Unruffled, the Patrician lowered his coffee mug and said, ‘Mister Lipwig. It is customary to knock before entering my office. Even, and especially, when entering on horseback. You may thank the gods that Drumknott had the presence of mind to disable our … little alarm system. How many times must I tell you?’
‘Every time, sir, I’m sorry to say, because you see, sir,’ said Moist, ‘if I’m to be of any use to you I have to be Moist von Lipwig, sir, and that means, I’m afraid, sir, that I have to find the edge of the envelope and put my stamp on it, sir, otherwise life wouldn’t be worth dying for.’
Moist could see Drumknott wincing at the concept of anyone stamping on any stationery whatsoever and continued, ‘It’s in my blood and frankly, sir, I’m fed up with dealing with old codgers who think they can get the better of Moist von Lipwig, and the cunning and the unpleasant and the stupid and the clever and the greedy … sometimes all wrapped up in one man. After all this, I think my soul needs a bit of a wash and brush-up, sir.’
‘Ah, soul!’ said Lord Vetinari. ‘I didn’t think you had one, Mister Lipwig. Well, I live and learn.’ He steepled his fingers. ‘Mister Lipwig, Mister Simnel’s activities have drawn the eyes of the world. Of course one could not expect that every country, sizeable town and great city would not start thinking about the railway. It is a weapon, Mister Lipwig, a mercantile weapon. You may not know this because you don’t live in my world. Young Mister Simnel came to Ankh-Morpork because this dirty old town, for all its faults, is the very place upon which this world spins, the place where history is changed, where because of an enlightened and caring government – which is to say me – every man, child, dwarf, troll, werewolf, vampire and even zombie and yes, goblin, can call themselves free; free of any master, save the law, which applies to everybody equally whatever their species and status in life: Civis Ankhmorporkianus sum!’
There was a thump as Lord Vetinari banged his fist on the table. ‘Ankh-Morpork, Mister Lipwig, is not to be outdone! Now, I know you have been spending a lot of your time these days in making sure that the first fully commercial and grown-up train will indeed have a railway upon which it can run, and when it does it will be the wonder of the world. But all things move on, and it is for us to keep our city in the forefront of that movement.
‘No doubt you, Mister Lipwig, Sir Harry and Mister Simnel are already thinking ahead. May I suggest that a daily railway service to and from Quirm could only set the seal on the usefulness of the railways. While a more efficient way to get to Uberwald is eminently desirable, alas I fear it must wait. I am naturally being badgered by all the other governments to bring the railway to them, but Quirm is our neighbour and an important trading partner and’ – he lowered his voice – ‘perhaps we could get our fresh seafood before it walks to Ankh-Morpork on its own. Agreed?
‘You may leave the final details of the negotiations for the line to Sto Lat to Drumknott,’ Vetinari continued. ‘He has my permission to call upon the services of one of the dark clerks … The talents of Mister Smith would be eminently suitable for sorting out any … recalcitrant landowners, I think.’
Moist noticed that Drumknott’s eyes had an unusual gleam in them, although the little secretary said nothing.
‘You may go, Mister Lipwig, and may I counsel you that riding a golem horse in here again will be a very dangerous errand and may result in you having kittens.’ His lordship smiled nastily and continued, ‘Cedric is always waiting – twinkle, twinkle.’fn29
Leading the golem horse from the office, Moist thought, ‘Twinkle, twinkle? Oh, gods, it’s catching.’
Mustrum Ridcully, Archchancellor of Unseen University, was held up on his walk across the University’s Great Hall by Barnstable, one of the Bledlows.
The man touched the brim of his bowler hat in traditional salute, coughed politely and said, ‘Mister Archchancellor, sir, there’s a … person who wants to see you, and he won’t take no for an answer. A very sorry-looking cove, sir, looks like he never had a decent meal in his life, sir. And personally, sir, I reckon he’s just after a handout. Bit of an undesirable, sir, and he’s wearing a kind of a dress. Shall I show him the door, sir?’
The Archchancellor thought for a moment and said, ‘This man, does he smell like a badger?’
‘Oh yes, sir, you got it in one!’
Ridcully smiled. ‘Mister Barnstable, the old man to whom you refer is a master of every martial art ever conceived. In fact he conceived most of them himself and he is the only known master of déjà fufn30. He can throw a punch into the air and it’ll follow you home and smack you in the face when you open your own front door. He is known as Lu-Tze, a name that strikes fear in those who don’t know how to pronounce it, let alone spell it. My advice is to smile at him and, with great care, deliver him to my office.’
Lu-Tze looked carefully at the range of brandies on the Archchancellor’s heaving, creaking drinks trolley and sat back. Ridcully, his pipe smoking like the funnel of Iron Girder, said, ‘How nice to see you, my old friend. It’s all about the locomotion, yes?’
‘Of course, Mustrum – is there anything else to talk about? The Procrastinators are grinding and everybody in Oi Dong is fearful of the Ginnungagap … the darkness at the end of the world before the new world takes its place, hmm? Although personally, I think it’s a jolly good idea, what with this one being all battered about and unkempt and uncared for. The only problem I have yet to solve is how to get from the dying world into the new world. That is a bit of a puzzle. But even the Abbot is disturbed about the arrival of steam engines when it isn’t steam-engine time.’
Ridcully poked at his pipe with a pipe cleaner and said, ‘Ye-es, that is a conundrum. Surely the steam engine cannot happen before it is steam-engine time? If you saw a pig, you would, I think, say to yourself, well, here’s a pig, so it must be time for pigs. You wouldn’t question its right to be there, would you?’
‘Certainly not,’ said Lu-Tze. ‘In any case, pork gives me the wind something dreadful. What we know is that the universe is a never-ending story that, happily, writes itself continuously. The trouble with my brethren in Oi Dong is that they are fixated on the belief that the universe can be totally understood, in every particular jot and tittle.’
Ridcully burst out laughing. ‘Oh, my word! You know, my wonderful associate Mister Ponder Stibbons appears to have fallen into the same misapprehension. It seems that even the very wise have neglected to take notice of one rather important goddess … Pippina, the lady with the Apple of Discord. She knows that the universe, while it requires rules and stability, also needs just a tincture of chaos, the unexpected, the surprising. Otherwise it would be a mechanism – a wonderful mechanism, ticking away the centuries, but with nothing different happening. And so we may assume that the loss of balance will be allowed this time and the beneficent lady will decree that this mechanism might yield wonderful things, given a chance.’
‘For my part, I would like to give it a chance,’ said Lu-Tze. ‘Serendipity is no stranger to me. I know the monks have been carefully shepherding the world, but I rather think they don’t realize that the sheep sometimes have better ideas. Uncertainty is always uncertain, but the difficulty with people who rely on systems is that they begin to believe that nearly everything is in some way a system and therefore, sooner or later, they become bureaucrats.
‘And so, my friend, I think we say hail Pippina and the occasional discord. I’m sure the rest of the circle will be of the same mind, to judge by their activities. After all, it’s as clear as the nose on your face: here is a steam engine. Ergo, it is steam-engine time.’
‘Hurrah!’ said Ridcully. ‘I’ll drink to that.’
‘Why, thank you. I’ll have a tincture of brandy with my tea, to keep out the cold, if you don’t mind,’ said Lu-Tze.
Moist sat at his desk, his mind churning over how best to introduce the matter of Quirm to Sir Harry. He blankly registered a … substantial … gentleman in front of him saying, ‘Mister Lipwig? I
have a proposition to—’
Moist laughed. ‘Sir, anybody who has a proposition for me these days will get a maximum of five minutes, one of which has already passed. What is it?’
‘I’m not just anybody, Mister Lipwig,’ said the man, drawing himself up to his full height, which was in fact slightly less than his full girth. ‘I am a chef. Perhaps you’ve heard of me – All Jolson. I understand from certain sourcesfn31 that any day now your wonderful locomotives will be going to and from Sto Lat. I wonder, have you thought about what the people on board will eat? I’d like to bid for the franchise to sell food on the trains and possibly in the waiting rooms as well. Small snacks, and more substantial servings for the long-distance passenger. There’s nothing like a pot of my slumpie to lift the spirits of a weary traveller. Or Primal Soup – very warming, that. I’ve been experimenting with serving it in cups, with little lids on, ’cos there are things in that soup that, to be honest, you wouldn’t want to spill on yourself.’
Moist caught the essential words like a trout catching a newborn mayfly. Food on the trains! Waiting rooms, yes! Places where people would want to spend their money. Once again he remembered that the railway was not just about the rails or the steam.
And as Jolson handed over a slightly lard-stained calling card Moist let his mind fill with ancillary possibilities. Yes, you would definitely need a place to stay while you were waiting for your train, somewhere dry and warm with something to drink and even, heaven forfend, a sausage inna bun that actually had seen a pig. And yes, since Dick had said he’d be quite happy for a locomotive to travel at night, then at the destination there might be railway hotels, as swish as the railway carriages and sprightly, because people would be coming and going at all times of the day or night. It would seem as if the whole world were on the move.
Restless himself, he went out into the compound and crossed to the great shed. Having thought that young Simnel was happily living every dream he had ever had, he was surprised to come across the engineer sitting beside the throbbing Iron Girder, alone and, there was no other word for it, glum.
Moist automatically stepped into his position as the oil that greased the wheels of progress and said, ‘Something wrong, Dick?’
As if beset by unseen demons, Simnel said sombrely, ‘Well, it’s like this, Mister Lipwig. I were invited along to t’Guild of Cunning Artificers last week, to see Mister Pony, and do you know what? He told me I should get apprenticed to somebody! Me! The lads are coming on fine and should be my apprentices, but it turns out that I’m not a master and so ’ave to be indentured for four years to a real master and then I might just about make a journeyman after a little while. But I told them, I never had indentures, never ’ad a master, because, d’you know for why? I haven’t been an apprentice because there were no one to teach me all the stuff I know. I ’ad to work it out for meself!
‘And then I read about those old guys in Ephebe who once built a little steam engine which worked … and then exploded all over them, although nobody got ’urt, and any road, they were saved because their steam engine were a kind of boat and they all ended up in the water wi’ soggy togas. And then I thought to meself, well, those old guys must’ve known a trick or two and so I got another book about them from t’library in Sto Lat, and you know what, Mister Lipwig? All those old boys wi’ their togas and sandals, they also invented the sine and cosine, not to mention your tangent! All that mathematics, which I love. And then there’s your quaderatics. Can’t get anywhere without quaderatics, can you?
‘And any road, they looked like a bunch of old guys who you’d think would do nowt more than lie about arguing about philosophy and then it turns out that all along they knew just about everything about, well, everything and just wrote it all down. Can you believe it? They ’ad it in their ’ands. They could’ve built a proper steam engine, and steam boats that didn’t explode. That’s academics for you. All that knowing and they went back to discussing t’beauty and truth of numbers and missed the fact that they’d discovered summat reet important. Me? If I want beauty and truth I look at Iron Girder.’
Dick slapped his fist down on the metal carapace and said, ‘There’s beauty. There’s truth, right there. And they had all that knowing ’iding away. Look at ’er! My machine! I built her! Me! And I’m not even good enough to be an apprentice.’
He paused for breath and continued, ‘Now don’t get me wrong, Mister Moist, I know it’s just words but, you see, it’s come home to me that, since I’ve never done me indentures, I can never be a master because there’s nobody who knows more about what I’m doing than, well, me. I’ve looked in all t’manuals and read all t’books and you can’t be a master until all the other masters say you are a master.’
Simnel looked even more haunted while Moist stood with his mouth metaphorically open and listened to the meticulous Mr Simnel blaming himself for being a genius.
He continued, ‘The lads, as I call ’em, could never ’ope to be masters neither because they won’t have been taught engineering by a master! It’s flaming ridiculous!’
Moist burst out laughing and put his hands on Dick’s greasy forehead, carefully turning the lad’s head around to face the length of the compound and the huge ever-present queues for the train ride, and he said quietly, ‘They all know you’re a master and Iron Girder is your masterpiece. What boy would not wish to be you, Mister Simnel, a manmade masterpiece yourself. Do you understand?’
Simnel looked doubtful, possibly still hankering after letters after his name and a certificate for his old mother to hang on her wall.
‘Yes, but with all due respect, the people aren’t authorities on the taming of steam. I mean no offence, like, but what do they know?’
Moist snapped and said, ‘Dick, in some respects down there somewhere is the soul of the world, and they know everything. You’ll have heard of Leonard of Quirm. There are some masters who make themselves and you have, you’ve made yourself an engineer and everybody knows it.’
Simnel brightened and said, ‘I don’t intend on starting me own guild, if that’s what you’re thinking, but if some young lad comes to see me and wants to learn the way of the sliding rule then I’ll do him right. I’ll make ’im an apprentice the old-fashioned way and his hands’ll never be clean again. And I’ll give him indentures until they’re coming out of his flaming teeth, all writ down on vellum, if I can find any. That’s how it should go, and he’ll work for me until I reckon he’s done enough to be a journeyman. That’s how you do it. That’s how you make your trade.
‘When I saw you first, Mister Lipwig, I reckoned you were all mouth and no trousers. And I’ve watched you running around hither and yon and being the grease for the engine of the railway. You ain’t so bad, Mister Lipwig, ain’t so bad at all, but you’d look better with a flatter cap.’
Iron Girder let out a sudden hiss of steam, and the two men, laughing, turned to look at her. There was something new about the engine. Hang on, Moist thought, her shape has changed, hasn’t it? She looks … bigger. I know she’s the prototype and Simnel is forever tweaking things, but somehow I don’t think I ever see the same engine twice. She’s always bigger, better, sleeker.
As Moist was pondering the question he became aware of Simnel beside him shifting from foot to foot. At last Dick said hesitantly, ‘Mister Lipwig, you know that girl with the long blonde hair and pretty smile who sometimes comes into the compound? Who is she? She acts as if she owns the place.’
‘That,’ said Moist, ‘is Emily, Harry King’s favourite niece, not married yet.’
‘Oh,’ said Simnel. ‘The other day she brought me out tea – and a bun!’
Moist looked at the worried face of Dick Simnel, who was suddenly in a place where the sliding rule couldn’t go. No, this was a different kind of rule, and so he said, ‘Would you care to take a walk with her, Dick?’
Simnel blushed, if a blush could actually be seen under all the grease. ‘Aye, I really would, but she’s all smart and dandy a
s a daisy and I’m—’
‘Stop right there!’ said Moist. ‘If you’re going to say that you’re just a bloke in greasy dungarees I’d like to draw your attention to the fact that you own a very big slice of all the revenue the railway is ever going to make. So don’t go around saying “Oh dear me I’m too poor to even think about making advances to a nice young lady,” because you’re the best catch that any young lady in Ankh-Morpork could ever find, and I imagine that even Harry, in the circumstances, wouldn’t throw you down the stairs as he did with the swains who were the suitors of his daughters. If you’d like to go walking out with Emily I’d say go to it and I’m sure her uncle and parents will be overjoyed.’
To himself, Moist thought: in fact, Harry would love it because it’d keep the money in the family. I know Harry King, oh, yes. ‘What’s more,’ he added, ‘she’s a lawyer in the making: understands the legalities of running a business. You should get on like a house on fire.’
In the voice of a man encountering new territory, Dick said carefully, ‘Thank you for the information and advice, Mister Lipwig. Mebbe one day when I’ve got meself clean I might get meself the courage to knock on ’er door.’
‘Well, don’t wait too long, Dick. There’s more to life than the sliding rule.’
The Grand Opening of the Ankh-Morpork and Sto Plains Hygienic Railway brought the international press out in droves.
Dick Simnel had always intended that the first serious public railway journey would start from Sto Lat, putting the old town on the map as it were. Sir Harry was somewhat dismayed by this:fn32 a true denizen of Ankh-Morpork, he tended to get a little disorientated when outside the city. Still, as Moist had pointed out, after an outward journey by road the guests would find the return rail trip with refreshments all the more impressive.
When their coaches eventually arrived at what the gold-edged invitation had described as the ‘Sto Lat terminus’, the journalists and other invited guests discovered that terminus apparently meant a work in progress: which is to say most of it wasn’t there yet (being full of workmen, human, troll and goblin, labouring at cross purposes just like on every big construction site anywhere) but nevertheless a sympathetic eye could arrive at the conclusion that something rather good was being built here.
Raising Steam: (Discworld novel 40) (Discworld Novels) Page 11
