Making Money

'I understood that he was in a somewhat distressed state but not seriously harmed,' said Lord Vetinari. 'Commander Vimes, please be so good as to send some men along to his lodgings, will you? I would like him to join us.'

He turned back to Moist. 'No, Mr Lipwig, you are not on trial, as yet. Generally speaking, before someone is put on trial it helps to have some clear reason for doing so. It is considered neater. I must point out, though, that you took formal responsibility for the gold which we must assume was clearly gold and clearly in the vault at that time. In order to have a thorough understanding of the bank's disposition at this time I asked my secretary to audit the bank's affairs, which he and his team did last nigh—'

'If I'm not actually on trial at this moment can I get rid of these shackles? They do rather bias the case against me,' said Moist.

'Yes, very well. Guards, see to it. Now, Mr Drumknott, if you please?'

I'm going to be hung out to dry, thought Moist, as Drumknott started speaking. What is Vetinari playing at?

He stared at the crowds as Drumknott went through the tedious litany of accountancy. Right in front, in a great black mass, was the Lavish family. From here they looked like vultures. This was going to take a long time, by the sound of Drumknott's earnest drone. They were going to set him up, and Vetinari wa— Ah, yes, and then it would be, in some quiet room: 'Mr Lipwig, if you could see your way clear to telling me how you controlled those golems…'

A commotion near the door came as welcome relief, and now Sergeant Fred Colon, trailed by his inseparable associate Nobby Nobbs, was practically swimming through the crowd. Vimes pushed his way towards them, with Sacharissa drifting in his wake. There was a hurried conversation, and a ripple of horrified excitement rolled through the crowd.

Moist caught the word 'Murdered!'

Vetinari stood up and brought his stick down flat on the table, ending the noise like the punctuation of the gods. 'What has happened, Commander?' he said.

'Bodies, sir. In Mr Bent's lodgings!'

'He's been murdered?'

'Nosir!' Vimes conferred briefly and urgently with his sergeant. 'Body provisionally identified as Professor Cranberry, sir, not a real professor, he's a nasty hired killer. We thought he'd left the city. Sounds like the other one is Ribcage Jack, who was kicked to death' — there was another whispered briefing, but Commander Vimes tended to raise his voice when he was angry — 'by a what? On the second floor? Don't be daft! So what got Cranberry? Eh? Did you just mean what I thought you said?'

He straightened up. 'Sorry, sir, I'm going to have to go and see this for myself. I think someone is having a jape.'

'And poor Bent?' said Vetinari.

'No sign of him, sir.'

'Thank you, commander.' Vetinari waved a hand. 'Do hurry back when you know more. We cannot have japes. Thank you, Drumknott. I gather you found nothing untoward apart from the lack of gold. I'm sure that comes as a relief to us all. The floor is yours, Mr Slant.'

The lawyer rose with an air of dignity and mothballs. 'Tell me, Mr Lipwig, what was your job before you came to Ankh-Morpork?' he said.

O-kay, thought Moist, looking at Vetinari, I've worked it out. If I'm good and say the right things, I might live. At a price. Well, no thanks. All I wanted to do was make some money.

'Your job, Mr Lipwig?' Slant repeated.

Moist looked along the rows of watchers, and saw the face of Cribbins. The man winked.

'Hmm?' he said.

'I asked you what your job was before you arrived in this city!'

It was at this point that Moist became aware of a regrettably familiar whirring sound, and from his raised position he was the first to see the chairman of the Royal Bank appear from behind the curtains at the far end of the hall with his wonderful new toy clamped firmly in his mouth. Some trick of the vibrations was propelling Mr Fusspot backwards across the shiny marble.

People in the audience craned their necks as, with tail wagging, the little dog passed behind Vetinari's chair and disappeared behind the curtains on the opposite side.

I'm in a world where that just happened, Moist thought. Nothing matters. It was an insight of incredible liberation.

'Mr Lipwig, I asked you a question,' Slant growled.

'Oh, sorry. I was a crook'… and he flew! This was it! This was better than hanging off some old building! Look at the expression on Cosmo's face! Look at Cribbins! They had it all planned out, and now it had got away from them. He had them all in his hand, and he was flying!

Slant hesitated. 'By crook you mean—'

'Confidence trickster. Occasional forgery. I'd like to think I was more of a scallywag, to be frank.'

Moist saw the looks that passed between Cosmo and Cribbins, and exulted within. No, this wasn't supposed to happen, was it? And now you're going to have to run to keep up…

Mr Slant was certainly having trouble in that area. 'Can I be clear here? You broke the law for a living?'