watchman, patiently hunched against the far wall. ‘But yes, we’ve loaded up the rest right and tight.’

  Moist snoozed his way to Quirm, rocked in the cradle of Iron Girder. He was certain she gave a smoother ride than any of the new-fangled Flyers. Everyone said that was silly, but nevertheless, the thought didn’t leave him. Somehow the Flyers looked like machinery, but Iron Girder always looked like … somebody. And the train spotters all seemed to think the same thing. It was as if she was the railway.

  The chateau that had been put at the disposal of the Low King while he was in Quirm for the all-important summit had ‘ridiculously grand’ written all over it.

  Moist was greeted at the main entrance by a dwarf who was neatly dressed but notably lacking in the usual weaponry.

  ‘Bashfull Bashfullsson, Mister von Lipwig. I know your face. It’s in the papers so often.’

  As they hurried inside Bashfull said, ‘Please let me, as they say, mark your card, Mister Lipwig. The King is furious. Furious with the rebels and furious with himself for not doing enough at the right time and I dare say he’s also furious with me. But me, well, I look to the sky and I say to Tak, “Don’t get mad, but when you made us dwarfs you had a bad day and couldn’t find anything in the subtlety box.” It seems that we’d sooner fight and argue than live.’

  Inside the chateau there was a squad of heavily armed dwarfs on guard, heavily armed, that is, being more heavily armed than the average dwarf who, nevertheless, could generally look like a squad all by himself. They scowled at Moist, with the regulation scowl of all guards everywhere, which intimated that you were less than the dust on the dust on their boots, so watch out. Bashfullsson ignored them and led Moist into the Great Hall, which was buzzing with activity.

  But then there was the question of seeing the Low King. It was a delicate matter, but Moist wasn’t going to let courtiers and guards push him around. He knew Rhys Rhysson was a sensible and powerful dwarf, moderate, the kind of person who looks facts in the face, knowing that it’s the only way to survive.

  Moist waited while Bashfullsson dealt with the protocols, and wondered how many of the glittering company in the hall were actually on the King’s side. Suspicion floated in the air like a fine dust, settling on every shoulder. After all, this was the beginning of a clandestine dwarf war. Much better to fight the trolls. You could recognize the trolls as possibly the enemy, but who knew where the traitors were in this chattering throng?

  One of the dwarf guards attempted to dispossess Moist of his treasured lockpicks and only let go when Moist had retrieved them using very non-diplomatic language and some clever misdirection. He hadn’t actually made use of the lockpicks in years, his tongue generally being more effective at getting into places than some bent pieces of metal ever could be. Nevertheless, he was still fuming and was about to say something non-political when Bashfullsson grabbed him by the arm and took him to see the King.

  The King’s suite was, surprisingly, at the top of the building. In normal dwarf dwellings, the lower a dwarf, the more important he was, and so, Moist surmised, putting the Low King into rooms on the top floor might just be a ruse to thwart any traditionally minded enemies.

  Kings don’t travel lightly or quietly. There were dwarfish flunkies everywhere alongside the chateau staff, folding things and indeed shovelling things into cases with a sense of panic, as if the bailiffs were coming.

  But at last Moist and Bashfullsson were ushered into a small antechamber where the Low King was planning his counter-coup with his inner council. Every so often a clacks arrived and was hurried to the King.

  Rhys Rhysson was smaller and slighter than Moist had expected and was surrounded in this cramped room by generals and some of the rest of the circus that has to follow a monarch.

  Moist noticed black looks from a few dwarfs, angry at the human trespasser. Bashfullsson bowed to the King as he introduced Moist. ‘Mister von Lipwig, your majesty. An envoy of Lord Vetinari.’

  ‘And killer of a number of renegade delvers,’ said the King to Moist. ‘And not least a bank manager.’ Rhys laughed. ‘It must be tough in the banking business, Mister Lipwig?’

  Moist joined in the little attempt at laughter and said, ‘You have no idea, sire; but the most important thing you need to know about me is that I was a crook and a scoundrel and a very clever one. What better man to run the Royal Bank of Ankh-Morpork and the Mint than a crook? I had the tendencies of a crook and many of the skills of a crook and because I look at things with a crooked eye, metaphorically speaking, I see the opportunities and the problems. I’m very lucky and I have the knack of finding friends easily.’

  ‘But probably not with those delvers, eh?’ said the King.

  ‘I was lucky and I survived. I survived and, if I may say so, I wish survival to the Low King and his court.’ All right, he thought, that was drawing the long bow and no mistake, but he couldn’t avoid it … all that armament getting in one another’s way, well, with all that milling about something would go wrong sooner or later.

  ‘Mister Lipwig, as you know, I have sudden important business that requires my presence in Uberwald as soon as possible, and at the highest speed. I understand from the clacks I received from Lord Vetinari this morning that you have a plan to get me there. I’m curious to know what that plan involves.’

  There were the usual murmurs and glances, but Moist was not going to be intimidated by a bunch of small people who were giving themselves airs. He was never one for protocol – it got in the way and often concealed nasty and dangerous things.

  ‘I’m afraid, sire, that I’m not willing to divulge Lord Vetinari’s proposal here. There are too many people in this room, any one of whom could be a traitor!’

  Uproar ensued. Moist kept his face blank and totally unmoving until all protestations had been protested.

  ‘I’m not here to be nice, and I have to tell you that, while on this mission, my allegiance is to you and only you, sire. Apart from Mister Bashfullsson here, I don’t know any of the rest of these dwarfs. The opposition must surely be intelligent enough to make certain they have a sleeper in the palace, funnelling everything back to
them.’

  He had gone too far, he knew it, but the dwarfs had not impressed him with their security. It was far too stiff … all front and pomposity.

  ‘Mister Lipwig, I am the King, surely, and I am still alive because of whom I know and whom I can trust, see. I appreciate your thoroughness in this matter.’ The King turned to the dwarf by his side. ‘Aeron, some privacy, if you please.’

  And the dwarf called Aeron, who seemed to Moist to be a trusted assistant, a dwarf version of Drumknott, cleared the room of hangers-on, leaving only himself, Bashfullsson and a few other obviously senior dwarfs.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the King. ‘Now, Mister Lipwig, in this small room, I trust everybody. And, boyo, I might just trust you because you are Mister Lipwig and I know your reputation. You’re a survivor, quite possibly a plaything of the gods or, perhaps, the most handsome bag of wind that there has ever been. You get away with it, and thus I hope I will too, because more than our lives depend on us getting me to Uberwald and the Scone of Stone before those bastards wreck everything I stand for.’ He smiled and said, ‘I hope that doesn’t feel like pressure?’

  ‘Your majesty, pressure is where I start,’ said Moist.

  There was a noisy party with lots of quaffing and dwarf songs in full swing as the Low King and his commanders left the chateau quietly from the servants’ entrance a short hour later. Several coaches had come and gone already that morning and the departure of a few more was unremarkable.

  ‘Tagwen Tagwensson is doing a grand job of playing King today,’ Rhys noted to Moist as their carriage swung down the long gravel driveway. ‘That song has over a hundred verses. They can keep that up for days!’

  When they arrived at the Quirm terminus they were met by the extremely large form of Sergeant Detritus of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch, who was standing guard by Iron Girder, hefting his piecemaker, which had what might be called a wholesale capability.

  The Low King’s eyes lit up when he recognized the sergeant and he exclaimed, ‘Detritus! If you’re on board, then perhaps I don’t need any other bodyguards.’