Making Money

threat twenty years ago, but today? There were plenty of vampires in the city, neurotic as hell, wearing the black ribbon to show they’d signed the pledge, and in general getting on with, for want of a better word, their lives. Mostly, people just accepted it. Day after day went past with no trouble, and so the situation became regarded as normal. Differently normal, but still normal.
    Okay, Mr. Bent had kept quiet about his past, but that was hardly a pitchforking matter. He’d been sitting in a bank for forty years doing sums, for heavens’ sake.
    But perhaps he didn’t see it that way. You measured common sense with a ruler, other people measured it with a potato.
    He didn’t hear Gladys approach. He just became aware that she was standing behind him.
    “I Have Been Very Worried About You, Mr. Lipwig,” she rumbled.
    “Thank you, Gladys,” he said cautiously.
    “I Will Make You A Sandwich. You Like My Sandwiches.”
    “That would be kind of you, Gladys, but Miss Dearheart will be joining me shortly for dinner upstairs.”
    The glow in the golem’s eyes faded for a moment and then grew brighter.
    “Miss Dearheart.”
    “Yes, she was here this morning.”
    “A Lady.”
    “She’s my fiancée, Gladys. She will be here quite a lot, I expect.”
    “Fiancée,” said Gladys. “Ah, Yes. I Am Reading Twenty Tips To Make Your Wedding Go With A Swing.”
    Gladys’s eyes dimmed. She turned around and plodded toward the stairs.
    Moist felt like a heel. Of course, he was a heel. But that didn’t make feeling like one feel any better. On the other hand, shedamn, he…it…Gladys was the fault of misplaced female solidarity. What could he hope to achieve against that? Adora Belle would have to do something about it.
    He was aware that one of the senior clerks was hovering politely.
    “Yes?” he said. “Can I help you?”
    “What do you want us to do, sir?”
    “What’s your name?”
    “Spittle, sir. Robert Spittle.”
    “Why are you asking me, Bob?”
    “Because the chairman goes woof, sir. Safes need locking up. So does the ledger room. Mr. Bent had all the keys. It’s Robert, sir, if you don’t mind.”
    “Are there any spare keys?”
    “There might be in the chairman’s office, sir,” said Spittle.
    “Look…Robert, I want you to go home and get a good night’s sleep, okay? And I’ll find the keys and turn every lock I can find. I’m sure Mr. Bent will be with us tomorrow, but if he’s not, I’ll call a meeting of the senior clerks. I mean, hah, you must know how it all works!”
    “Well, yes. Of course. Only…well…but…” The clerk’s voice faded into silence.
    But there’s no Mr. Bent, thought Moist. And he delegated with the same ease that oysters tango. What the hell are we going to do?
    “There’s people here? So much for banker’s hours,” said a voice from the doorway. “In trouble again I hear.”
    It was Adora Belle, and of course she meant “Hello! It’s good to see you.”
    “You look stunning,” said Moist.
    “Yes, I know,” said Adora Belle. “What’s happening? The cabbie told me all the staff had walked out of your bank.”
    Later Moist thought: That was when it all went wrong. You have to leap on the stallion of rumor before he’s out of the yard, so that you might be able to pull on the reins. You should have thought: What did it look like, with staff running out of the bank? You should have run to the Times office. You should have got in the saddle and turned it right around, there and then.
    But Adora Belle did look stunning. Besides, all that had happened was that a member of staff had a funny turn and left the building. What could anyone make of that?
    And the answer, of course, was: Anything they wanted to.
    He was aware of someone else behind him.
    “Mr. Lipwig, thur?”
    Moist turned. It was even less fun looking at Igor when you’d just been looking at Adora Belle.
    “Igor, this is really not the time—” Moist began.
    “I know I’m not thupothed to come upthairth, thur, but Mr. Clamp thayth he hath finithed hith drawing. It ith very good.”
    “What was all that about?” said Adora Belle. “I think I nearly got two of the words.”
    “Oh, there’s a man down in the forni—the cellar, who is designing a dollar note for me. Paper money, in fact.”
    “Really? I’d love to see that.”
    “You would?”

    IT WAS TRULY wonderful. Moist looked at the back and the front of the dollar-note designs. Under Igor’s brilliant white