Making Money

nearly gold chain? This is the other end of the rainbow. Talk yourself out of a situation you can’t talk your way out of. Make your own luck. Put on a show. If you fall, let them remember how you turned it into a dive. Sometimes the finest hour is the last one.
    He went to the wardrobe and took out the best golden suit, the one he wore on special occasions. Then he went and found Gladys, who was staring out of the window.
    He had to speak her name quite loudly before she turned to face him, very slowly.
    “They Are Coming,” she said.
    “Yes, they are,” said Moist, “and I’d better look my best. Could you press these trousers, please?”
    Wordlessly, Gladys took the pants from him, held them against the wall, and ran a huge palm down them before handing them back. Moist could have shaved with the crease. Then she turned back to the window.
    Moist joined her. There was already a crowd in front of the bank, and coaches were pulling up as he watched. There were a fair number of guards around, too. A brief flash indicated that Otto Chriek of the Times was already taking pictures. Ah, yes, a deputation was now forming. People wanted to be in at the death. Sooner or later, someone would hammer at the door. Blow that for a game of soldiers. He couldn’t let that happen.
    Wash, shave, trim errant nose hairs, brush teeth. Comb hair, shine boots. Don hat, walk down stairs, unlock door very slowly so that the click was unlikely to be heard outside, wait until he heard a tread getting louder.
    Moist opened the door, sharply.
    “Well, gentlemen?”
    Cosmo Lavish wobbled as the knock failed to connect, but recovered and thrust a sheet of paper at him.
    “Emergency audit,” he said. “These gentlemen—” and here he indicated a number of worthy-looking men behind him “—are representatives of the major guilds and some of the other banks. This is standard procedure and you can’t stand in their way. You will note that we have brought Commander Vimes of the Watch. When we have established that there is indeed no gold in the vault, I shall instruct him to arrest you on suspicion of theft.”
    Moist glanced at the commander. He did not like the man much, and was certain that Vimes did not like him at all. He was even more certain, though, that Vimes did not readily take orders from the likes of Cosmo Lavish.
    “I’m sure that the commander will do as he sees fit,” said Moist meekly. “You know the way to the vault. I am sorry it’s a bit of a mess at the moment.”
    Cosmo half-turned, to make certain the crowd heard everything he said. “You are a thief, Mr. Lipwig. A cheat and a liar, an embezzler and have no dress sense whatsoever.”
    “I say, that’s a bit on the harsh side,” said Moist as the men swept through. “I happen to think I dress rather snappily!”
    Now he was alone on the steps, facing the crowd. They weren’t a mob yet, but it could only be a matter of time.
    “Can I help anyone else?” he said.
    “What about our money?” said someone.
    “What about it?” said Moist.
    “Says in the paper you’ve got no gold,” said the inquirer.
    He pushed a damp copy of the Times toward Moist. The newspaper had, on the whole, been quite restrained. He had expected bad headlines, but the story was a single column on the front page and it was full of “we understand that” s and “we believe that” s and “the Times had been informed that” s and all the phrases that journalists use when they are dealing with facts about large sums of money they don’t fully understand and are not quite certain that what they have been told is true.
    He looked up into the face of Sacharissa Cripslock.
    “Sorry,” she said, “but there were watchmen and guards all around the place last night and we didn’t have much time. And frankly, Mr. Bent’s…attack was enough of a story in its own right. Everyone knows he runs the bank.”
    “The chairman runs the bank,” said Moist stiffly.
    “No, Moist, the chairman goes woof,” said Sacharissa. “Look, didn’t you sign anything when you took over the job? A receipt or something?”
    “Well, maybe. There was a mass of paperwork. I just signed where I was told. So did Mr. Fusspot.”
    “Ye gods, the lawyers would have fun with that,” said Sacharissa, her notebook magically appearing in her hand. “And it’s no joke, either. He could end up in debtors’ prison!”
    “Kennel,” said Moist. “He goes woof, remember? And that’s not going to