Lord Vetinari broke his silence. ‘Certainly, Sir Harry, and perhaps in the meantime someone could locate my secretary?’
They turned to look at the engine, which had come to a stop in a kind of human way, not all at once, but settling down like an old lady making herself comfortable in a favourite armchair, except that at that moment Iron Girder blew out a hissing stream of shining water vapour, which does not normally happen with old ladies, at least not in public.
Drumknott, up in the cabin, was still desperately pulling the chain for the next whistle, and he seemed to be weeping like a toddler bereft of a favourite toy as the sizzling got fainter. He caught their gaze, carefully relinquished the chain, climbed down from the footplate and almost tiptoed through the sizzling steam and the occasional unexpected mechanical creak, as the metal cooled. He walked gingerly over to Dick Simnel and said, hoarsely, ‘Could we do that again, please?’
Moist watched the Patrician’s face. Vetinari seemed to be deep in thought, then he said breezily, ‘Very well done, Mister Simnel, an excellent demonstration! Am I to believe that many passengers and tons of freight could be carried by means of this … thing?’
‘Well, yes sir, I see no reason why not, sir, although of course there would have to be some additional work, decent suspension, and properly upholstered seats. I’m sure we could outdo the stage coaches, which are a right pain in the arse, sir, and no mistake … if you would excuse my Klatchian.’
‘Indeed I will, Mister Simnel. The state of our roads and therefore of our horse-drawn carriages leaves much to be desired. A journey to Uberwald is a penance without a cause and no amount of cushions seem to help.’
‘Yes, my lord, and riding on sleek steel rails in a well-sprung carriage would be the height of comfort. So smooth!’ said Moist. ‘Perhaps people could even sleep in a suitable carriage, if there was such a thing?’ he added. He was surprised that he’d said this out loud, but, after all, he was a man who saw possibilities, and now he was seeing them in spades. And he saw the face of Lord Vetinari brighten considerably. Iron Girder had ridden her tracks much better than the post horses managed with the flints and potholes of the high roads. No horses, thought Moist, nothing to get tired, nothing that needs feeding, just coal and water, and Iron Girder had pulled tons of weight without a groan.
And as Harry led the Patrician towards his office, Moist ran his hand over the warm living metal of Iron Girder. This is going to be the wonder of the age, he thought. I can smell it! Earth, air, fire and water. All of the elements. Here is magic, without wizards! I must have done something good to be in this place, here today, at this time. Iron Girder gave a final hiss, and Moist hurried after the others heading for their lunch and the future of steam.
In the plush comfort of Harry King’s boardroom, all mahogany and brass and extremely attentive waiters, Lord Vetinari said, ‘Tell me, Mister Simnel, could your engine go all the way to, let us say, somewhere like Uberwald?’
Simnel appeared to cogitate for a moment and then said, ‘I don’t see why not, your worship. It might get tricky round about Skund and, of course, it gets a bit steeper further on, but I’d say the dwarfs know how to knock damn great ’oles in t’scenery when they want to. So yes, sir, I’m certain it’s possible, in time, with a big enough engine.’ He beamed and said, ‘If we have t’coal and t’water, and t’tracks, a locomotive engine could take you anywhere you wanted.’
‘And is it open to anyone to build an engine?’ said Vetinari suspiciously.
Simnel brightened up and said, ‘Oh, aye sir, they can try, but they ain’t had none of my secrets, and we Simnels’ve been working on steam for years. We’ve learned by our mistakes. They can learn by theirs.’
The Patrician smiled faintly. ‘A man after my own heart, though laminating oneself to the roof of one’s workshop is such a finite lesson!’
‘Yes, I know, but if I might be so bold, sir,’ Simnel continued, ‘I’d like to bid for t’Post Office work, right here and now. Strike while t’iron’s hot, that’s always been the Simnel motto. I know the clacks can send a message as fast as lightning, but it can’t do parcels and it can’t do people.’
Lord Vetinari’s face gave nothing away, and then he said, ‘Oh really? I strike when I like, but never mind, Mister Simnel. I will not stand in the way of your exploring possibilities with Mister Lipwig, but I suggest we must also consider the position of the coachmen and farriers in this time of change.’
Yes, Moist thought, there would be changes. You’d still find horses in town and Iron Girder couldn’t plough, although for a certainty Mr Simnel could make her do so. ‘Some people will lose out and others will benefit, but hasn’t that been happening since the dawn of time?’ he said out loud. ‘After all, at the beginning there was the man who could make stone tools, and then along came the man who made bronze and so the first man had to either learn to make bronze too, or get into a different line of work completely. And the man who could work bronze would be put out of work by the man who could work iron. And just as that man was congratulating himself for being a smarty-pants, along came the man who made steel. It’s like a sort of dance, where no one dares stop because if you did stop you’d be left behind. But isn’t that just the world in a nutshell?’
Vetinari turned to Simnel. ‘Young man, I must ask you, what do you intend to do next?’
‘There’s that many people wanting to see Iron Girder up close like, I thought mebbe I’d hitch up t’wagons and put in some little seats, and offer them all the chance of a ride behind her. If Sir Harry’s agreeable, that is.’
‘There is of course the question of public safety,’ said Vetinari. ‘Did I hear you say earlier you have blown up … “one or three” I think was the phrase?’
‘I made those explode a-purpose, to see exactly how it ’appened. That’s the way to get the knowledge, you see, sir.’
‘You take your work very seriously, Mister Simnel. And have any other engineers evaluated your findings? What I’m asking, Mister Simnel, is what is the judgement of your peers?’
Simnel brightened up. ‘Oh aye, sir, if you mean Lord Runcible, sir, he’s our landlord over at Sto Lat, but when I asked him, he laughed a lot and said it were amazing what people got up to and told me just not to run Iron Girder in the pheasant season while they were mating.’
‘Indeed,’ said Vetinari. ‘If I might rephrase my question, what is the verdict of other engineers who have seen your wonderful machine working?’
‘Oh, I don’t think anyone calling ’imself an engineer, except me and my lads, has ever seen Iron Girder, although I’ve heard that over in Nothingfjord a couple of lads’ve made a damn good steam pump for getting groundwater out of mines and suchlike. All very interesting, but not as interesting as Iron Girder herself. I’d like to go visit them for a pint and a chat one day, but as you can see I’m busy, busy, busy all the time.’
‘Your lordship,’ said Harry, ‘I respect Mister Simnel because I’ve seen that he’s one of those men who tuck their shirt into their trousers and that says dependable to me. Now, there’s a line of people out there who really want to whizz about behind the lad’s … er … locomotive. I reckon they’ll pay top dollar for taking a ride on the very first one of its kind. And the people of Ankh-Morpork are so thirsty for novelty that the whole city is, you might say, hurrying the future along for the sheer joy of watching its progress. So I’m thinking that every man and boy and possibly even their ladies would like to have a ride on this wonderful machine.’
‘And should we count the risk, when simply to live in Ankh-Morpork is to shake hands with risk every day of the week?’ murmured his lordship. ‘Mister Simnel, you have my goodwill, such as it is, and I can see a twinkle in the eye of Sir Harry, a man who, if I may say so, looks like someone who intends to be an investor, although, of course, that is entirely up to him and you. I am no tyrant …’
There was a moment of hushed silence around the table and Lord Vetinari continued, ‘That is to say I am n
ot a tyrant stupid enough to take a stand against the zeitgeist, but, as you know, I am the man who can steer it with care and consideration. That is why I intend to speak to the editor of the Times this very evening to leave him, as he would say, in the loop. He always likes to be consulted, it makes him feel important.’
His lordship smiled and said, ‘Amazing, how do we think up these things? I wonder, indeed, what will come next.’
The atrocity of the attack on the clacks tower at Sto Kerrig, which had so recently been a lifeline to the world for the people in the town, shocked everyone. As Adora Belle Dearheart looked at the wreckage in the gathering dusk, she was not surprised to see a very large and handsome wolf approaching at speed and, unlike most wolves, carrying a package between its jaws. The wolf disappeared behind a haystack, and shortly afterwards out of the haystack came a handsome female, only marginally dishevelled, wearing the uniform of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch.
Captain Angua, the most notable werewolf in the Watch, said, ‘Oh my, they’ve certainly made a mess, haven’t they? And are you sure that only one of your people was hurt?’
‘Two goblins, captain, but they bounce well. Quick-witted, too. Can you imagine, they managed to send out a final message saying that their tower was under fire from dwarfs before they legged it. Very conscientious, the goblins, when it comes to machinery. They are always better on the night shift. Can I say, captain, when you find out who did this I’ll press charges and press them very hard indeed, to a point when a police officer like yourself would have to look away for fear of seeing something they didn’t want to.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about that, Miss Dearheart. His lordship takes the view that to interfere with the clacks is to interfere with the proper running of the world. Treason not only to one’s own state, but to all.’
‘At the moment, my friend Shatter of the Icicle, the lead goblin on this tower, has a bit of a battered arm, but he’ll certainly assist in finding the dwarfs who did this. However, I don’t know where Shine on the Moon has got to.’
‘I’ll prowl the area until my back-up gets here. I’m expecting the cart and Igorina for the forensics,’ said Angua. ‘If you hear something screaming it might be me, but don’t worry. Commander Vimes has no time for senseless saboteurs.’
There was a pause, and Adora Belle said gravely, ‘There’s something I think you ought to see. Look under this pile of timber: this dwarf looks very, very dead and horribly mutilated. I assume he probably tripped and fell when he was setting fire to the tower. What do you think, captain?’
Carefully, Captain Angua looked at the corpse and said, ‘He’s lost an ear.’
Adora Belle said, ‘Well, apropos of nothing at all, I understand that when goblins get truly riled up they go all frisky and look for souvenirs.’
‘But I’m quite certain, of course, that none of your clacks goblins would be getting up to anything like that, right?’ Angua asked.
Distantly, Adora Belle replied, ‘Yes, having been almost burned alive by dwarf extremists would be shrugged off as another day in the office and not something to get very excited about.’
She looked at the captain quizzically, who said, ‘Quite so. Undoubtedly any injuries were caused by the incompetence of the terrorists themselves.’
‘Why, yes, indeed, yes,’ said Adora Belle.
‘Wasn’t it amazing how one of them managed to chew his own ear off?’ Angua observed.
‘So, can Shine on the Moon come out of hiding now?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Angua carefully, ‘I didn’t hear what you said over the cracking of the tower.’
The silence in Lord Vetinari’s study was absolute. Nevertheless, the tread of Drumknott’s approach contrived to make it even more silent as the secretary handed his lordship a little slip of paper and told him that a second clacks tower had been torched by people calling themselves, in translation, ‘The Only True Dwarfs’.
Drumknott waited while not a muscle moved in Lord Vetinari’s face before he said, ‘Let it be known that enemy action on the clacks system will be followed by the death of not only those who did it but also those who ordered it to be done, whoever they are. Send this to every embassy, consulate and head of state. Action this night, please.’
Still speaking calmly, Lord Vetinari continued, ‘It is also time, I think, to let the dark clerks deal with the more unusual suspects. I’m sure your concludium has given you some clues, Drumknott, and of course we will assist in any way possible. The Low King must be … unhappy about this. Although the stricken clacks tower was ours, we know that the impact of this problem falls in the last event on the King himself. Therefore, send him a message on the black clacks and let him know that I myself and, undoubtedly, Lady Margolotta will support any new plan he chooses to make. The grags have once again broken a solemn accord and that, Drum knott, batters the pillars of the world and not inconsiderably. After all, if you can’t trust governments, whom can you trust?’
There was a subtle cough from Drumknott and his smile at that point was more like a grimace. Before the secretary was released to his private office and its other intrigues, Lord Vetinari continued fishing in his own stream of consciousness, and said, ‘I seldom get angry, Drumknott, as you know, but I am angry now. I should be grateful if you would send for Commander Vimes in his other incarnation as Blackboard Monitor Vimes. I require his assistance and I don’t think he will be a happy man – which, from my point of view, has no downside in these circumstances. Please put the message out to Mister Trooper that this is not the time to be a nice person.’
He went on, ‘This isn’t war. This is a crime. There will be a punishment.’
Rhys Rhysson, Low King of the dwarfs, was a dwarf of keen intelligence, but he sometimes wondered why someone with that intelligence would go into dwarfish politics, let alone be King of the Dwarfs. Lord Vetinari had it so easy he must hardly know he was born! The King thought humans were, well, reasonably sensible, whereas there was an old dwarf proverb which, translated, said, ‘Any three dwarfs having a sensible conversation will always end up having four points of view’.
It wasn’t quite as bad as all that, but it was near enough these days, he told himself, as he looked over at the assembled members of his council in which, according to the rules, he was the first among equals. He had read somewhere in the scrolls that they owed him fealty, whatever that was. It sounded like a kind of porridge.
When his secretary, Aeron, had returned from a recent visit to Ankh-Morpork, he had described a foot-the-ball game he witnessed, which had, at its centre, a referee. Right now, Rhys was feeling something of what the referee had to go through since all the balls were kicked right at him. How could you be the Low King in a realm where even the factions had factions and those factions had microscopic factions? He envied, oh how he envied, Diamond King of Trolls who, apparently, gave instruction and advice to his myriad subjects. After which they said thank you, something that the Low King didn’t hear very often. Diamond King spoke for all trolls everywhere. The dwarfish race, however, had fractured now almost to the point of disarray and all of this ended up as a problem the Low King had to deal with.
There was today, obviously, an agenda or, rather, a regrettably large number of agendas, one for every faction. Glumly, Rhys wondered what the word was for a large number of agendas, and decided that the term should be a living death of agendaritis. It was the deep-down grags that gave him nightmares because, well, there was something offensive about those thick leather clothes and conical hats. After all, he thought, we’re all dwarfs together, are we not? Tak never mentioned that dwarfs should cover their faces in the society of their friends. It struck Rhys that this practice was deliberately provocative and, of course, disdainful.
Now, on the everlasting agenda, dwarfs from every mine were grumbling about the exodus of the young to the big cities. And, of course, they all had reasons for why this might be the case, all of them wrong. Anyone who wasn’t a dwarf who preferred to live in darknes
s, in every meaning of the word, knew that the reason the younger generation was now overwhelming Ankh-Morpork, for example, was simply down to those very same grumblers and their activities. On the other hand, those he thought of as progressive dwarfs, the type who would quite happily have a troll as a friend, were bearing down on him, the King, about their race’s tendency to drive itself into a kind of purdah.
There was a great cloud of misunderstanding in the Low King’s hall, which on every side appeared almost wilful, as if any dispute, however insignificant, had to be thrashed through to the bitter end. It was something in the dwarf psyche. We spend too much time indoors, Rhys thought. He sighed when he realized that Ardent, whose voice had become unbearably loud, now had the floor.
Ardent was a dwarf that the King would have liked to see present at a mine disaster, preferably underneath it. However, Ardent had followers, stupid followers, and he also had powerful friends. And that was it. Politics. Politics was like those little wooden sliding-picture games for children: you had to move all of the pieces in the hope of finding a place where the whole picture slotted together.
At the moment Ardent was insinuating that, in truth, the mining of fat in the Schmaltzberg fat mines was not truly dwarfish, a comment which led an elderly dwarf, whom the King recognized as Sulien Heddwyn, to get to his feet.
Heddwyn put his hands on his axe and said, ‘My father was a fat miner. My grandfather was a fat miner. And so was my grandmother, she was a very fat miner and I was a miner when I was a minor. My mother gave me a tiny pick as soon as I was old enough to hold it. Every one of my relatives back to the dive of the Fifth Elephant was a fat miner and I’ll tell you, the export income from the Plains for our purest fats is what keeps this town running. So I won’t take an insult like this from a b’zugda-hiarafn21 too afraid to look at the sunshine.’
The sound of metal on metal echoed around the hall, followed by silence, with everyone waiting to see what was going to happen next. And that meant Rhys Rhysson had to break that silence. After all, he was, was he not, the Low King, the Low King of all the dwarfs?
Raising Steam: (Discworld novel 40) (Discworld Novels) Page 6
