Raising Steam: (Discworld novel 40) (Discworld Novels)

by Terry Pratchett

  ‘Copacetic, sire. That’s an engineer term meaning all satisfactory.’

  The King gave Moist a look. It wasn’t by the standard of looks a nasty one, but it was after all a King’s look, and the gaze of the King was subtly quizzical and testing.

  ‘We shall see, boyo, we shall see.’

  And after breakfast, there was nothing for it but to watch the mountain scenery flow past as if on some endless winding belt: trees, rocks, more trees, bigger rocks, trees again, what was possibly a clearing where lumbermen were working, brief darkness as they reached a rock big enough to require a tunnel, and so on, and yet, Moist thought, behind all those trees and all those rocks and crags, there are homesteads and small villages that we don’t know about and so one day we will have to have a stop here … here … and here. And then one day, some kid from the settlement high up in that last lot of rocks will catch the train and end up in Ankh-Morpork, full of hope, and why not? Station by station we are changing the world. And he allowed himself a little glow of pride.

  Apart from the Falls,fn70 the only place that was of any significance in Zemphis was Downsized Abbey. It was a ruin now, the monks long gone; these days it was more of a souk, a medina, a heaving bazaar which reminded Moist of the Shades of Ankh-Morpork on their holidays. Nothing was still. Silence was a rare blessing. And everyone was a trader and it seemed that sooner or later everything and everyone could be bought and sold. And, if necessary, disappeared.

  Of the trading routes in Zemphis, the Aglet Road stood out, as caravans of camels arrived on their way to bring the people of the Plains the tiny little things on the ends of their shoelaces without which civilized life would be unbearable and quite dangerous. There were spices from Klatchfn71, materials from the Counterweight Continent which had arrived by slow barge, other mysterious delicacies, and unfortunately many ways to become very happy in a short space of time and stone dead shortly afterwards.

  Alongside the legitimate goods traded at the front of the stalls, without doubt there was some contraband, as many traders luxuriated in the semi-lawless landscape. Cages of undomesticated imps were available in the back rooms of some more unscrupulous shops, and after dark the occasional camel slipped in or out of the town carrying barrels of crude treacle.

  And even though most sensible people wishing to hang on to their personal possessions, or indeed their lives, would follow the advice of those who had been there and give it a wide berth, some possibly foolhardy tourists did come to Zemphis on their way to see the Paps of Scilla, a jagged mountain range which allowed the determined mountaineer an absolute smorgasbord of ways to be found upside down above a crevasse and hanging by one leg over white water that acted like the mother of all grinders. There were eight peaks in all, sharp and unforgiving, and if there were such a thing as the good ambushing guide it would be right up there with the winners.

  Contemplating the Paps from a seat conveniently placed by the burghers of Zemphis as a lookout point for those admiring the view, Moist reflected that shortly their train would have to travel through those peaks. They didn’t look so bad on the map, but up close and personal they were awesome. Scilla must have been very proud eight times over.

  A mist hung over the greenery clinging to the steep foothills of the Paps. The terrain looked impassable for a train, but Simnel’s sliding-rule boys had found a suitable way through. Track had been laid and Moist knew that they’d had trolls hanging around there all week, keeping guard.

  Just then, there was a shout from Commander Vimes. ‘Lipwig! Drop!’

  Moist dropped, while whatever the commander had seen scythed overhead, and he was just picking himself up when Vimes tackled him back down to the ground as the missile whistled round for another slice before finally dropping somewhere near their feet.

  ‘And there you have it,’ said Vimes. ‘Really nasty fellows, delvers, but you’ve got to admire their workmanship.’

  Moist, still at ground level, said, as if it mattered, ‘Was it really them?’

  ‘Quite likely, but there are other nuisances in these hills. You must know that where there are tourists there are also people eager for their dollars. Don’t touch it!’

  Moist’s hand flew back.

  ‘It’s a boomerang,’ said Vimes. ‘You find something like this all over the world. You have to wave it carefully and suddenly your opponent gets it in the back. I’ve heard that there’s a lad in Fourecks who can throw a boomerang with such precision that it can get the morning paper and come back with it.’

  Moist gave the commander a look of disbelief.

  ‘Well, that’s what they say, and you know those boys from Fourecks, they love to draw a long bow,’ Vimes continued, picking up the boomerang gingerly with a handkerchief. He sniffed it, grimaced and said, ‘The stuff the grags have put on this one might not kill you but you’ll wish that it had for a day or two, if you’re lucky. I’m going to have to talk to Vetinari about this place. They’ve got something like a government here, but their policing might just be adequate in a kindergarten. They’re not exactly bent, just not organized in the right way. Good grief, I could even send Nobby up here and the quality of the policing would go comparatively sky high.’

  ‘Surely Vetinari’s remit doesn’t stretch all the way out here? And you’re well out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you?’

  To Moist’s amazement Vimes laughed, and said, ‘I couldn’t speak for Vetinari, but we all know he has his … ways and his means. I think he allows this place to exist so that it doesn’t exist in Ankh-Morpork. And as for my jurisdiction, I wouldn’t be surprised if there are a number of people in this place who’d like to see some law in the streets. So if that were the case, well, it might be my duty to assist. But not today.’

  He patted Moist on the shoulder and said, ‘Mister Lipwig, I’m sure there’ve been times in your life when you’ve seen a wonderful opportunity to steal something valuable and you’ve decided for various reasons not to? Well, I feel as you would then. This place is a sink. Who knows what dreadful things are happening behind closed doors.’ He shrugged and went on, ‘But you can’t kick down every door in the universe. And we have more pressing matters to attend to.’

  Moist accepted this sad explanation and after a fruitless hunt around for their assailant they turned their backs on the Paps to head back to the station. As they left the lookout point, they heard a train whistle in the distance. Far away, climbing into Zemphis on the main line from the Plains, there was a streak of scintillating sunlight with a trail of steam.

  Vimes looked at Moist and said, ‘What the hell is that? There isn’t another train due today, is there?’

  ‘Well, Dick said he was polishing up Iron Girder for the big event, and before we left he was talking as if his favourite locomotive had been getting a complete overhaul. That must be her.’

  In fact, it wasn’t just an overhaul. When Moist had shown Simnel the micromail he had received as spoils of the battle with the dwarfs at the Quirm railhead, the young engineer had smiled and said, ‘Aye, I know what the secret is here. This is a metal stronger than iron, malleable and half its weight, and it never rusts. Its ore is rare but it’s the base of a new alloy I’ve made. I call it sorortanium, which Mister Thunderbolt says means the sister of iron. It’s stronger even than steel! What boilers I could make with it if only I could get ’old of enough of the stuff! Thank you. It’s amazing and I know just what to do with it.’

  As they watched the astonishing locomotive dealing with the steep haul into Zemphis, Moist noticed that the engine appeared to shrug off the load behind her. The Flyer they had come in on earlier had been creaking as it chugged up the last steep haul into Zemphis. This new train didn’t even seem to notice the gradient.

  Vimes smacked his head and said, ‘Is that really Iron Girder? Last I saw of Iron Girder, she was providing a playground entertainment for grown-ups. If that’s Iron Girder,’ he said, pointing at the shimmering apparition, ‘surely she’s grown?’

  ‘I
t is Iron Girder,’ said Moist. ‘Dick spends all his time tinkering with her, over and over again, improving her at every turn and opportunity. And at the end, well, she’s still Iron Girder. She’ll always be Iron Girder.’

  ‘But she’s so easily spotted, all that shining … People are going to see her coming for miles! No chance of an inconspicuous departure, then!’

  ‘I know,’ said Moist. ‘But since you can hear her coming for miles, Dick said it won’t make any difference. Everyone’ll know we’re coming.’ Though the silver carapace in fact could make a significant difference in other ways, he thought.

  ‘If you please, ah grag nunfn72, we have lost track of two agents on one of the trains,’ said the acolyte. ‘Alas, we are no longer in touch with them.’

  The grag commander looked up. ‘Ah-ha!’ he said. ‘Where were they when we last heard from them?’

  ‘On the regular service from Sto Lat to Zemphis. But they failed to report at Big Cabbage or earlier as the train passed through Cranbury.’

  ‘Are you certain?’

  The acolyte jumped. ‘Well, my lord, we are in the dark, but I think so …’

  ‘In that case,’ said the grag, ‘make it known that we are no longer bothering with the other routes. Our … package must have been on that train to Zemphis. And from there … The Paps await, and they take no prisoners! They, my friend, are coming to us. And the creatures that live in the Paps will be our allies! It’s all about the railway now, and we know that it is in the compass of our agents to stop those blasted wheels turning. Be mindful of bridges, however. The enemy favours the dreadful stone people who love to guard them. And surely tunnels can also be made to fail … This wretched technology contains the seeds of fallibility.’

  ‘Yes, grag nun, we know that the locomotive has to stop frequently for coal and water. Deprive it of either and there is no locomotive, just a lump of old iron. So, the coal bunkers and, yes, water cranes … There will be guards, of course, but they should be easy to overcome when stationary.’

  The chief grag returned to his study of the words of Tak as annotated by Grag Hamcrusher.

  ‘Let me know when the deed is done.’

  Down at the Zemphis terminus, Iron Girder looked even more spectacular up close. Dick Simnel was dressed smartly and grinning proudly as he showed off the glittering engine and all the dials and gauges on the footplate. Seeing Dick wearing clothes that had no grease on them was astonishing, like seeing a lion without a mane.

  Along with Cheery Littlebottom and other members of the City Watch who had been summoned by Commander Vimes, Moist was surprised to see the cheerful and homely face of Constable Bluejohn, the largest troll on the force. Bluejohn, whom even Detritus described as ‘a big boy’, was by nature as gentle as a breeze and wouldn’t hurt a fly – at least not on purpose, although he could quite possibly tear a lion in half with his bare hands if needed. Nevertheless the sight of him on the scene of any fracas was an invitation to run a marathon in the other direction rather than face the megalith. He lived in a reinforced house somewhere in Sunink, a little town inadvisably nestling in the outskirts of Ankh-Morpork. They said that the sound of Bluejohn walking to work was better than an alarm clock.

  Vimes marched off down the platform to greet the new arrivals. Cheery was looking very cheerful, as cheerful as any decoy could be who had been the winner of a battle and had come out more or less unscathed, except for a small scar which you had to have, didn’t you, or no one would believe you.

  The tour of the footplate finished, Simnel turned to Moist. ‘According to our schedule, we ought to be going.’ He blew his whistle and shouted down the platform, ‘All aboard!’

  There was no way of avoiding considerable attention as the King’s party assembled to board the armoured carriages behind Iron Girder. The engine herself was spectacular and her passengers were unusual even for a city like Zemphis. There were the dwarfs: the Low King and his bodyguards, Aeron his secretary and Bashfull Bashfullsson; there were suspiciously deep shadows that suggested the continued presence of dark clerks; there were several specialist members of the Watch;fn73 there were the goblins, who scrambled into the guard’s van being coupled on at the rear; and just in front of the van was a flatbed carrying Constable Bluejohn along with equipment and baggage too bulky for the guard’s van.

  Iron Girder was fully in steam again now and the vapour surrounded everybody. Vimes went with the engineers as they walked right around the train for a final check. Then came the scream of the whistle and the little shunting dance that Iron Girder did before gaining speed. With someone staring from every carriage window, the special express train to Uberwald started to show what it could do.

  The story told locally about the Paps of Scilla was that they were formed when one huge mountain fell apart, leaving a treacherous network of broken caverns – some full of water, always overflowing – topped by the eight forbidding peaks, which seemed to hang in the moisture-laden air, surrounded by rainbows. After the boomerang incident in Zemphis, Moist wasn’t very keen on seeing the Paps up close and personal, but Simnel’s surveyors had excelled themselves. The railway track insinuated itself up through the craggy gaps so that the train climbed majestically higher and higher, leaving the city of Zemphis and the heat shimmer of the sierra far below.

  Halfway towards the gloom of the pass between the tallest peaks, the train emerged from a large natural tunnel into another kaleidoscope of rainbows, which were distracting even when people weren’t throwing things at your head.

  Without warning, a boulder smashed down in front of the train and rolled across the tracks, to shatter in the opposite gully. Then there was another crash from the rear. The train shuddered horribly, and carried on.

  Moist looked up and saw dwarfs perched on the craggy cliffs on each side of the canyon, levering boulders down on to the train. Commander Vimes could be heard cursing and shouting orders down the carriages, his words drowned out as yet larger boulders fell, raining down on the locomotive, which was moving slowly forward like an old lady testing the water.

  Surely, Moist thought, this is the end. Even if the tracks ahead remain undamaged, no normal engine could withstand this bombardment. But then he realized that Iron Girder, slowly and methodically, was actually steaming on despite the boulders continuing to pound the train.

  Moist couldn’t stop himself. He shouted to anyone who would listen, ‘They’re bouncing off! It’s the sorortanium, it takes the punishment and throws it right back!’

  Meanwhile, at the rear of the train, Constable Bluejohn, standing on his flatbed gently rocking with the motion, thundered a troll threat, reached out and plucked a miscreant from his foothold unwisely close to the track. When he was joined by Detritus, the assailants soon discovered that aiming boulders at the trolls was a fool’s errand. The lads, who were quite literally in their element, just grabbed them and tossed them back with interest.

  Looking out of a broken window, Moist saw a small swarm of goblins leave the train and at first he thought, ha! Trust the buggers to run away, and then he mentally corrected himself: that was storybook thinking and with clearer eyesight and a bit of understanding he realized that the goblins were scrambling up to the delvers on the rocks and beating the shit out of them by diving into the multiple layers of dwarf clothing. The delvers discovered all too rapidly that trying to fight while a busy goblin was in your underwear was very bad for the concentration.

  Of the Twilight the Darkness suddenly appeared at Moist’s elbow. He was wearing a helmet that was far too big for him and spun around on his head. He pushed one arm into the greasy nest he called a jacket and struck a pose.

  ‘Marvellous, ain’t they? Always going for the gonads.’

  There were screams, sometimes high-pitched, as the delvers lost their hold and fell down either under the train or into the water, still fighting the speedy goblins.

  As Iron Girder steadfastly steamed on round the next bend, she and her coal tender came into Moist’s fie
ld of vision and he was horrified to see that a couple of delvers had gained a foothold on the tender. They were being held at bay by a soot-blackened stoker who was valiantly protecting access to the footplate by wielding his shovel to deadly effect. Moist caught a glimpse between the chaos of fighting bodies of the stoker dispatching one of the delvers, kicking him over the side. A massive blow with the shovel dealt with the other dwarf, and the stoker dropped out of sight. His sheer efficiency had been vaguely disturbing. Perhaps that’s the legendary Stoker Blake, Moist thought, and then ducked back inside as another boulder crashed past.

  Finally the bombardment ceased and Moist made his way down the train. He found the Low King in one of the armoured carriages with Bashfullsson and the rest of his party. There was blood on the King’s beard.

  ‘The foe is either fleeing or dead,’ the King said. ‘The wounded will be taken aboard under lock and key and undoubtedly the good commander will have them talking to him as if they were the best of friends. He has a knack for that sort of thing.’

  A while later Moist went into the guard’s van, where Commander Vimes was having little chats to grags and their fellow travellers. He was speaking in his very low, understanding voice.

  ‘I do understand your position. It’s such a shame, especially since the ones that started it all are likely to get away into the darkness.’

  And yet again Moist was impressed. The grizzled commander was all honey as he continued, ‘Of course, as a friend, you might give me certain names. I like collecting names, they sing to me.’

  And Moist thought, they have the honey, here comes the sting.

  Cheerfully, Vimes took names like a guardian uncle, while in various corners of the van people were being bandaged, cleaned and fed.

  And so, battered but triumphant, Iron Girder blew her whistle and gently got up to speed on the track out of the Paps towards Uberwald with goblins everywhere: panel-beating, tidying up, greasing, bending and cleaning and almost rebuilding her on the run, as it were, and Moist noticed that at no point did Iron Girder turn them into a pink haze with live steam. The queen of locomotion valued her courtiers.